#Books

A bookshelf is a piece of furniture that silently displays one's hoarded knowledge and unaddressed ambitions. It usually serves as mere décor, only to be dusted off when needed. It exposes both the owner's grand ambitions and lack of planning, arrogantly asserting its authority. Often more graveyard than library, it whispers the fragments of life stories through its silent rows.

A public library is a grand hall that proclaims free access to all knowledge while binding visitors to strict return deadlines. Patrons seek silence but endure the trials of their neighbor's coughs and interminable checkout lines. The much-vaunted digitalization still lives side by side with archaic card catalogs, turning the path to knowledge into a labyrinth. Open to everyone, it mirrors the paradox of equitable information distribution by ensuring that the most popular books are always on loan.

Reading is the self-indulgent ritual by which idle souls seek salvation in printed ink. The act of stacking books is the pinnacle of self-satisfaction, while actually reading them is nothing more than a battle with sleep. The more one flips pages in pursuit of knowledge, the more real-life hours quietly vanish. Library silence becomes the perfect alibi for one’s inability to focus. The spines on a bookshelf are the con artists promising ‘someday I’ll read this’ ad infinitum.