For as long as I can remember, I have been plowing through books incessantly, stopping only occasionally to take a breath of air before diving back into that sea of imagination.  Often, I would finish all the books that I had just bought in a day or two, then read them five times over because I had nothing else to do.  To sate my ever-growing appetite, my parents would grudgingly fill the shelves with a wide variety of different books.  "Really, we aren't made of money, you know," they would often grumble, but secretly they were glad that I was willing to read and expand my horizons.  Every year, they would accompany me to an annual book fair, where they woul buy a few boxfuls of books for me.

Often, my reading distracted me from other important tasks.  Instead of developing my friendships further, I would merely sit at home and dig through some books.  As a result, I became somewhat of a social recluse, preferring a quiet evening at home to going outside to some rambunctious event.  On the rare occasions that my parents actually managed to drag me out of the house, I would dash straight for the bookstores, goggling at all the different books on display, much like how a child deprived of toys for a week would look at an unnaturally large Toys "R" Us store.  Sometimes, I would be so absorbed with my books that I would forget about my homework or some other important assignment, and have to hurriedly finish it off before the next day. 

The earliest incidence of non-stop reading that I can recall is when I was first sent to the principal's office, at the age of six.  I was a relatively boisterous child at that age, often engaging in scrapes with other children due to my temper and inability to judge what was appropriate behaviour for a situation.  In this case, I had been sent there because I had thrown a small rock at another student.  The principal had me complete a few sheets on how to behave, and write a short paragraph on why what I did was wrong.  After collecting my completed work, he straightened the sheets out, glared at me with a stern eye, and said:

"I hope you now realize why it is a bad idea to fight with other people.  Now you will stay here for the rest of the day.  If you want, you can read some books on the bookshelf over there."

"Awww, Mr. Glenn.  Do I have to?"

"Yes.  Now sit.  You're here to learn to behave, not to have fun."

I trudged over to the large collection of books, prepared for a long, boring session at the principal's office.  Slowly, deliberately, I extracted a book from the shelf, then headed over to a nearby sofa.  I sank right into it, and looked at the clock.  It would be another three hours before I could leave.  Sighing inwardly, I lazily opened the book, coming face to face with a page full of words.  I began to read silently, thinking that perhaps it would make the time go by faster. 

At first, time deigned to leave my cravings unsatisfied.  The clock stood frozen, its twin hands embedded by ice.  The words began to swim before my eyes.  I yawned loudly, drawing the principal's glare.  As the minutes passed by, however, time took pity on me, its doors creaking open to reveal wondrous marvels.  I slowly crept away into a subterranean world, one that I had never known to exist before.  Filled with craggy rocks and monsters of the underground, I forged through the meandering tunnels, never stopping for rest.  The glory of slaughtering the fearsome foes that dared impede me filled me with exhilaration.  Finally, after hours of journeying, a bright light befell my path.  As I walked through the final passageway, a chest, ornately crafted, glimmered into view.  For the first time in my life, I felt mighty.  I had strength.  At last, I was truly alive. 

When I dug through the chest, however, disappointment sank onto me.  Extravagant riches available only in the imagination glittered right before my eyes.  Chalices, necklaces, all sorts of finery glinted off the soft light emanating from the chest.  Yet, I felt empty, sapped of energy.  The feelings of bravery and power faded away, until I was unceremoniously booted back into the principal's office.

Hungrily, I devoured the books on the shelf, seeking for those same feelings.  Each book provided me a temporary reprieve from reality, but always chucked me back in when I finished it.  It was with a somewhat mournful air that I stood up to leave when the principal said: "OK, you can go now."

As time passed by, my appetite only grew.  The library became another oft-frequented haunt of mine, a place where I would spend hours just sitting and reading.  Soon, it became a refuge, a place where I could avoid others when I just needed some time alone.  My interests expanded from fiction to include books on science, classic literature, and philosophy, both past and modern.  Today, it is difficult for me to go by a single moment where I am not reading something. 

As I was constantly surrounded by books, my social relationships sometimes deteriorated, but I believe that the pleasure of reading trumps everything else.  Reading has helped me enjoy the process of learning, and has given me insights into the world that would not have otherwise been possible without it.  Many different viewpoints can be given on a single, seemingly simple topic.  Reading is not merely a means of jettisoning oneself away from this planet; it is also a way of delving deeper into it, allowing a person to understand it better.