the pathos and the bookshelf

04.09.25

There’s a cute little bookshelf in my room that I find myself constantly taking pictures of. My mom got it for me before she went on vacation in October 2024. There’s a beautiful pathos plant sitting at the top in a blue ceramic pot that grows and stretches and climbs down the side. I think she is grateful for the stability the shelf brings. This shelf sits next to a window that is always bringing sunshine to it’s edge’s and the tips and tops of my pathos. There are little seashells sitting on the second shelf down that I collected on a trip to Montauk. Little treasures perfectly placed on all of it’s levels.

When my parents returned from their vacation at the end of 2024, they decided it was best that they separate. Which means in about a year and a half this bedroom that has brought me peace, comfort and stability, will no longer be mine. The bookshelf will no longer face me in my sleep and my pathos might have a new home. No longer being able to climb down its best friend.

Looking at this bookshelf, nostalgia creeps in like a sickness. There were about 10 different versions of me that purchased books from self-help and psychology to sci-fi and post-apocalyptic novels. In actuality, this bookshelf holds many phases of Nadia. Retreating into literature that is not my own has been peaceful and daunting.

Therefore, I constantly take pictures of the pathos and the bookshelf. I do not want to forget how the sun hits them both at 7:30 in the morning on a Wednesday in April. Or how they both face me when the sun is setting and I am reading in bed. Or how I stretch my body on the yoga mat, imitating my not-so-little plant. Sometimes the only stability we can guarantee is the one we provide ourselves. So I’m sorry pathos and I’m sorry to you my beautiful bookshelf, keeper of memories. We will have a new home soon.