I remember the first time I was transported by a book. Ok, maybe not the exact first time but the time I became capable of conceiving consciousness. The feeling was surreal, almost eternal. I got lost in time, in a space continuum.
I cannot explain with words even as I craft letters now, how much my life altered in that fragment of a new reality that I was only capable of experiencing with my imagination. Images conjured up by letters dancing on a page.
Words transform us, but maybe not in the way we can anticipate. It is almost incomprehensible to think that letters arranged on paper or spoken can start a political reform or spark a dream.
Incite love, war, obsession, hate, murder, justice or anarchy, chaos, and massacre. That mere words rouse actions that speak even louder.
Words, letters arranged, are catalyst that forms our thoughts, habits, then lifestyle. By mere words, realities are created whether in slander, libel, or truth.
Words can contour our emotions, emblazon them, kill them, or plunge us to depression. Words can liberate or imprison, change the trajectory of our lives, and alter our beliefs based on the new information they convey and the knowledge we acquire.
You may ask me why I like books, it is not just about information and knowledge, it is the wonder that letters, mere alphabets carry. How they are so powerful to curate a narrative, reveal a perspective, garner emotions, cause sedition, breed love, foster divide…
I stare at a book amazed at how much stories are produced by mere alphabets, mere representation of sounds and meanings.
Letters that feature cultures and diversity in human continuity.
I am impressed… tell me why I shouldn’t get lost in this wonder?
Connoisseur of Memories 