In here, I find peace during the grimmest days. There is no romancing of the library; silence pierced through all levels of this citadel, devoid of life, as I sauntered through labyrinths of paper in search for answers. Here, the peace is maintained artificially as an abnormality to the chaotic whirlpool of the living that it sits in, keeping track of all its progress and setbacks while collecting the world’s legacy in stories, statistics, trends and pictures. Here, I know that I am getting closer to the truth of one perspective as opposed to a stipulated answer. When my eyes are tired of the electric screen, and when my fingers are sick of saving documents from JSTOR, I turn to the cradle of knowledge. My eyes float through the endless rows of books, my fingers sweeping past all their spines while I breathe in musty air exhaled from age. In this sterile space, there is no place more like home than to be with these chronicles.