Living Teal

I have had a hard time dealing with reality, tending to always find solace in the comforting world of fiction. In enchanting tales of magic and in vivid stories of places unknown. Growing up, there was no other book that satiated my hunger for adventure and exploration like "Secret Island" did. The story of four kids discovering a secluded island in a beautiful lake, protected from the real world, caught my imagination every time I read it. In the later years, this was replaced by the mystic lores of the boy who lived. My favourite escape from the daily doldrums of doing homework and other petty issues of that time. Dark and dingy alleys, leaky cauldrons, murky quills and candlelit hallways made clean and shiny seem totally obsolete.  Rowling's universe of chocolate frogs, moving pictures and every flavour beans became so profoundly convincing that it was inevitable for it to not pour some of its magic into my earthly endeavours. Little does my mother know, that I used to...