Sharing Memories & Untitled "Summer" Feelings

I know I was supposed to be writing something about how Summer has influenced my reading life so far, or about what does it mean to me while a reader, or even some random thing about Summer, since that's what me and my bloggers friends agreed to do for the Challenge. And it must seem kind of weird to you, but Summer has nothing to do with me at all during this month—when I am on vacation, when I finally have enough time to dive into my own reading world, when it is actually raining a lot out there, when it has been cold and the wind seems to be angry. But, no, now the weather has nothing to do with this post either. Just maybe vacations have, just maybe.

There is not an answer for the questions why or when I started to fell in love with reading. And I hope you do not care if this post sounds like what I wrote About Me for this blog or whatever. I am just telling you a random, usual, simple story.

Until I had turned ten, I always lived in a place where I could do nearly anything. Where I could be barefoot and run or ride my bike all the way between the cars on the park of the condominium. Where I truly had spent my whole real childhood. Where I had changed reading for playing with friends. Where, I can sincerely admit, I did not care about reading at all. My mom often bought me small children books and I seldom read them. Actually, I just pretended to read them—because, well, I just wanted to spend all the energy I had. I was just a kid. And it may sound very incoherent, but I liked to read—to read about Science, Astronomy, the Universe.

But then I moved to an apartment closer to school, so I could go walking instead of by van—which mommy surely had to pay. And now you are going to ask me, "So what? Has anything changed?", and I am going to say, "Yes, a lot!".

I had no space enough to feel free anymore and so I was almost eleven. I was growing up, I was starting to realize that I was about to have to be more responsible. I had to work hard on my studies because, like mommy keep saying to me every single day of my life, that's all I have gotten and all I will ever have, and that's what is the most important thing to me. That without studying, without responsabilities, without my own willpower, I will be nothing.

Of course I had friends, I still have amazing friends who I am sure that will always support me. Of course, I had the presence of my mother and my father. But, for no reason, I felt lonely and I liked it. I still do. I would rather stay at home than going out. I do not like parties. And they can say whatever they want, that I am weird, that I am such a boring, that have no life because I spend most of my time in front of this damn computer and buying and reading books, and maybe that I am an antisocial fat pathetic person.

Five years passed since this change in my life and I already feel so tired. I passed almost 4 years thinking that I was really good at all the subjects at school, that I was the best ever, that I was the girl who could learn quickly and teach to her friends who could not, that I was going to be always like this. But the truth is that, I am not. I am not even close to be the best, nor the one who everybody is going to ever love. I realized that I am just like you, I am human, I can do whatever you can do and vice-versa. I realized that I will never have what I want if I do not try hard, if I do not take pains. If I do not fall, stand up and keep walking. Because I have something to go for.

And maybe all I said is the reason why I feel amazingly fullfilled when I lay on my warm bed, pick up a book and devour it. Or even when I just sit on my desk, stare at my beautiful bookshelves and keep saying, "how beautiful you are!". And then I say that I love you all, books and writers and stories and bookmarks and publishers. Because then I feel so different, so alive, and I smile at the man who receive my packages when I get them. Because books make me realize that, at least at this moment, I am free. I see the freedom. I can create everything the way I want it to be, the way I like it. They give me wings, so I can fly.

They bring me the uncommon but delicious smell [of books]. I learn from the stories, I dive into them. And, at last, but not least, I found out how grateful I am for having, in fact, once picked up a book and devoured it all for the first time in my life—when I do not even remember it was. And I could not also forget you, bloggers friends from all around the world, not at all—because a few of you are the ones who support me not to give up, with who I share this love, this passion, maybe this obssession, too. Even miles and miles away from me, you (you know who I am talking to if you are one of these people) are responsible for a very siginificant part of it, too. You are the ones who read what I have to say and that's also why I keep writing (blogging).

I am very sorry if this post is too long, that's what I felt in my heart I had to type down. I am sorry if I bothered you somehow, or if it was not what you expected it to be, since the topic was Summer in this period we are. I just cannot see Summer, I see books, I see freedom for only a couple of weeks, I see myself in everything I do—especially in this text.