The Silence of the Shelf

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The shelf has three tiers, and each one carries its own quiet story. At the very top are my bags, and right beside them, a wig—its presence quietly waiting. In the corner, a pencil holder, filled with pens ready to write my story. On the shelf beneath the bags are my perfumes. Each bottle holds a whisper from the past, a hidden memory. Even a single drop says, “I am still here.” Across from the perfumes are my books: the ones I’ve read and those connected to Kurdistan. Getting lost among their pages is like taking a breath in my silent world. The books hear the words I cannot tell anyone, they heal my wounds. One tier down, my makeup and brushes. On the side, my jewelry—small but radiant with confidence. Every glance in the mirror creates moments where I can say, “Yes, this is me.” On the bottom tier, a night lamp in the colors of the LGBT flag. Next to it, a small earring box and a bottle of LGBT essence—quiet but bold reminders of my identity. Its light, its color, the presence of the water… they all tell me, “You are here, you are free.” Amid it all, a silence remains; it neither shouts nor is completely still. It simply whispers: “Trust sometimes does not grow in others, but in the small world you have built for yourself.”