I held tight to my mother as we walked through a set of large, wooden doors. They opened with a creak and then we were inside a vast space; the library. I stood there in awe for a moment before letting go of her hand.
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Revisiting spaces from your childhood is a lesson in time. A part of you expects everything to look a certain way, give you a certain feeling, but most often, that’s not the case. This past weekend, I went back to a public library that my mother often whisked me to when I was a child. I remember our trips fondly, with me running off to explore new things to read. I particularly enjoyed the large wall of DVDs that seemed to tower above me. In order to contain my ambition to read and watch all the library had to offer, my mother had specific rules for our visits.
1) I could pick two DVDs. One for fun and the other didactic. Think documentaries, learning videos, etc.
2) We’d both individually pick books to read together and then take additional ones home.
On longer visits, we’d pluck a bag from a colorful wall, which contained a book and some activities that the librarians kindly put together for families. Whether it was coloring, doing a puzzle together, or making a craft, I enjoyed these immensely. It wasn’t until I was much older that I began to understand a second purpose to these visits.
From an early age, books became my world. Anywhere I went, I was never without a precious tome tucked under my arms or in a bag. This deep love for reading was noticed by my teachers and especially by my mother.
Before she immigrated to the US, my mother graduated from university to become a teacher. She too had a love of books and wanted to encourage others to learn. However, getting married changed her priorities and after moving to a foreign country, her degree was not fully accepted here. During this time, she became pregnant with me and had to focus on making a living to support her family instead of pursuing further education. But, when I was born, she put all of her teaching skills to use in raising me to be a reader. Throughout my childhood, there were many obstacles we faced as a family, but escaping to the library melted every fear. In that space we were both united in pursuit of our love for knowledge. I often say that stories saved me but it was also the space of the library.
Libraries are beloved third-spaces, places that aren’t your home (first) or the workplace (second). These temporalities allow relief from the oftentimes oppressive expectations and humming of societal life. Looking back, I am grateful that my connection to these spaces started at such a young age. As I would grow up, I’d have a kinship with every librarian at the schools I passed through. With their guidance, I became famous for conquering reading challenges in schools and checking out multiple bags of books at a time. These individuals advocated for my needs, encouraged my growth, and were kind friends during my turbulent youth. If magic exists in any school, it’s probably in the library. ✨
I’m 26 now and standing in front of that first library where the reading arrow pierced my heart. The wooden doors still creak and then I find myself in front of a wall of DVDs. It’s no longer towering above me. In fact, looking around, everything seems much smaller than I remember. There’s a bittersweet touch to visiting spaces from your childhood. While the space hasn’t really changed, I realized that I have. But then, I see the activity bags hanging from the wall. The worn tables where I learned to play chess. Walnut bookshelves in the horror section where I’d escape to read ghost stories. And it all comes back. Being in this space I’m transformed into the moment when Proust’s tea-soaked madeleine seemingly opens a portal to the past. Traveling through time.
Grabbing a book off a nearby shelf, I settled into a cushioned chair. And in the wisps of remembrance, I hear the sound of pages turning and the laughter of a girl among the bookshelves.
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— Crystal
twotwiceknown 