By Jan Vicente B. Pekas

The world within books have always been a fun rabbit hole to discover. Amazing authors construct these complex labyrinths and I gladly discover them, finding the detailed crevasse that is evidence of great care and effort. Some settings differ from others, while some are grounded in reality, there is always great awe in reading about these great fictitious worlds. Often a mirror of where we live in, these settings in fiction reflect issues we are not often aware of in the real world. Whether we choose to acknowledge it, our reality affects our imagination and sometimes, fiction is not entirely fiction.
A great escape, should we want to find, out of this world can be opened by books barely wider than our hands. They bring to life heroes we admire, heroines, and villains. The more complex ones introduce characters that eerily resemble us, not entirely good or bad, but confusing to understand. Immersion is but done in a flash when we find that book which resonate with us.
When I started to read, the fun of having to squint on each page of a pocket book was not found in me. Each time I turned a page was a slugfest. Many words were unknown to me and I had to switch my attention to a dictionary every so often. Reading was not fun at first.
Then I remember reading “The Godfather”, and turning a page became an addiction. I could not wait what was on the next one. I slowly started to remember and ingrain what these big words finally meant. Frustration was not as not as often anymore with me not having to switch my attention to a dictionary every 5 minutes. The story became clear and a new world was in front of me then.
I could see the mafia in their expensive suits wearing stone cold looks on their faces. I thought the climax of stories could only send chills if seen through a TV screen. Though words were finally enough to get me to lay awake through the night because of a crazy ending in a book.
These books always brought excitement to me whenever and wherever, in the middle of the night, in school or in the jeepney. I felt as if fiction became reality. Yet fiction, after all, is born in the head of someone living in reality. Heroic deeds did not come from fiction stories but from the acts of people.
Fiction can easily form a person with an astonishing character. Sometimes these guys are too good to exist, even.
People too good to exist dont’t have to be just fiction characters in books.
These stories don’t have to be symbols of something unattainable but inspirations to escape from what reality limits us. **