Escaping to Somewhere That Isn’t Here

Lately, I’ve been spending more time in made-up worlds than in the real one. Not that I ever really felt like I fit here anyway.

Every time I read a book—or scroll through a chapter of a manga, manhwa, or webtoon—I start to feel something I don’t feel often in my day-to-day life: connection.
Not to people around me. Not to the world I wake up in.
But to characters who don’t know I exist.
To stories that aren’t real, but feel more meaningful than anything happening outside my window.

It sounds silly when I type it out. Like, “Who gets attached to fictional characters like that?” But I do. I really do.
It’s more than just reading. It’s living through someone else—someone braver, smarter, funnier, or sometimes just more broken in the same ways I feel broken. I don’t just observe their lives from a distance—I feel like I’m walking beside them.
Like I’m a silent friend no one sees, watching them struggle, cheering them on, hurting when they hurt.
Sometimes I even wish I could switch places.

Fantasy, especially, gives me room to breathe.
Not because it’s all dragons and swords and magic.
But because it makes sense in a way that life doesn’t.
There’s usually a reason behind the pain in those stories. A purpose. A goal. A moment when the chaos is worth something.

Here? In this life?
I wake up. I feel tired. I scroll through headlines filled with hate, with loss, with people being awful to each other.
I hear people talking about careers, relationships, dreams, as if we’re all playing the same game and I’m just holding the wrong controller.
I feel like I’m lagging behind.
And I’m tired of pretending like I’m okay with it.

That’s why I read so much.
That’s why I binge series late into the night, even when I know I’ll regret it when the sun comes up.
Because when I read, I can disappear.
I can exist in a world that doesn’t hurt in the same way. A world where someone like me might actually have a place.
Where being loyal means something. Where effort is rewarded. Where bonds matter. Where someone like me doesn’t just fade into the background.

I don’t talk about this much.
People might think I’m being dramatic. Or antisocial. Or lazy.
But this is how I cope. This is how I stay afloat.

When I close the book or scroll to the end of the chapter, I always feel it—that sinking feeling. That reminder that I have to come back.
Back to bills, responsibilities, silence, and expectations I don’t know how to meet.
But even if the feeling doesn’t last forever, those moments inside the story… they matter to me.

They give me a break from pretending.
A break from the noise.
A place to rest my thoughts where no one can interrupt them.

So if you ever wonder why I spend so much time reading, this is why.
I’m not avoiding life.
I’m just trying to survive it—one chapter at a time.