There is something about words, something fluid, warm, recognisable and true. Just a short while ago I was again reminded of my love for anything written, and how it more than likely, came to be. Early on in life, I was already a dedicated library-lover. Living above one eased the path towards it, and it definitely turned me into a bibliophile. Countless hours and days were spent walking around in it, searching and nurturing books. When my Dutch language teacher put me on the spot when I was 14 years old, he made me admit blame for a silly grammatical mistake in front of the whole class, asking me if I had any dictionaries at home, and if so, why they weren’t on my desk when I wrote that particular essay. While…