Two years ago I bought a Kindle, couldn’t stop praising the concept, and provoking ink lovers around me. “Digital books are taking over” I use to say.

Recently, my Kindly stopped working, and I felt like an idiot. I tried to factory reset it, rebooted it a thousand times. No way to fix my issue. Unlike some Amazon customers, I won’t send it to get another one for free, invoking some weird malfunction instead of mentioning the fact I dropped it a few times.

Instead, I actually chose to buy books, again.

My Kindle’s death allowed me to re-discover the joy of reading on paper. Carrying a book everywhere actually feels good. Turning pages feels good. And owning stuff I can share feels good.

When my brother started buying vinyls again, he wanted to get away from the digital madness, he wanted to enjoy every single second of every single disc he’d buy. When I bought my Kindle, I started snacking books, reading some interesting stuff, and some less interesting stuff but surely, stopped thinking much before making a purchase. All that for what? Some bits of data stored on Amazon’s servers, which I can access via a Kindle device only.

The good thing with books; they are truly mobile, shareable, durable, editable, reliable, tangible. And on top of that, they smell nice.