I hate libraries. They’re unnaturally quiet, a terrible juxtaposition to my loud and unapologetic self. 

The last time I was in a library, my headphones died and Alvin and the Chipmunks’ Witch Doctor filled the room with Alvin’s thunderous vocals. While I may think it’s the pinnacle of music, the rest of the library didn’t. 

Media has always exposed who I am to my core— a preppy white woman living in Short Hills, who indulges in Top 20 Hits and Taylor Swift. Spoiler alert: I am not a preppy white woman; I am an Indian-American teenager with an identity crisis. 

As I hid behind the Dewey Decimal System poster after that song was drowned out by the laughter of my peers, my eyes were drawn to Dead Poets Society. Keating taught me that to be career-oriented is to be no one at all because while medicine, law, and business are noble pursuits that are necessary to sustain life, romance, beauty, and poetry are what I stay alive for. 

I ambled down to the next library aisle, reciting Todd’s poem with the same fervor. My eyes scanned the show collection and Never Have I Ever captivated me. Automatically, I cringe as I’m conflicted between the representation of Indian-American girls and the awkward dialogue, providing second-hand embarrassment. The show is dear to me, as I could truly resonate with it, but watching was too much to bear for that same reason. 

I keep walking until I see different colored fabrics littering the shelves. Fake accessories, costumes, and makeup poured onto the linoleum floors. The Hermione Granger costume wilted to the floor as a gasp of excitement escaped from me. My eyes drew to an inky cloak with a lion embroidering clinging onto the velvet robe for dear life, as the appliqué was pried off by the middle schoolers’ hands. At eight years old, I wanted to be Hermione Granger for Halloween, but I was limited to characters that shared the same physical features as me. Rereading the series, I remind myself that I am much more than my skin color.

On the shelf to the right, I see Katniss’ figure from The Hunger Games daring me to challenge her. The Hunger Games taught me that adversity has no right to impose on desires. I learned to rise, even if I wasn’t in the middle of a classist, oppressive dystopia.

Walking back to the film section,  I settled on the British comedy Fleabag and Disney’s Tangled. When Rapunzel had striking confidence, regardless of her hair length, I learned that I too can be beautiful and adventurous. When characters like Fleabag say that she “wouldn’t be such a feminist if [she] had bigger t**s.” As a Brown woman, being a feminist was never a choice for me; I’m simply campaigning for my right to exist.  I think about what a privilege it is for one’s bust size to be a factor—whether to be a feminist or not. 

In a dusty corner, I see textbooks, feeling bittersweet. The bane of my existence– a loaner Chemistry textbook– taught me to persevere through obstacles that are constantly being thrown.

As I leave my library, I play Taylor Swift’s Reputation album. And while sometimes I feel embarrassed about my music taste, Taylor Swift will never be a part of that. She taught me to ignore what other people think of me and I used it to motivate myself to rise above a situation. 

As for libraries, the silence is still unnerving, but I should start paying more attention to the media that undeniably built my character. Maybe I don’t hate libraries after all.