Her Obsession
My sister has developed an almost obsessive love for books over the past few years, a passion that my mom and I find both baffling and exasperating. This obsession isn't just a casual interest or a hobby; it has become an all-consuming affair. Her room, once a modest space, has now transformed into a miniature library, bursting at the seams with novels, memoirs, and classic literature. Today, she came home with another haul, proudly displaying her new acquisitions: "Icebreaker," "Twisted Series," "Crime and Punishment" and several more, each book brandished with the kind of enthusiasm most people reserve for prized possessions.
This love for books didn't appear overnight. Initially, it was charming to see her immersed in a novel, and it was even a bit endearing when she began quoting lines from her favorite characters. But as the years have passed, her spending on books has escalated dramatically. Any savings she manages to accumulate quickly disappears the moment she steps into a bookstore or browses online book retailers. Birthdays, holidays, or any occasion that might result in a gift inevitably leads to a request for more books. My mom and I have grown weary of her endless spending sprees on literature, shaking our heads each time another package arrives at the door.
Every month, her collection grows. The shelves in her room have long exceeded their capacity, and stacks of books now teeter precariously on her desk, nightstand, and even the floor. We've offered to help her sort through them, suggesting she might want to donate some to the local library or at least consider storing them in boxes to reclaim some living space. But she clings to each book with a fervor that borders on irrational, insisting that each one holds a special place in her heart.
It's not just the physical space these books occupy that frustrates us; it's the sheer volume of her acquisitions that astounds us. Despite our pleas for moderation, her collection grows relentlessly. Every new month brings another round of purchases, with her excitement over each new addition undiminished. The titles she chooses are varied, from classic literature to contemporary fiction, each selected with what she claims is great care and thought.
Our living room conversations sometimes circle back to her latest literary acquisitions, whether we want them to or not. The enthusiasm with which she is going to describe her new books – the plot of "Wuthering Heights," the complexity of "The Idiot," the intrigue of "If We Were Villains" – is going to be unending. She seems to live in these stories as much as in the real world, if not more.
In addition to this she neither shares nor lends her book... not even to me! I've several times begged for some but...she wouldn't! Last week we came to an agreement after a long negotiation. She agreed to lend me her old books for which I have to buy her the same number of books she is gonna lend me. Not a bad deal though!
While my mom and I might be done with her endless love for books, we also recognize that this passion brings her immense joy. It’s clear that, for her, these books are more than just pages and ink; they are an escape, a source of comfort, and a connection to a larger world. Even if we can't fully understand it, we grudgingly respect her dedication. So, while the stacks of books continue to grow, and our patience continues to be tested, we also see the light in her eyes each time she opens a new book, and maybe that's worth a little clutter and frustration after all.
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