Whenever the sun surpasses its 90-degree mark in our yellowed sky, I venture to my home café, Costa. The hum of the espresso machines, combined with the tropical atmosphere the café radiates, never fails to greet me with welcoming arms. As I prepare to jump into my hours-long MacBook productivity, I hear familiar footsteps approaching from behind. Sometimes it is Abdulaziz; oftentimes, it is that designer guy I befriended three weeks ago or a random acquaintance from the nearby Al-WIUT. The chatter imbues the air in no time. Sorry, Heidegger, but I am talking about the exact chatter you damned in your famous 1927 book. The taste of Abdulaziz's latte, DeepSeek stealing our data, or Nolan's new movie Gladiator—the discussion knows no barrier. Magnetic. Energetic. Sociable. Livable.
My life in the last 3 years transformed from let's-pull-all-nighters-at-natlib to spend-less-on-cappuccino-at-costa. And yes, my wallet is not quite happy. But as Friedman once remarked, consider the trade-offs. Behind me coming to disdain the toxic-productive, intellectually artificial, oddly unwelcoming, and architecturally brutalist environment of the national library lies a valid exchange: a delicious taste of living.
Our beloved library, while offering hours of uneventful peace—impeccable for maintaining that perfect GPA—lacks color. It is so absurdly artificial that it seems perfectly designed to prepare you for the earlier, raw bits of overkilling adulthood, absorbing you into the relentless absurdism humans have trapped themselves in. It is, in essence, the physical manifestation of what I deem 9-5: a disciplinary institution designed to mold individuals into obedient, hyper-efficient agents of a system that values output over organic intellectual growth.
But is this exchange sustainable? Perhaps there is a balance between the sterile rigor of the library and the lively comfort of the café. While I have abandoned the cold, silent walls of NatLib, I sometimes wonder: is the warmth of Costa merely another illusion? A softer, more palatable version of the same system, trapping me with aesthetics while still demanding my productivity?
I don’t plan to discourage anyone from visiting libraries, nor do I wish to cast a deterring light on the 9-5 way of living. But I do believe in choice. Escape the artificial brutalism, and remember to taste the tropical Spanish lattes that come with lively memories.
My life in the last 3 years transformed from let's-pull-all-nighters-at-natlib to spend-less-on-cappuccino-at-costa. And yes, my wallet is not quite happy. But as Friedman once remarked, consider the trade-offs. Behind me coming to disdain the toxic-productive, intellectually artificial, oddly unwelcoming, and architecturally brutalist environment of the national library lies a valid exchange: a delicious taste of living.
Our beloved library, while offering hours of uneventful peace—impeccable for maintaining that perfect GPA—lacks color. It is so absurdly artificial that it seems perfectly designed to prepare you for the earlier, raw bits of overkilling adulthood, absorbing you into the relentless absurdism humans have trapped themselves in. It is, in essence, the physical manifestation of what I deem 9-5: a disciplinary institution designed to mold individuals into obedient, hyper-efficient agents of a system that values output over organic intellectual growth.
But is this exchange sustainable? Perhaps there is a balance between the sterile rigor of the library and the lively comfort of the café. While I have abandoned the cold, silent walls of NatLib, I sometimes wonder: is the warmth of Costa merely another illusion? A softer, more palatable version of the same system, trapping me with aesthetics while still demanding my productivity?
I don’t plan to discourage anyone from visiting libraries, nor do I wish to cast a deterring light on the 9-5 way of living. But I do believe in choice. Escape the artificial brutalism, and remember to taste the tropical Spanish lattes that come with lively memories.