I’ve been trying to go back to reading ever since I realized what a black hole Korean entertainment is. I felt that I was doing a disservice to my brain because all I ever did when I wasn’t doing anything was to watch Korean shows (dramas and variety and music videos). It was embarrassingly unproductive for someone who should be writing her thesis. After all, I temporarily chucked out my solid career so I could finally get hold of that MS degree.
I started reading a handful of books but none held my attention the way Korean shows had for the past year. My reading was reduced to reading my twitter timeline and should I come across an interesting article, I read that. But I miss reading books. I miss getting sucked into different worlds only books can have. I miss feeling a spectrum of emotions as stories unfold before my mind’s eyes. I miss it like how you miss home after being away for a long time.
In my quest to find “home”, I decided to give Neil Gaiman’s The View from the Cheap Seats a chance to be the book that could show me the way home. It’s a collection of non-fictional essays he wrote over the years ranging from speeches to tributes to renowned writers. Surprisingly, it was. It is. It is the book that is slowly but surely showing me the way home.
Reading his essays reminded me how much I love reading and stories and books and libraries. It reminded me how I once wanted to be a writer; not as a job but as something that I just wanted to be. It reminded me how I once tried to write stories but never finished any of them. It reminded me of a time when I realized I wasn’t cut for writing stories but believed I was pretty good at writing essays so I stopped writing stories and started writing essays. It reminded me of well-loved books that molded me into the person I am now: Enid Blyton’s five kids who loved solving mysteries, Ann Martin’s babysitters’ club, Francine Pascal’s twins and their lovers and friends, Lois Lowry’s young Jewish heroine during the Nazi occupation of Poland, RL Stine’s street of fear and horror, Gordon Korman’s quirky, hilarious characters. It reminded me how much I loved libraries when I was a child and how this love to libraries continues to this day; that I will always find it as a haven where hidden worlds are waiting to be found and explored.
I fell in love with reading because it introduced me to worlds I would have not otherwise known. I had a comfortable, normal, boring childhood. My needs were met. Most of my wants were satiated. The biggest tragedy that I encountered when I was a child was when I was 0.02 behind from the grade point average required to be accelerated to 1st-year high school. It felt that everything I worked for became meaningless when I failed to skip 7th grade. Only to find out years later that I have yet to feel and know what tragedy truly is.
Books made my life exciting. Books expanded my spectrum of emotions. I experienced struggle, infatuation, heartbreak, fear, horror, loss, triumph. I sobbed when the main character lost her family. My heart pounded when the main character was stalked by shadows. I laughed when a character in the story said something funny. I felt a deep sense of personal triumph when a character I was rooting for overcame struggles. Their adventures were my adventures. Their stories were my stories. I lived in a world of books. And this is where I learned life’s biggest lessons.
I do not read books because I feel lonely or that I have no friends or that there’s the need to escape because life is bad. As I have said, books excite me. I read books because I am curious. I’m curious about the other worlds that I do not know of. The other worlds can be worse than the world that I am in or it can be better. I do not care, really. What is important to me is the perspective it can give me. My perspective is frustratingly limited and I can only expand it by exploring other worlds without physically moving to those worlds. And the gateway to those worlds are books.
I’m halfway through the book. And I find that I think I like Neil Gaiman as an essayist than a storyteller. I’ve read few of his books and none stuck with me. I remember Good Omens was a funny book and The Ocean at the End of the Lane was a bit unsettling. But I could not remember the stories. I only remembered the general feeling those books gave me. I also have two of his books of short story collection: Trigger Warning and Unnatural Creatures. Both I have not yet read. I think it’s time to re-acquaint myself with Neil Gaiman the storyteller.
But I’m thankful to Neil Gaiman and this particular collection of nonfictional essays because, through this book, I have finally arrived.
*From Neil Gaiman’s 2013 lecture for the Reading Agency, UK