By Max Tyler
Who needs to read?
Reading… A skill we all learn in school and use throughout the rest of our lives. The thing is with me I have neglected this skill and use it for only compulsory day to day exercises such as reading the train timetable seeing what’s on the menu.
I used to read a lot, I started reading my first book when I was around eight or nine but I used to skip pages to get to the end quicker. (That’s been eating me alive for 12yrs, I know… I’m a piece of shit). I had to stop this awful habit as the things became blurred and people would disappear from the storyline without a trace. I kept reading till I was about 13, but when I started secondary school I put the books down. I started to make some new friends which took up a lot of my time. Getting in with a good group of mates at school required a lot of commitment, it was a full-time job to me. I forgot about reading and the books collected dust, I was focused on being the oldest I had ever been and feeling like I’m growing up.
Then it came around to English and we were presented with a book to read, as they were handed out and placed in front of us I felt this nostalgia run through me as it hit the table. This inanimate object used to let my brain escape from reality and cause my imagination spiral. You see the thing is with growing up is that the world we live in and education we go through cipher the imagination out of you. They want you to learn facts so you can be useful and you must forget about your imaginary friends.
Being asked to read some books before we start at the SCA has let me re visit the part of my brain I had forgot about, granted they aren’t fiction and trying to make me visualise werewolves in a mid-Victorian high-street but they are engaging the voice inside my head. And this voice is able to create memories that will last for years. I can still to this day vividly see the werewolf in a scene that I had created from the authors words.
Reading a book is like being young again, I mean I am young I’m 21 but I’m talking like 8 years old again. The age where your mum would dress you and you would wear that outfit 3 times a week, the age where your careless about the outside world and only have to worry about what is for dinner. Reading takes your brain into a space that you can control and no one can see or hear you, you can connect your thoughts and end up in a place that you can once again relate to.