A Book
For Friend
by Daniela B.

I started reading when I was five years old. Not out of play or curiosity, but because my father — a very demanding man, a former military intelligence officer in Romania — wanted to turn me into a genius. He would have preferred a son, and he made that very clear: short hair for years, hunting lessons, how to use a knife, a gun, and other chilling experiences that I’ll perhaps leave for another time. In the photos from back then, I almost look like a boy, even though my face still carried the sweetness of a little girl.

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My first “lessons” in literature were anything but romantic: “Read this by tonight. If you stutter while reading, you’ll get punished.”

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That’s how I began to read. Ironic, if you think about it, since he never loved books: he was an engineer, he worked with metals. The real reader was my mother, who as a child devoured pages as if they were bread. Maybe, deep down, it’s from her that I inherited this hunger.

 

The truth is, my father was no longer with us from the day I turned eight. From that moment, my family went through all sorts of struggles. Only when I was fourteen, together with my mother and my sister, did we find a fragile sense of balance.

 

In those six years, books were my salvation. I read everything, from whatever I found in my grandmother’s house — even books that weren’t exactly age-appropriate — to those I borrowed from the local library: classics, children’s sci-fi, every page was a refuge.

 

Books became my psychologist, my way of traveling, my escape. Between the lines I searched for life lessons, trying not to repeat the mistakes of my parents, or those of the characters I read about.

In high school, I read far more than the required syllabus. My Italian teacher didn’t always approve of my choices, but once she told me something I’ve never forgotten: “You can hear the voices of the books you read in your essays.”

 

At university I studied languages and literature, then interpreting, and eventually I chose a less academic, more practical path, diving into digital marketing. But books have never left me. From self-help to spirituality, from romance to the classics, all the way to marketing and psychology texts. In 2021 I started recording all my readings on Goodreads, so I wouldn’t forget those lines that kept echoing in my mind without remembering their origin.

 

I have a slightly obsessive habit: the books and films I love, I reread and rewatch endlessly. They are my anchor, my compass.

 

And here I am today. In July I was laid off. I didn’t fight it, because I felt my path there was over: I had learned all I could, and it was time to turn the page. Now I have six months to try to build my own way: writing, translating, working with books, creating my own projects. In six months, I’ll take stock.

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But I know one thing: I’ve read enough stories to understand that this is my moment. In January, we’ll see where I stand.