Ever since I started to read, I fell in love with books. They are like friends and I love to keep them around, as a part of me. Every time we move, hubbie complaints about the number of boxes and the weight that he ends up carrying.
This time around I gave in and suggested that it would be a good idea to get rid of some of the books. Especially those that I used while at university and that I won´t be using again. I went online and sold some of them on Amazon, donated others to charity shops but unfortunately I had to take quite a few to the recycling centre 😦 I had lots of books from when I studied Portuguese literature and even though they might have been useful for someone else the cost of shipping them to Portugal to be donated made it unfeasible.
Parting with books, even ones of subjects I didn´t like, and books that I know realistically I will not open again, was extremely hard. I felt sad, empty and as though I was committing some sort of sacrilege. I know this is absolutely silly however I just feel that those books were part of an important time in my life and they somehow became part of the person I am today.
I am still taking lots of books with me, books that I cannot part from, books that remind me of all that I have lived! I love to have them in shelves in my living room, and look at them whenever I sit down on the sofa to relax; in my bedside table a pile will keep me company throughout the night, and in the study there will always be something to browse through while I wait for an internet page to load or for the printer to print.
I might live a “lighter” life if I didn´t take my books everywhere I go, but I most certainly would not live such a fulfilling one 😉