Thursday, October 11, 2012

Stiff upper lip and all that, wot?

When I was younger, I would read. Well, that's kind of all I do anyway, but practically the only books that I would read were the Redwall series by the now deceased Brian Jaques. I've read (and own) practically every book in the series.
Because that's what I do.
Read like insanity.
I think there are nigh on twenty books published, and I still take them out from time to time to read. They're fun and nostalgic and enjoyable. They make me smile when I'm feeling down, and bring back all sorts of memories. I can pick up Rakkety Tam and still sing all the songs from the audiobook. I can remember the nightmares Loamhedge gave me the first time, then the happiness the end brought. Those books are the echoes of a childhood well loved, like a book well read and worn through, the cracked glue binding, dog-eared pages, the smell of must and childhood and ink on paper.

When I read these books, I was anywhere from third to seventh grade. My homeschooling years, and the first few years at the school I currently attend. I read those books for the reason why most people (and I say most people, not all), pick up books to read.
To lose themselves in another fantasy.
But I did that too much, too often, and when real life smacked me in the face, it hurt more, because I had put my heart and soul into that little abbey in Mossflower, the talking mice and otters and moles and hares, fearlessly fighting ferocious terrors like ferrets and weasels and rats and foxes.

You see? I was finding happiness in the wrong place. I was setting it on something unreliable, something temporary. And when your happiness relies on something unreliable for so long and it crumbles, and it isn't there... well, frankly, you're screwed. Your heart will break, there will be pain, there will be tears and suddenly your life is a living hell.
No one wants that.
That's why there's only one thing that is reliable.
My God and Saviour. And there's no way I'm letting him go.

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