The whole thing became a bit more emotional than intended. I swear that when I started I didn't mean to whine so much. There are some things I have been going through and had not processed and sorting through my books forced me to confront them. It was surprinsingly introspective.
For years, I've read mainly on my e-reader. My old physical books are still back at my parents' place. So what fills the shelves in my apartment now? This library, built these last years, what is it made of?
Well, I found out. Presents from my ex, from her family, from friends I havent seen in a while. Memories from trips. Second hand books with small annotations meant for someone else. Old books from dad, mom, grandma (the whole Quijote collection was hers, actually).
The only book I bought myself, new, is diseño indígena. Then I got a some second-hand ones, and handfull printed locally. But the rest? All gifts from friends, family and partners. Almost a museum of past and present relationships.
Im moving places soon. Maybe some of these books will have to stay in boxes, stored for some years until it hurts a bit less to look at them. The ones in Danish are an obvious choice, since they remind me of my ex. But it's kind of a flex to have Åndernes Hus sitting on my livning room, to be honest. We'll see.
This was everything for this jam. Thanks for passing by.