ink under my finger

recently i've been thinking a lot about books. partly because i missed out on owning more than a scant few as a child, long lost copies of the original kana french translation of yu-gi-oh, never complete, a few volumes of the 2-in-1 dragon ball french volumes with the orange covers, y'know the ones. people don't really believe me when i say i don't own books because that's partially untrue. i own kafka's the metamorphosis, the cheap 3 euro copy i bought on a whim when i got my first job, i own a couple of world of warcraft art books of which i still feel great shame about (the art's nice, don't mind me i'm just a recovering wow addict), the fallout new vegas comic that came with the collector's edition many years ago, never read as i find the style genuinely repulsive. but realistically, i don't own that many books, never felt the need to. maybe that has to do with being a poor kid with limited money, somehow i just thought books would run me out of my money faster than if i say, purchase a video game that i can toil over for a few months. there's a weird human aspect to our relationship with money, right ? i'd rather purchase a good meal at the local thai place than buy myself a gift, repeated ad nauseum for over 20 years. i don't like treating myself, i don't know how to say it in a way where people understand exactly what i mean. it feels wrong to give myself the benefit of kindness. sure i'll treat myself to a good meal as a reward for finishing my work on each video, but i see that as a sort of given. i earned it, if you get what i mean. the thought of buying a single book gets me on my hands and knees, i don't like it.

a few weeks ago, a nice person from a printing company reached out to me and offered a gift package as a sort of thank you for my video on shoujo tsubaki and the approach i took in talking about a topic like eroguro. by instinct i declined, part of me felt like i wasn't worthy of such kindness. why would someone want to give me something, what did i do to deserve this ? it took me a bit of time to accept after being assured multiple times that there were no strings attached and nothing expected out of me, for that i am very grateful. a little before xmas the package arrived with a whopping 25lbs box that i had to carry with my tiny frame from the nearest postal counter all the way back home (i had to take a cab, that shit was heavy). i opened the package back home to discover two dozens of eroguro comics, ones that my hands couldn't have possibly graced without this opportunity. i felt this weird pit in my stomach ; why would i deserve this ? i thanked the hollow press person who reached out to me and promised i'd read what they sent me. and then i did, and then i did again, and now i'm already a few books down wondering which one i'll pick next. i've always loved reading, even without owning any physical books (the convenience of loading up a pdf on my computer is too nice, i can't help myself) and yet there's something special in the act of sitting down with a nice book and just feeling your hands turn each page, at least i think so. it's a quiet sort of comfort.

ever since that day something clicked ; i'm not sure when it happened but i've been buying books lately, a lot of books. death note, oyasumi punpun, #drcl midnight children, tokyo babylon, jojolion, stuff from my childhood, stuff from my teenage years, new stuff, stuff i missed out on and wanted to own, stuff i already read but wanted to have physically, stuff i felt i wasn't worthy of. i'm buying a bookshelf soon to put them all on display, giving myself back the little bit of kindness that is owning something i really want deep inside. i wonder, i wonder which book i'll buy next