Turn the Page

I exited the portal and returned to my messy bedroom. Turn the page. I flipped the crisp, cream-colored paper and closed the book in front of me. I sighed and placed it to the side. A flood of emotions rushed through me, and I smiled softly. Before long, that smile faded, and I stood up to return the book to its place on the shelf in my bedroom, following a pattern I had come to know all too well. Pick a book, read the story, turn the page, return it to the shelf, repeat.

For as long as I can remember, I have used the fantastical stories woven between the pages of a book and shining through the lights of a screen to escape. Escape into worlds where I could watch from above as ever-changing characters completed quests and saved the day. Where the hero would come out triumphant of every conflict they faced. Where everything felt right and would turn out fine in the end. When I was young, I used these stories to look outside of my rather mundane life and see myself in these characters that were beautiful, strong, and flawed like me, giving me a glimpse into a life filled with adventure and wonder. As I grew up, these stories turned away from being portals into other worlds and became a lifeline as I started to struggle with the ever-darkening clouds filling my mind and surrounding me. These stories were no longer simple windows but instead were truly a way for me to step outside of my own reality and fully immerse myself in the world of someone else. So, I would sit down and pick up a book and start reading. Read about a world where I didn’t have the stress of growing up. Turn the page. Where I didn’t have to worry about my weight. Turn the page. Where mom and dad weren’t constantly fighting. Turn the page. Where I didn’t have to think about if I was ever going to find love or want to care about myself or worry about if it was ever going to turn out okay.

Turn.

The.

Page.

With every story I read, the false reality I had entered would linger for just a few moments after finishing. For those few precious minutes, my mind would stay in whatever world I was preparing to leave, and hold onto every little detail, trying, and ultimately failing, to bring it into my world. When the afterglow effect had worn off, I was thrown back into the real world that I had fought to escape from. “You can’t keep doing this,” a little voice in my head would say, but I would brush it off and continue looking for the next time and way that I could hide away and escape once more. Deep down, I knew that I couldn’t ever actually get away from the way that life was. No number of chapters in a book could ever take me away, as much as I wanted them to. 

As I have continued to grow and read and make my way through life, I have started to view these stories in a different light. Instead of seeing them as a means for escape, I see them as inspiration. Inspiration for what could be and what is to come. Inspiration for how my story can be. 

Turn the page. As I turn the page of this new chapter in my life, I can see that the pages are blank. Nothing has been planned out. Nothing is set in stone. The future can be whatever I want. After years of staring at characters of other author’s creations, the pen is finally in my hand and I can write my narrative the way that I want it to be as I start my life heading into college.