How I Felt When I Sold My Comic Book Collection
When Sentimentality Meets Practicality
For a bookworm like me, parting with books is like saying goodbye to old friends or, more dramatically, losing a piece of your soul. It's a heart-wrenching experience, to say the least.
I mean, our first literary adventures are etched in our memory, like those unforgettable bedtime stories or the first novels we ever devoured. Even if we can't recall every plot detail, they hold a special place in our hearts.
However, there came a fateful day in my life when a council of judges (okay, just my family in the living room) donned their imaginary wigs to decide the fate of my thoroughly read, spine-broken, dusty comic books resting in carton boxes.
After much debate and contemplation, the jury delivered a unanimous verdict — “Yes”, and I reluctantly cast my vote along with them. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and we observed a one-minute silence in the books' honor.
We needed the money, and in 2020, my six-year comic book collection was practically paying our monthly electricity bill, approximately $82.
Did I feel like a traitor? Absolutely. Was I being greedy? You bet. But did it keep me up at night? It sure did.
But what I haven’t shared until now is the story behind these cherished books.
My mom used to buy me a new book once every two months, and collecting them over those years was a cherished ritual. It was an awaited day when we’d go together to acquire those books. It was a bonding experience that I looked forward to eagerly. I couldn’t help but feel remorse, though.
After all, I was a fan of my collection, which consisted of over 40+ comics and 12 treasured Goosebumps books, all of which I eventually decided to part with.
It's been more than two long years since the sale, but every time I gaze at my bookshelf, a peculiar emptiness lingers. Even though it's filled with countless other books, that void remains.
It makes me question my decision on that day. I knew it was a practical necessity, but it was as if the missing words from those books were suspended in the air.
There's one particular word, often used in the Tinkle comics, that seems to taunt me— “Nincompoop”. I kid you not. I didn't even get to find out what happened in the sequel, ‘Dr. Robert vs. Robert Schwartz’. At the most random moments, I find myself wondering about the unresolved storyline.
It's as if life presents us with moral crossroads, where the most difficult path aligns with the morally right one. These moments make you pause and sigh, recognizing that the choices we make, even when they seem tough, often align with what is fundamentally right and just.
In the end, parting with my beloved comic book collection was a tough but unavoidable choice. While the shelf may look different now, with new stories and novels, I've come to realize that it's not just about the books themselves but the cherished memories and experiences they held.
The missing pieces on that shelf may never be fully replaced, but they serve as a reminder of the valuable lessons learned.
It's a reminder that life's library is ever-expanding, and with each chapter we close, another one opens. So, here's to new adventures, stories, and perhaps, a lesson or two from the missing pages.
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