Reading Real Books
I enjoy reading books. Real, physical books with paper pages that you keep on a shelf when you're not reading them.
Reading on a phone, tablet, or even a dedicated eBook reader just isn't the same.
You don't have to charge a real book. There's no risk of being distracted by notifications or being tempted to check your social media. You don't need an account or a subscription to access it, and there's no risk it might randomly disappear due to arbitrary licensing agreements or the whims of a big tech company. And those big tech companies can't track your reading habits so that they can try to extract even more money from you and try to sell you things, or let other companies pay them for that information so they can try to sell you things, too.
There's no substitute for holding a real book in your hands – feeling the weight of it, reading the dust jacket (if it has one), thumbing through the pages.
Real books have a smell. A magical combination of glue, paper, ink, and – if it's an older book – age. As soon as this distinctive aroma hits your nostrils, you can't help but get excited at the prospect of learning something new or being taken on a grand adventure.
Books are more than just words on a page. They are a catalyst for thought and imagination. And for me, they are best experienced and enjoyed in their physical form.