Bookstores don't have closets

I guess I have been breathing books even before I knew the pleasure of orgasm. Both my parents are from the academe, and I would spent significant parts of my childhood surrounded by shelves and closets of books and my dad's physics journals. In my mind, I traveled with Anne of Green Gables and moved mountains with Matilda.

To escape the realms of this world, I have to read.

I have read Sherlcok Holmes and Dr. Watson, Dorian Gray and Sir Henry, Batman and Robin but the notion of what I know now as bromance was for me, just pure friendship. Nothing like the Jane Austen type of novel. Mr. Darcy, for me, was an attractive fellow and Cyclops in his tight suit is the man. It was, in my young mind, a very usual attachment.

It was not until I felt different that I scrambled through our mini library to look for fictional characters that I might relate to. The closest I got was Oscar Wilde's (thus my fascination for his greatness), Mr. Hadolini in Catcher in the Rye and Patrick from The Perks of Being a Wallflower. But scrambling more through our house, the closest I found to explain the attraction I felt was in my father's books about gravity.

That moment, I realized how prejudiced my situation was. While Elaine, the school queen bee has Stargirl to giggle with whenever the cute guy from the higher level looks at her, I was trying to fit myself in the Bronte sister's tales despite the fact that I was falling for the boy who leads the flag ceremony. And while she reads A Walk to Remember when she found out he is already taken, I was stuck in the real world, with no avenue to travel to another world.

When I wanted to escape the most, confused with what was happening, there were a few worlds to rely on- that was my sadness. Deep inside, I thought, even great minds hide inside dark closets to escape the real world's skepticism.

Years after, I still seek for solitude in those worlds read and created by my mind. I would still check the Gay & Lesbian shelf in National Bookstore in Cubao and sigh when I see the conservatism in such place that is supposed to be a collection of all sort of portals. Despite my smiles when I see the growing numbers of non fictional books in the university's main library, I still think of those young struggling kids who was in the same situation as I was before-why couldn't Sherlock Holmes just marry Dr. Watson, they're perfect together!

There is no such thing as a moral or immoral book, Books are well written, or badly written. Perfect words from Mr. Wilde.

If there's one thing reading has taught me, it is that the world out there is big enough for me. Maybe not as vast and understanding as the fictional world I am used to, but definitely worth living. And that there are always opportunities to scavenge through old and dusty closets to search a world even greater than what C.S. Lewis could imagine.