As an older sibling, an older cousin, a teacher, and the daughter of teachers, it was inevitable for me to be exposed at an early age - and to continue to be surrounded by - younger children as I grew up. I am thus constantly diving into the games and imaginings of these younger children, as well as their complaints and anger. A pattern that appears to me is that of kids not liking to read, and despising books. I have always and will always find such abhorrence towards books of any type - even silly children picture books - to be an absolute and undeniable tragedy. Books are one of life's greatest treasures, and I do not say this simply because I am myself a writer.

I do not remember learning to read. I do not remember looking at the words on the pages of my books and ever seeing merely meaningless squiggles; I only remember the words and the images that danced behind my eyes as those words told their stories. As a young child, I was encouraged and consumed by the stories told by the dozens of books that my family bought for me.

For several years, I was the only child in a large family of mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles and their cousins, and doting grandparents. It may seem odd to give large chapter books - "Eragon" and "Harry Potter" and "Lord of the Rings" - to an elementary schooler, but I assure you that such gifts were always my favorite, and I have no shame in saying that I had my family wrapped around my tiny fingers.

I remember long hours spent imagining myself as a superhero flying across the gaps between living room furniture, as a knight in shining armor battling to protect my swingset, as a dragon raging for dominion of the mountain range of my backyard. All of these wild imaginings stemmed from the stories that my mom and dad, grandmothers and neighbors, babysitters and their friends would present to me to read for them.

Beyond the mere imagination and fancifulness of reading the stories, books also lent me a large vocabulary from an early age and provided insight into many different walks of life that I myself will never get to experience. I walked alongside women marching in protest against tyrannical kings. I fought with soldiers protecting their homelands. I felt the despair of failure and the joy of victory, I tasted the food of the old gods and the bite of frostbite in my lungs, I watched children grow old and kingdoms rise and fall and saw new ages dawn in the passing of a thousand years, and I have done all of this in only nineteen short years.

I will never claim to know the suffering of the people I read about, nor can I say that I fully understand all of the different viewpoints and experiences of the world. But books have given me an opportunity to see the world through so many different eyes, and to be exposed to so many different things that I would otherwise never even hear about.

Today, I do not have nearly the time that I once did to spend hour after hour reading fantasy adventure and science fiction, but I would be a liar to tell you that my brain does not wander into such genres on its own. Tiny scenes from my favorite books flash behind my eyelids, and new scenes - potential stories for me to one day write - plaster themselves on the computer screens that I would otherwise fall asleep in front of.

My imagination has always been my refuge and books my muses. When elementary school presented me with boredom, books were full of excitement. When middle school introduced cruelty and bullying, books gave me friends and safety. When high school became overwhelming, not only with schoolwork but with sudden realizations about the realities of the world I live in, books allowed for happy endings and for underdogs to come out on top.

Even now, I sit at my desk in my dorm, and I take comfort in the sight of my favorite books resting on the corner of my desk. I cannot imagine where or who I would be without having been so consumed with the stories and characters of these books. Books, and the hopes and ideas and possibilities that they present, have always been some of the most important things in the world to me. They have shaped so much of my life; they are more than pages with squiggly symbols; they have developed so much more than just my vocabulary. Books have made me who I am today, and I would hope that others, adults and children alike, will be able to say the same.