Dear readers, for this first entry of 2024, I invite you to join me in a contemplative exploration of my enduring love for books and the ways in which they have shaped my sense of self.
In the heart of Kitsilano, where the streets met the sea, lay a small sanctuary of knowledge and wonder – the library. This unassuming haven became the cornerstone of my childhood, a place where I nurtured my insatiable appetite for books and embarked on a lifelong journey of discovery.
My father, Nicolas, like clockwork, would drop me off every Saturday. A young girl with an eager spirit, I was ready to explore the treasures hidden within the library's walls. The librarians greeted me by name, and in their presence, I felt a sense of belonging.
I was a voracious reader, undeterred by books that were well above my grade level. With each visit, I would amass a pile of volumes in my arms, determined to unlock their secrets. Judy Blume's tales of adolescence and the mysteries of Ancient Greece coexisted peacefully on my reading list, as I immersed myself in stories that spanned the spectrum of human experience.
Grade 5 introduced me to a new homeroom teacher, who had a peculiar side gig. He sold World Book Encyclopedias, a set of brown and black volumes with gold-embossed titles. My immigrant parents were keen on acquiring a set for their budding scholar. My father's anticipation soared as he envisioned me absorbing knowledge from these tomes.
Reality, as most of us know, often veers far from the truth. The encyclopedias, once a source of excitement, gathered dust. They were cracked open only on rare occasions, and the yearly editions proved to be an unexpected expense. In 1980, my father halted the annual updates.
Yet, those encyclopedias served as the inception of my personal library. They were the first ‘serious’ books to grace my shelves, marking the beginning of a collection that would evolve over the years. My library followed me from one place to another, adapting to the changing landscapes of my life.
My collection expanded to include cassette tapes and later CDs, thanks to my membership with Columbia House. My library transformed alongside my ever-shifting interests, providing solace and inspiration through the years.
Beyond the physical books, my library became an integral part of my identity. It whispered secrets to me in the stillness of the night, harbouring my dreams and shielding me from life's storms. Each book held a fragment of my evolving self. By the time I completed my university studies, my tiny apartment on Heather St. bulged with my collection.
My early years saw the inclusion of Greek books in my collection, starting with translated fairy tales. Cinderella became “Stachtobouta,” and Snow White, “Chionati.” My library became a bridge to a world that often felt like a distant memory.
Many years later, I was introduced to the man who would become my husband. He shared my love for books, a kindred spirit equally at home in the world of literature as in the realm of video games. As our courtship progressed, it was time to introduce him to my recently widowed mother, Evangelia, and my world.
We faced a significant hurdle. He wasn't of Greek descent, and my family held firmly to tradition. Yet, I had already decided he was my future, and so I set him a task – the assembly of eight Ikea Billy bookshelves. I watched as he tackled the challenge with quiet determination.
When we married and started to build a life together - we merged our collections. Our bookshelves sagged under the weight of our combined acquisitions; our dreams interwoven with each page turned.
But as life often unfolds, there came a moment when our paths diverged. The love that once bound us violently unraveled; and, in my sudden departure, my collection of books, along with many other items, both sentimental and practical, were left behind.
Today, as I build a new collection, I’ve come to understand that my identity is not defined by the possessions I hold – but by the stories I carry within, waiting to be shared.
Well said babe<3