Carrel 12

'Can I get key to Carrel 12?'

Over the past two years, it was the phrase that I used to begin a day's work in the JBM library. Sometimes, it was the only phrase that I would utter during the entire day, while the rest of the time simply fell in silence.

Beneath the humble request for assistance that this question implied was actually a privilege, a privilege that allowed me to enjoy a secluded and private space on campus. It granted me a secret pleasure of being alone among books and in the library crowd.

My carrel overlooked a meadow adjacent to the library. The lawn featured budding plants in spring, starry daisies and sun-bathing people in summer, golden leaves in autumn, and freezing emptiness in winter. The apple tree had been amazingly productive laden with fruits every autumn. Most apples remained on the tree throughout the harvest season, rotten or randomly pecked by birds, and fell on the ground when winter came. These trees best exemplified the seasonal poetics of time, cyclic and repetitive.



The nocturnal beauty of the view was mysterious. The dim light that emanated from the concrete building of the library drew thin and glistening contours of objects that were apparently visible in daylight. At night, standing in the study room, one didn't see the outside as much as s/he saw her-/himself. Sometimes before I locked up the carrel to go home, perhaps enchanted by the darkness, I would gaze through the window pan and look to the depth of the sky. I gazed as if I would see anything at all; yet in the end, I realized that I saw nothing but my own reflection on the windowpane. No matter how far my eyes had managed to trace the traffic flow that was delineated by moving dots of light, eventually I was guided to see my own image that was just an inch away on the glass.

It felt like an exercise of contemplation by which thoughts about the world eventually bounced back to the subject. This trajectory of logic--the dialectical relationship between subject and object--would continue without exit.

After the end of my university registration, I am no longer entitled to this pleasure of feeling securely alone. The key to this private space was returned for good. Yesterday when I saw the name of a new owner of the carrel, I think I forced a smile to disguise my feeling of loss.