My wall is a quiet museum.
Three images stare back at me every day: Pulp Fiction, Game of Thrones, and The Shawshank Redemption. To someone else, they might look like ordinary posters of famous stories. To me, they are not decorations. They are mirrors, compasses, and small storms of meaning.
They stayed because they answered questions I hadn’t learned to ask yet.
Pulp Fiction: chaos wearing sunglasses
Pulp Fiction belongs to the kingdom of beautiful disorder.
Nothing behaves. Timelines jump, conversations wander, fate gets distracted, and yet everything lands with an odd sense of inevitability. It reminds me that life rarely follows a syllabus. People arrive out of order. Love happens at inconvenient times. Redemption hides in jokes and strange breakfasts.
That photo stands for my messy chapters:
- late night conversations that changed my trajectory
- decisions that made no sense on paper but rewired my life
- the fact that style can be sincerity too
It whispers: you don’t have to be linear to be meaningful.
And every time I feel lost, it smirks in Tarantino energy and says, “Good. Now it gets interesting.”
Game of Thrones: power, wounds, and crowns we never asked to wear
Game of Thrones is not on my wall because of dragons.
It is there because of human weather.
Ambition, loyalty, betrayal, love that arrives with knives, wounds that turn into thrones. This story understands that families are complicated planets and that power always asks the same question: what will you sacrifice to keep me?
That picture reminds me:
- people can be heroic and broken in the same sentence
- honor is expensive, but self betrayal costs more
- sometimes the quiet characters hold whole kingdoms inside them
It is a study in consequences.
It is also a reminder that you don’t always choose your role. Sometimes the role chooses you, and you either grow into it or get eaten by your own shadow.
The Shawshank Redemption: hope that digs with a spoon
And then there is Shawshank.
This one is different. The room changes temperature around it.
It is not loud. It does not shout. It endures. It is the voice that breathes beside you when everything else collapses and says, with impossible gentleness:
“Get busy living, or get busy dying.”
That photo is the emblem of quiet rebellion:
- writing letters until the stone finally answers
- digging your freedom one small day at a time
- refusing to let walls decide who you are
Hope here is not naive. It has scars, calluses, and dirt under its nails.
It crawls through darkness and still chooses sunlight.
So why do I have them?
Because together they describe my internal map.
- Pulp Fiction is my chaos
- Game of Thrones is my conflict
- Shawshank Redemption is my hope
One teaches me that life will never be tidy.
One teaches me that power, love, and pain are braided.
One teaches me that even in the deepest night, a slow, stubborn light is possible.
They are not just films and shows. They are verbs in my life:
To risk.
To fight.
To endure.
And maybe that’s the real answer.
I don’t keep these photos because I love the stories.
I keep them because they quietly insist that I become one.
