Book, books and books.

I am now sure when my love affair with books started.

I must have been about 8 years old, and my mum had bought me 'The Lion , the Witch and the Wardrobe'. I spent countless days trying to get into Narnia from my mum's wardrobe, and every time I didn't succeed, I would end up playing with her shoes and her jewellery box. A typical girl with an adventure in mind!

I remember waking up one morning after dreaming of my success and ran to the wardrobe, only to find that again, my plans were scuppered. I have never stopped trying. But as an adult, I find the wardrobe is is my mind.

I can close my eyes and disappear into worlds of flight and fancy and be totally consumed by a story that my cheeks are usually streaming with tears and I mimic any gasps or movements that the characters display. I am in love with the beauty and the tragedy of a story. I love the ups and the downs and the whirls and the sudden stops. My boyfriend has had his fair share of tears soaking his t-shirts after being so immersed in a film, I find it hard to separate the reality from the story. In that very moment in time it becomes my story.

I bought 5 books at the weekend and tried to sneak them into our home with no shame! I have so many books, most of which remind me how to live and love and laugh. I read them and then forget, and when I am reminded, I am so cross with myself for forgetting the message. I get caught up in the everyday of work commitments that anaesthetise my soul and numb my existence. And yet recently, I am beginning to discover that work without play does not make me happy. My dad used to tell me as a child that work came first. It's a hard mantra to break. I find myself as an adult repeating that to myself. And I have suffered as a result. Oh how I have suffered. Ironically, when I graduated and started work, my dad told me to start playing now I had worked, but I never did. Years of working and working and becoming the best in my career has left me bereft of playtime. My inner child stands for this no more. She wants to play, and she wants to play at EVERYTHING!!

So, is my love affair with the books, or the messages that they contain, or just to be an Innocent child again searching for the secret passages into another world? The words in my books certainly whisper to me, they tease me, they dare me, they fill me. The messages are starting to get through. I am plotting and planning my escape from this birdcage.
I am strengthening my wings little by little, and when that cage door opens again, I will be ready. I will fly!