A couple weeks ago, I went to the library for the first time in eight years. Okay, that’s not entirely true; when my daughter studied at the university, she worked extra at the campus library, so I went to visit her there a couple times. So let me rephrase: a couple weeks ago, I went to the library for the first time in eight years and got a library card.

The reason it’s been so long is that I’ve lived in Malaysia, and despite my long stay I never learned the language (except for “terima kasih” which means “thank you”). But now that I’m back in Sweden, I decided it was time to reacquaint myself with the library.

So I googled to find the one closest to my home (I still don’t know my way around where I live), jumped into the car and drove a few minutes to my neighborhood library. It was a teeny-tiny thing, only a large room and not many books at all. But as soon as I stepped inside, I felt welcome.

Rainbow flags hung over the information desk, and on the desk sat a diploma, proclaiming that the library and all the staff were LGBTQ certified, meaning they’ve had training and learned how to be inclusive to everyone. It almost brought a tear to my eye after living eight years in a country where homosexuality is against the law.

The staff welcomed me with wide smiles (says something about how small the place was), helped me get a library card (that’s valid in all libraries in my hometown, and also for online borrowing), and showed me around the library (which didn’t take long since it was so small) and left me to my own devices by the poetry shelf.

I spent a lot of time by the poetry section, thumbing through thick poetry collections and tiny books containing only a few poems. I read great poetry…and then there was the poem about a goat and a boat and someone lying dead in the boat (don’t ask!)

After the goat poem, I looked around the rest of the library and browsed the fiction shelves, picking up anything that spoke to me. An author I recognized. A beautiful cover or an interesting title. And here and there I found books with rainbow tape on their spines, tucked between the other books but marked so it would be easy to find LGBTQ literature (almost brought a tear to my eye for the second time).

I’m sad to report thought, that I didn’t find a single Nell Iris book. Maybe next time 😀

When I finally left, I checked out a book by a Swedish author that came highly recommended by newspaper reviewers. I devoured it in less than a day and when I finished, I was glad I hadn’t bought it because it had the most unlikeable protagonist I’ve ever encountered.

But when I went back to the library a few days later to return the book, I thought about libraries as a concept. Of how we have thousands of books at our disposal we can read for free. Books with weird poems about goats or unlikeable characters, but also with rainbow taped spines or absolutely fabulous short-story collections. About how we have these locations dedicated to books and reading, and how it’s okay to grab a book and sit down and read it…and DNF it if you don’t like it, or finish it there and then if you’re a fast reader like me. I thought about how the elderly lady that visited at the same time as I were there for the conversation with the friendly staff just as much as she was there for the books.

And I thought about what a great gift a library is. How libraries may be the best places in the world. Because where else are you surrounded by thousands upon thousands of books that you are allowed to borrow and read for free? Where else can you try new authors without having to spend hard-earned money on buying books you don’t know if you like.

And where else would I learn that I really don’t like poems about dead goats in a boat?