If you handed me a tablet with a thousand books loaded on it and set it aside a stack of paperback- battered, bent, smelling of ink and stories- I wouldn’t hesitate for even a second. I'd go for the books. Every time.
It's not that I don't appreciate the convenience of PDFs or e-books. I do. They are lightweight, portable and often cheaper. They let you highlight without guilt, search for words in seconds, and carry a whole library in your bag. But despite all that, something feels missing. Too neat. Too... clinical. Like I'm reading a document, not diving into a living, breathing world.
When I hold a physical book, it feels like I'm holding a piece of time. The soft whisper of flipping pages, the rough edges of a well-worn cover, even the slight ache in my wrist after hours of reading- it all adds up to the experience. I remember exactly where I was when I first read certain books. Curled up in my bed with a blanket tucked under my chin, lying on the floor with the afternoon sun pooling around me from the window, or even at work, unable to wait until I get home.
I've dog-eared corners, scribbled in margins, accidentally dropped one in a bucket of water (and cried a little), and even found pressed flowers between the pages of a secondhand copy. Try doing that with a PDF.
To me, a pile of books, is full of promises. Each spine is a door waiting to be opened. There's something grounding about seeing the physical stack shrink as you read - your progress marked not by a digital bar, but by the satisfying weight of pages you've already conquered.
I know e-books have their places, travelling light, saving spaces, late-night reading with no light on. I won't pretend they are not useful. But when I really want to feel a story, to be fully present with it, I turn to physical books. Every crease, every stain, every yellowed page adds a layer to the memory. I can lend someone a book and know its gone out into the world carrying a part of me with it.
Books, real books, are not just stories. They're companions, they age with us. They pile beside our beds, get stuffed into bags, passed between friends, and found again years later, waiting patiently. PDFs might carry the same words, but they are different.
So yeah, I'll take the heavy bag, the overstuffed shelves, and the ink-smudged fingers. For me, reading isn't just a convenience- it's about connection. And nothing connects me to a story like a good old-fashioned book.
Images are mine