When I was around 6 years old, I wanted a doll house. Like all other young girls, I dreamt of fairy tale endings, of wearing bright pink dresses and riding a white horse beside my prince. And I felt that owning a doll house would somehow define the dreams I have. Whenever I watch television, every little girl who owns a doll house always have something magical happen to them come christmas day.
All their wishes are fulfilled.
I never got a doll house. What I got instead, were books. Lots of it. A whole treasure chest in fact. A treasure chest bigger than I was at that time. And ever since then, you could say that I have lived my life, from inside the books I have read.
The imagination it gave me, the emotions I discovered, the ability to express what I feel in writing, I developed all these by reading. In more ways than one, books had set me free.
Now, more than 10 years later, I still have the passion for reading. I read everything, whether fact or fiction, a comic book or a manga. A poem, a satire. Anything that comes highly recommended, you can be sure that my eyes will gaze every line, cover to cover.
When I think about it now, I realized that while I made such a big deal about that particular doll house before, I am glad that I received books instead. Because I now know that life is not a fairy tale. I don't need a pink ball gown, I don't want a prince. I learned that dreams are not defined by material things. And contrary to what television says, wishes do not always come true.
But something magical did happen to me that particular christmas day. I found out who and what I wanted to be in the future.
Someone who writes.
Not necessarily a writer. Just somebody who can write and at the very least, be a part of someone else's life by means of my works.
It is not a very high dream, but if there is one lesson I learned from the books I have read, it is that,