Tired of the Online Cesspit? Reading Fiction is the Cure

Facts don’t convince people. Stories do. Read fiction — it will change your life for the better.

It was a lazy Sunday morning and I thought of washing the dishes. Why not be a good son for once?

I was about to roll out of bed when I heard my mom shout.

“JJ! You better wash the dishes!”

I’d rather die than wash anything now.

I don’t understand. One moment, I was ready to do my chores. But now that those chores are forced on me, I’m suddenly resistant. I don’t like being told what to do.

Am I a terrible human being?

Humans are rebellious by nature. We don’t like it when our egos are threatened. We like to play pretend — to be in control over a world that we have no control over. Maybe we hold onto our egos so tightly because we’re insecure about our lives.

The less control we feel, the more ego-driven we become.

And this is precisely why reading fiction is such an important human activity. Reading fiction short-circuits our ego. It allows us to experience and embrace new perspectives without feeling patronized or threatened.

When we read fiction, we’re not “told what to believe”. No dogma is shoved down our throats. Instead, we become partners with the author. We’re fellow world-builders. The author’s story becomes our story.

Reading Books is the Antidote for Today’s Cortisol-Fuelled Online Cesspit

Facts don’t convince people.

Every time I witness an online fight on Instagram, Facebook, and Youtube… I’m reminded of this shameful truth — humans are idiots.

Me too.

We love to weave fantasies. We puff ourselves as rational, logical beings. We say we’ve got a plan.

Yet when the economy goes kaput — we panic. We worry when the stock market crashes. We fall prey to slick marketing and buy things we don’t want or even need.

We’re human.

When people fight, it’s not about the facts. It’s about their egos and their beliefs. When facts are presented, it’s an affront to who we are as individuals, goddamnit! We’re not good at separating arguments with our identities.

Disagree with what I say? — Translation: You think I’m an idiot? This is a personal attack. Well **** you too!

Have factual evidence that supports your point? — Translation: You think I’m an idiot? This is a personal attack. Well **** you too!

That’s basically 99% of all human conflicts — ego versus ego.

Facts don’t convince people. Stories do. (Religion is a prime example.)

Reading is important because it requires engagement. When you watch a movie on Netflix, you can easily zone out and multitask. When you listen to someone talking, you can tune out and jump back in.

But if you don’t participate in the book, the story goes nowhere.

If you don’t flip the page, you’ll never know what happens next.

Reading requires you to give and take — you are not just absorbing information thrown at you. You have to participate in the story. The author says “here’s something interesting”, and you can choose to keep reading or throw the book out the window.

Why bother reading books?

Jumping to conclusions has never been easier in today’s bite-sized world. But unlike the cult of now, books take time to read. And that’s a good thing.

There’s a subversive delight in taking your time. A forbidden pleasure in giving life the middle-finger and enjoying a story at your own pace. More importantly, the slower speed of reading books allows you to digest, think, and form your own opinions.

When you read books, you’re not overstimulated by the flavour-of-the-moment. You’re safe. It’s a sanctuary where you can engage with the book in peace.

Nobody’s watching your clicks. No algorithm's tracking you (yet).

Fiction Makes You a Better Human Because It Bypasses Your Ego

Fiction is the truth.

When I read non-fiction, I’m constantly questioning its validity — Where are the sources? What’s the author’s intention? Is there a hidden agenda here, trying to get me to buy something or to think a certain way?

Fiction is different. I know it’s not “true”, so I can focus on the story.

And yet, I can relate to fiction so much more. I can’t remember the details of all the self-improvement, psychology, and business books I’ve read over the years. But I can still remember what happened in Narnia, Artemis Fowl, and The Golden Compass.

Why? Because humans think in narratives.

When I read fiction, I stop thinking with my brain and start reading with my heart.

I don’t care whether the story makes sense or not. I care about how the story makes me feel. I care about whether I’m interested in continuing.

It’s a bittersweet moment — when I stop judging, I’m finally free to live.

I’m a 26-Year-Old Asian Man and I’m Also a 15-Year-Old Dominican Woman

I’m preaching the gospel of fiction because I recently read an amazing book: Dominicana by Angie Cruz.

I’m terrible at summarizing, so I’ll steal a piece from the book’s blurb:

“Fifteen-year-old Ana Canción never dreamed of moving to America, the way the girls she grew up with in the Dominican countryside did. But when Juan Ruiz proposes and promises to take her to New York City, she must say yes.

It doesn’t matter that he is twice her age or that there is no love between them.

Their marriage is an opportunity for her entire close-knit family to eventually immigrate. So on New Year’s Day, 1965, Ana leaves behind everything she knows and becomes Ana Ruiz, a wife confined to a cold sixth-floor walk-up in Washington Heights.

Lonely and miserable, Ana hatches a reckless plan to escape. But at the bus terminal, she is stopped by César, Juan’s free-spirited younger brother, who convinces her to stay.”

— Dominicana, Angie Cruz

Honestly, Dominicana is not the kind of book I would normally read. Even though Narnia is what got me into reading back in 4th grade, I barely read fiction nowadays. I always tell myself that I’ve got no time — fiction isn’t a worthwhile investment. I’ve got to keep learning, keep hustling, keep growing.

I was wrong.

Through Ana’s eyes, I got to experience life as an initially timid, and then increasingly powerful Dominican girl as she becomes a woman in an alien land. I’m Ana as she leaves behind everything familiar to tackle a world where nobody can be trusted.

I’ll never live life as a young Dominican woman in the 1960s — but through Dominicana, I can, and I have.

“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies.

The man who never reads lives only one.”

— George R. R. Martin.

Dominicana taught me without teaching. I’m not a woman. I’m not a first-generation immigrant. Intellectually, I’ve always known how tough it must be to be in Ana’s shoes — but I couldn’t relate. I couldn’t empathize.

Frankly, before reading Dominicana, I didn’t really care.

Ana’s story would just have been another statistic. Another immigrant, another woman. She would have been a side note — a number I’d read in a history book or Wikipedia article… and then quickly forget.

Here’s an excerpt from Dominicana that stood out.

For context: Ana’s pregnant and César just lost his job, even though he’s done nothing wrong. They’re illegal immigrants, after all — what rights do they have?

“I lunge for the basket, stumbling and then falling on my side away from César. A man with a briefcase trips over me and accidentally kicks my leg, and yells, Get the fuck out of the way!

Fuck you! César yells, and punches the man in the jaw.

No! I struggle to get back on my feet.

A police officer appears behind César, grabs him by the shirt collar, twists his arm, and throws him to the ground. I scream as his boot presses on César’s neck.

Leave him alone! I want to say. You’re hurting him! Why don’t you arrest the asshole boss who screwed him?

But Sister Lucía covered none of these words in English class.

[…]

The crowd watches him as if César is some criminal.

I yell, I hate you all! You don’t know him!

I show my teeth to a crowd that seems pleased by the policeman having caught a black man. An illegal man. A criminal who robbed or killed someone.

I hate you! I continue to scream. You don’t know what it’s like for us.

How hard it is trying to survive in this big city. How many times César has been screwed, even if he always walks in a straight line.”

— Dominicana, Angie Cruz (Page 241–242)

I still won’t ever know how it feels to be a Dominican woman immigrating to the United States in the 1960s.

I won’t ever know what it’s like to be a woman who is trapped in an abusive relationship, bound by duty. I won’t ever know what it’s like to sacrifice everything, move to a new country in hope of a better life, and be treated like animals.

But having seen the world through Ana’s eyes, now I care — They’re not just statistics on the news. They’re real people.

They’re human beings just like you and me.

That’s the power of fiction.

Fiction allows you to engage with new perspectives that you would otherwise never think about. It allows you to develop empathy and compassion for things you wouldn’t normally care about. It allows you to bypass your ego and realize that it’s not always about you.

Grab your favourite beverage. Snuggle in a soft blanket and get comfortable.

You deserve it.

Read.