The Twelfth Floor
I took the elevator up to the eleventh floor. I had the call numbers of a certain book ready in my hand. My last academic semester was finally over and I had just finished my final exams; it was time to get started on my summer reading list. Once I got to the tweflth floor, the elevator doors slowly disappeared into either side of the wall and in front of me emerged an impressive collection of books. The twelfth floor was redolent of old books. It consisted of alphabetically organised corridors stemming out from the foyer in front of the elevators. Taking in the waft of old parchments and book covers, I smiled as I stood in one of the most impressive and elaborate libraries in the entire city.
The call number in my hand began with PJ78... and I forget the rest of the figures. Looking around, I found the corridor designated PJ and began walking towards it. With the end of the academic semester already passed, students had vacated the city and the library was quite and tranquil. I could hear my own footsteps as I approached corridor PJ. The bookshelves that rested in the corridor were laden with old but seemingly untouched books. The spines of the books were mostly annotated with Arabic letters; other spines had Latin letters on them but were combined to form words that are not native to the English language. Corridor PJ was home to a unique set of books, making it an anomaly to the rest of the books in the library. Moreover, in a library that was located in the heart of a predominantly Anglo-American city, it was impressive that corridor PJ, and the books therein, had even existed there.
As I neared the dark corridor I noticed that a light at the end of the corridor was lit. Once I stepped into the territory of corridor PJ, the neon lights above my head immediately lit up. The library had installed censored lights in its corridors that turn on once an individual is detected within the corridor. Looking down the corridor I saw a woman sitting on a stool and examining a set of books that she had picked up from the shelves. Her presence was unexpected as PJ was indeed “not on the map” in the library. An anomaly in its right, it was often bypassed by the students within the library. I went about my business, collecting the book I desired based on the call number in my hand. Once I had found what I was looking for, I departed from the corridor and left the woman to enjoy PJ, once again, in solitude. A few moments later I heard a voice call behind me saying: “This library has quite an impressive collection of Arabic books.” I turned around and saw the woman walking a few steps behind me. She smiled kindly and I reciprocated. I noted, “Yes, it really does! It’s a wonderful library, the largest in the country.” The woman asked me if I could help her find a particular set of books. She was looking for books written in Arabic and was having trouble finding the call numbers on the online server seeing as the keyboards only had Latin letters on them. She said, “I am looking for books by the author Nijmeh Hajjar.” I tried a couple of different key words on the search bar to find the books she desired. I asked her what the books were about and who the author was and she replied saying, “Well, I am the author.” It was an incredibly unique moment. I had never met the author of a set of scholarly books before under such circumstances. She explained to me that she was in the city for a conference and is flying back to her residence in just a few days. She told me that she was the Chair of Arabic and Islamic Studies at the university she taught at. We exchanged our backgrounds and I asked her about how she had liked the city so far. In the midst of our discussion we came to learn that we were both Lebanese. Ms. Najjar has written books on a Lebanese-American poet that I was not familiar with until I met her. The poet’s name is Ameen Rihani and he was part of a dialogue that tried to engage East and West. He sought to bring ideals of liberation and unity back to the Arab world through his work and his literature.
After meeting Ms. Najjar I decided to borrow her book from Ameen Rihani from the library. I told Ms. Najjar that being part of a Lebanese youth diaspora, it often difficult to connect to our country because I lived so far away from it all my life. In this disposition, I found my connection with Ameen Rihani. In that moment, I realised more than ever, that I am going through the same struggle that Rihani went through even though I did not know him or live in his time. Struggles for identity, peace and democracy transcend religion and time. From one Lebanese citizen to another, Ms. Hajjar helped me see and understand this more than ever before. She had taught me something new that helped me understand my society and my culture through a different perspective. This is the beauty of belonging to a nation irrespective of our backgrounds and our religions. The convoluted politics of our country has caused politicians and their followers to stop learning from others and engaging with others simply because “others” do not belong to their preferred sect. My acquaintance with Ms. Najjar taught me, through firsthand experience, that we, as Lebanese citizens, can learn new perspectives from one another regardless of our social identities. By promoting such encounters, we have a shot at overcoming political deadlock.
Nour Chehabeddine
I took the elevator up to the eleventh floor. I had the call numbers of a certain book ready in my hand. My last academic semester was finally over and I had just finished my final exams; it was time to get started on my summer reading list. Once I got to the tweflth floor, the elevator doors slowly disappeared into either side of the wall and in front of me emerged an impressive collection of books. The twelfth floor was redolent of old books. It consisted of alphabetically organised corridors stemming out from the foyer in front of the elevators. Taking in the waft of old parchments and book covers, I smiled as I stood in one of the most impressive and elaborate libraries in the entire city.
The call number in my hand began with PJ78... and I forget the rest of the figures. Looking around, I found the corridor designated PJ and began walking towards it. With the end of the academic semester already passed, students had vacated the city and the library was quite and tranquil. I could hear my own footsteps as I approached corridor PJ. The bookshelves that rested in the corridor were laden with old but seemingly untouched books. The spines of the books were mostly annotated with Arabic letters; other spines had Latin letters on them but were combined to form words that are not native to the English language. Corridor PJ was home to a unique set of books, making it an anomaly to the rest of the books in the library. Moreover, in a library that was located in the heart of a predominantly Anglo-American city, it was impressive that corridor PJ, and the books therein, had even existed there.
As I neared the dark corridor I noticed that a light at the end of the corridor was lit. Once I stepped into the territory of corridor PJ, the neon lights above my head immediately lit up. The library had installed censored lights in its corridors that turn on once an individual is detected within the corridor. Looking down the corridor I saw a woman sitting on a stool and examining a set of books that she had picked up from the shelves. Her presence was unexpected as PJ was indeed “not on the map” in the library. An anomaly in its right, it was often bypassed by the students within the library. I went about my business, collecting the book I desired based on the call number in my hand. Once I had found what I was looking for, I departed from the corridor and left the woman to enjoy PJ, once again, in solitude. A few moments later I heard a voice call behind me saying: “This library has quite an impressive collection of Arabic books.” I turned around and saw the woman walking a few steps behind me. She smiled kindly and I reciprocated. I noted, “Yes, it really does! It’s a wonderful library, the largest in the country.” The woman asked me if I could help her find a particular set of books. She was looking for books written in Arabic and was having trouble finding the call numbers on the online server seeing as the keyboards only had Latin letters on them. She said, “I am looking for books by the author Nijmeh Hajjar.” I tried a couple of different key words on the search bar to find the books she desired. I asked her what the books were about and who the author was and she replied saying, “Well, I am the author.” It was an incredibly unique moment. I had never met the author of a set of scholarly books before under such circumstances. She explained to me that she was in the city for a conference and is flying back to her residence in just a few days. She told me that she was the Chair of Arabic and Islamic Studies at the university she taught at. We exchanged our backgrounds and I asked her about how she had liked the city so far. In the midst of our discussion we came to learn that we were both Lebanese. Ms. Najjar has written books on a Lebanese-American poet that I was not familiar with until I met her. The poet’s name is Ameen Rihani and he was part of a dialogue that tried to engage East and West. He sought to bring ideals of liberation and unity back to the Arab world through his work and his literature.
After meeting Ms. Najjar I decided to borrow her book from Ameen Rihani from the library. I told Ms. Najjar that being part of a Lebanese youth diaspora, it often difficult to connect to our country because I lived so far away from it all my life. In this disposition, I found my connection with Ameen Rihani. In that moment, I realised more than ever, that I am going through the same struggle that Rihani went through even though I did not know him or live in his time. Struggles for identity, peace and democracy transcend religion and time. From one Lebanese citizen to another, Ms. Hajjar helped me see and understand this more than ever before. She had taught me something new that helped me understand my society and my culture through a different perspective. This is the beauty of belonging to a nation irrespective of our backgrounds and our religions. The convoluted politics of our country has caused politicians and their followers to stop learning from others and engaging with others simply because “others” do not belong to their preferred sect. My acquaintance with Ms. Najjar taught me, through firsthand experience, that we, as Lebanese citizens, can learn new perspectives from one another regardless of our social identities. By promoting such encounters, we have a shot at overcoming political deadlock.
Nour Chehabeddine