Late to the Feast, and Forever Famished

"But what exactly does it make you feel?"
"Many things. Like life can feel infinite, even inside a finite frame. You know what I mean?"

I embraced reading a little late. When I was very young, my mom and brother made several noble attempts to convert me, all in vain. Whenever they'd explain the wonders of reading, I'd argue why I preferred sketching instead. Somehow, I was convinced that I couldn't have two hobbies. I thought I owed complete loyalty to my first love, sketching, which, in my head, demanded a full-time emotional monogamy.

What eventually sparked my interest (a bit) was a little less noble. It was watching my brother discuss book plots with our nerdy mutual friends and feeling jealous and left out, as I couldn't join the conversation. And so, I started reading, a little of this, a little of that, but without any real inclination. Apparently, I was still trapped in my absurd one-life-one-hobby philosophy.

In college, though, my sense of loyalty matured, and I began picking up more books. I don't really remember what prompted the shift, but it was a mix of many things — peer pressure, curiosity, and my growing desire to write poetry, which slyly demanded I read more.

But by then, life had started to unfold in all its complexity. I was juggling academics, a love life, friendships, existential confusion, and so much more. And although I had begun to recognize the magic of reading, I couldn't devote all the time it deserved. Still, somehow, I kept going.

From those early days to now, that love has only deepened. Lately, I'm trying to be more committed to books, so they don't fade away amid life's mighty distractions. I even push myself to read outside my comfort zones, exploring authors, subjects, and writing styles unfamiliar to me. Fortunately, I have a few kindred spirits to share long, vivid book conversations with, which further keeps the momentum alive.

I've realized reading, in its haunting enigma, satiates me by making my soul more and more insatiable. There's a thrill in expanding my limits of understanding. A thrill in knowing there's infinitely more to know. A thrill in slipping into worlds I never knew existed, and returning slightly changed each time.

As an atheist, I am often asked, "Don't you have a sacred corner in your house? A place where you worship?"

Now I think I do. It's right where my bookshelf stands.