I’ve been lucky in my life to travel with my family. But every place I go, I’ve brought one too many books with me. My father will lift my backpack and frown and say, “This is too heavy. You shouldn’t have brought so many.” He doesn’t even need to ask, he knows I’ve brought more books than I’ll read. But I don’t really see that as a bad thing.

I’ve been able to landmark my life and the places I’ve traveled through the books I’ve read. It marks a different time in my life and where I was, physically and mentally, while reading it.

For example, when I was in seventh grade I had only discovered romance, really. I thought love stories existed exclusively in bodice rippers and dystopian novels. I got my romance fill from The Hunger Games and Shatter Me. I was too young and too shy to venture into the Barnes and Noble aisles with real people on the cover, women in flowing dresses and shirtless men. We were visiting Chicago for the first time to tour colleges for my brother. The night before our big drive (because we rarely ever flew anywhere if we could drive it), my mom took my sister and me to Target to buy some essentials and clothes for the trip. Obviously, I went into the book aisle. It’s where I bought The Selection box set and my first Kasie West book. I read the first two books in The Selection series in the car ride from Tennessee to Chicago and I finished THe One in a TJMaxx shoe section, smiling until my cheeks hurt. I quickly finished The Fill-in Boyfriend and begged my mom to take me to the Barnes and Noble downtown.

The summer before my sophomore year, I was Going Through It TM, and really only read books with very somber narrations. I only read about girls who were sad because I was sad and I didn’t really know how to deal with it. We were on a cruise going to different countries in Europe, and on the stop before Bari, Italy, I was sitting outside with my sister and I read Mosquitoland by David Arnold. There was a hint of romance, because there was no real way for me to escape it, but it was a really touching coming of age story comprised of a girl’s letters to an unknown person. Once we got off the ship, I bought a leather-bound notebook to write my own diary and I’ve written in it nearly every day since.

The summer going into my junior year, I decided I wanted to be Dignified and read High Class Literature. So I read East of Eden by John Steinbeck. While I think the canon is a ridiculous notion as it’s mainly comprised of cis white men and excludes the narrations of women and people of color throughout history…I still loved East of Eden. It began my James Dean obsession and my absolute interest with the word “timshel.” I read it on a family trip to the beach, right next to my aunt who helped me love to read. Together, we sat facing the ocean, licking the tips of our fingers and turning pages in unison.

We always visit my family in Peru during the New Year. My lito and lita (what we call my abuelitos), always rent a van out for the family and drive us to places we’ve never been to site see. I was sitting in the very back of the van when I began Helen Hoang’s Kiss Quotient. I thought it was a YA romance novel so color me freaking surprised by like chapter three. I was trying very hard not to react as we drove around Lima, Peru but my jaw was dropping and I was introduced to adult romances.

All of these instances mark where I’ve traveled and who I was at the time. The way books always do. I read Ready Player One on a trip to Disney World for a boy who ended up breaking my heart. I read The Strand by Stephen King on a small trip to Morristown when I gave the boy a second chance and he offered to read it alongside me. I was a different girl then than I am now. I finished five books on my recent trip to Egypt. All adult romances, all read with rapid intensity and speed. I wish I knew what the hallmark of my life is now. Perhaps instead of discovering my love for romance, I’ve solidified it. I expanded it to include not only contemporary but darker and historical ones. I think it’s impossible to know where I am in life until I’ve already got past it. But to be fair, I’m not sure anyone knows where they are in life at just 20.

What I’m getting at, is there’s this notion that you should feel bad for reading while on vacation. You should be soaking up every single minute that the vacation or the place you’ve traveled offers and not spending time doing anything else, much less reading a book. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told. But there are times in lines for rides at Disney World. There are car rides to and from airports and hotels, there are five minutes you have before bed. There are even moments when you’ve finished eating your dinner and somehow the conversation has dwindled and everyone’s pulled out their phone. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with pulling out a book.