As the new year approached, I made no definite promise to myself that I would read a certain number of books. For Christmas, I bought myself 11 new (used) books. I decided to be gentle with myself and whatever expectations I had for 2025. 2024 drained me severely. I spent 2024 vacillating between bouts of depression and insecurity, unable to stay still and unfettered. The end of 2024 marked the end of a distinct period of my life, and I’ve learned to be grateful for everything after. 2025, I thought, would be my year of recovery. (My Year of Rest and Relaxation, if you will.) I was patient and slow, pushing myself to read, and I eventually surpassed the goal I created for myself in the middle of the year of reading 25 books, reading 33 instead.
It felt as though for the past year, I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. I couldn’t catch my breath, nor could I run anymore. I spent long, fatigued periods in my bed. Through a few videos on YouTube, I discovered Plato’s philosophy of self-actualization, and I learned not to judge the feeling of failure that burned my lungs. I haven’t done anything that most people would consider successful for the past few years, but 2025 was the most stable I had felt in a while. I was self-assured and gradually came to realize my capabilities.
Some of the books I mentioned in my last anecdotal piece, Confessions of Summer, are in my 2026 to-be-read pile. I am most excited for The Brothers Karamazov, as I’ve kept it aside for years now. Reading has become the most perdurable part of my identity, connecting me to my estranged childhood self and taking new form as my love for writing. Like Donna Tartt said during her interview with Charlie Rose in 1992, “Ever since I was a little girl, I always loved to read books, and I thought ‘what a wonderful thing… If I could just read books all day…’ but writing is even more wonderful because it’s a deeper level of involvement.”
Rather than making a list of the books I read and talking through them individually, or talking about the overarching lesson I’ve learned from the books I’ve read this year and how that relates to my struggles during 2024, I’d like to dote on my love for literature and the people around me. When I was little, my father would take me to the library up to four times a week, making sure I had plenty of books and movies to stay entertained as he worked. When I turned thirteen, my dad came to me with a pile of books and had me read them over the summer. This contained books like Animal Farm, East of Eden, and The Abolition of Man. My dad always pushed me to read more.
I mentioned my growing experience with writing, and I, of course, need to mention the people who made my growth possible. Firstly, my father, who inspired my love for the English subject and has always been willing to proofread essays which have never seen the light of day. Yasmine Sakr, who has made publishing my work possible and helped me improve my writing tenfold. Before joining the Perspective and meeting Yasmine, everything I wrote was autofiction. I’m a little ashamed of it, but it’s the easiest to write because it doesn’t involve me abstracting outside my own creativity. I can use my own thoughts and loosely base a story on a period or event in my life. Yasmine, however, gently encouraged the staff as a group to work outside our comfort zone and has been nothing short of accommodating and helpful throughout my time working for the Perspective. Kyla Crane, who similarly helped me improve my writing and analysis. And Mary Lopez-Furlong, who has consistently given me the motivation and support to keep writing.
As I began writing this personal essay, lying in my bed and trying to focus over the noise of my siblings playing together in the room next door, my grandmother sent me a picture of myself. She texted me this image along with the message, “10 years ago today! What a sweet girl!” My first instinct was to look at the picture and cringe at the awkward, gap-tooth smile I had on my face, along with the fringe, bowl-cut style bangs stuck to my forehead (courtesy of my dad’s hair-cutting capabilities). But I looked at the photo for a moment longer than I would look at any picture of myself; I thought about how you can’t control how other people have or will treat you, but you can choose how you treat yourself, and why wouldn’t that be with patience and kindness? Whatever occurred between when that picture was taken and now shouldn’t deter me from treating myself like some of the best people in my life have; people like my close family, my friends, and some amazing peers who have encouraged me to grow and change.
