I honestly can’t tell you which book was the first I had ever read. I can’t tell you if it was a chapter book or a collection of short stories. I can’t tell you if it included pictures or maps. I can’t tell you who it was by or what the story is about.

I can’t even tell you if it was the first in a series or trilogy. I seriously can’t even tell you how old I was the first time I read a book. What I can tell you is that the first time I actually enjoyed reading a book outside of those made mandatory by my school was when I was in the fifth grade.

I’d finally made the “big girl change” as it was called at my school that entitled me to wear a skirt instead of a jumper and went to school across the courtyard. I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but to us it was. I can tell you about the library where I checked out that life changing book.

I can tell you that it was in a cramped up space just a tad bigger than my dorm room. The walls were stacked up high with bookcases that had books crammed so tight, they were just waiting to explode. Every available space in the center either had more shelves or bean bags to sit down in and read.

My favorite of these was in the darker corner with the old, worn down bag that no one used but me. After months of use, it clearly had molded to my body. It was my bean bag, made especially for my reading leisure and pleasure. From this bean bag, I saw my love for science fiction, fiction novels, biographies, historical fiction, essays, poetry and so much more grow. I will forever be grateful for my little bean bag in my dark corner.

I wonder what changed. I wish I still remembered what book it was and what message it gave me. I still wonder how many books I read until I finally realized that there was more than just reading for an A in a class. I wonder when I realized that I could escape into books so easily, make them my own and pretend I was the one the story was about.

I wonder which author finally made me realize how simple some of my problems were and how to deal with them. I wonder which characters I related to so much that they got me through the most difficult times of my life. I wonder what exact quotes spoke to me the deepest and which made me laugh until I started to cry.

I still wonder which book it was that made me cry so hard that I now have a permanent hole in my bedroom wall from throwing my hardcover book against it. Most of all I wonder why it took me so long to realize the amazing ways that books can transform your life. I will never truly understand how J.K Rowling’s Magical World of "Harry Potter" has been able to entice me so much since I first read it. Was it because the first time I read it, I wished I was brave enough and courageous like Harry while I always felt so shy and insecure when I was younger?

Or how about the second time I read it when I realized that like Ron, I felt overshadowed by my older family members at times. Or was it because when I was older, I realized I was proud to be the nerdy and honorable girl like Hermione that could still be strong (in all sense of the word)—do we not remember when she punched Malfoy in the face? How is it that my obsession has never really left me to the point that my parents ridicule me saying that I will always be a child at heart because of this love of "Harry Potter".

Let’s just say I have one too many "Harry Potter" laptop stickers. This was the first series I fell in love with, and I'll be forever indebted to J.K. Rowling. How is it that even if I’ve read a story a million times; there’s nothing like reading it one more time, as if it was the first time. How is it that every time I reread a book, I still learn something new from it?

For example, every single trip I take, no matter the length, I listen to the audiobooks of "The Host" by Stephanie Meyer. It’s not even one of my favorite books yet it always gets me through the trip. For me, there’s nothing more entertaining than the excitement I feel when I know a certain part is coming up. Every summer, I find myself rereading my copy of "The Last Song" by Nicholas Sparks even though it’s got so many water spots that some sentences are unreadable and the book itself has been expanded to about three times its size.

As I've somewhat matured (how mature can you be as a sophomore in college?), I've gained such a deep appreciation for the courage that authors have. They make themselves so vulnerable as to release their creative genius, that could easily be ridiculed, or express their deepest thoughts takes a truly miraculous person. I give the upmost thanks to those authors that really sparked a change in me, the ones who've made me really question who I am and what kind of world I live in; the ones who make me cry like I was letting out every single drop of water I could possibly have in my body, the ones who helped me feel.