𝐃 𝐗 𝐌 𝐈 𝐍 𝐈 𝐐

From where I’m sitting, there’s a clear view of some buildings and roads threading through this part of Oakland. I’ve found myself in the main building of the Oakland Public Library, tucked away on the second floor, in the Newspaper and Magazine Room. I came here in search of a reliable table and chair, something sturdy enough to support both my body and the weight of the oversized book I’m trying to annotate. But I’m also here for the ambiance.

At home, my dog Benny is lovingly insistent, always pawing for attention, which makes it almost impossible to concentrate. I needed silence. A little solitude. A space where the world didn’t expect anything from me except to think.

There’s a particular comfort in walking through the library’s aging hallways, the air faintly scented with dust and paper. It reminds me of the old government offices and public school buildings I used to pass through back in Manila, with dimly lit corridors, slow-turning ceiling fans, and wood worn smooth by decades of touch.

We only had two hours on the parking meter, and a part of me regretted not spending at least half of that time exploring the archives instead of just studying. There’s always next time, I told myself.