Far-Away Places

I often think of all those years when I was bullied as a child. I would sit in my bedroom, from 7pm to 9pm reading stories about far-away and imaginary places. My bed was always the same, and I always read in the same place. My bedroom didn’t change.

But I did.

I was on an island, or out at sea, or on a horse. I was being chased or I was doing the chasing. I was free, I was in chains, I was the best, I was the worst, I was the last, I was the first, I was rich, I was poor, I was here, I was there, I was far, I was near. I belonged to something bigger than me. I was everywhere and nowhere, I was everything and I was nothing. And it felt so good.

But at 9pm, every evening, I had to close the book, jump back into my skin again and become me. I didn’t want to be me. Every time I opened a book, it was like opening a door. And closing the book was like hearing that door shut behind me.

Little did I know at the time that one day reading would help me to keep that door wide open.

And now stories are taking me to the far-away places I used to read about and dream of when I was a boy, and making them real. Next month I am going to Japan, and the month after that to Brazil, to talk about stories. 
I will keep you posted :)