Kirsty McHenry | Ultimately I always came back to Singel Library
This week the revolving doors of Singel Library will stop turning and the library will reach its end: the building will close. “The Singel library was one of the only spaces on campus where students from all walks of academic life came together,” writes our columnist Kirsty McHenry.
It’s a strange thing to grieve that which mostly just got you down. To mourn something to which you were only another passing face, if it even noticed you at all. The highs were few and far between, greatly outweighed by the anxiety and misery and hopelessness it brought out. And yet, the thought of losing it makes you want to cling on harder than ever. I am of course talking about Singel Library.
I find myself getting dewy-eyed over the image of Singel’s stark, brutalist face boldly standing out against its classically pretty surroundings. This week is the final chapter in Singel’s story. Soon the revolving doors will stop turning and the library will reach its end. Already gone is PC Hoofthuis Library, Singel’s quieter, more enigmatic counterpart, whose hidden pathways and elusive entrance would only reveal themselves through patient dedication. Granted, their replacement, the new library in University Quarter, looks intriguing. Its polished appearance and promises of “modern study comfort” offer what Singel, in many ways, could not. Yet, I find myself getting dewy-eyed over the image of Singel’s stark, brutalist face boldly standing out against its classically pretty surroundings. What will happen to Singel when there is no one left to appreciate it?
Another universe
Passing through the battered turnstiles at Singel felt like entering another universe, where the rules of the outside world no longer applied. Time worked differently inside the library, at first hours seemed to stretch out infinitely and then, suddenly, they’d pass in the blink of an eye (a phenomenon which would especially occur when there was a deadline looming). When I look back now on the month I spent holed up at Singel writing my bachelor’s thesis, I cannot separate one day from the next. During that time, the library became a liminal space between the moment of officially “locking-in” and the dreaded final submission date.
Singel has seen me at my worst – at my most feverish, stressed and desperate – and in response it offered solidity and a reliable steadiness in the fast-paced, unpredictable university environment. Likewise, I have grown familiar with Singel’s imperfections: its confusing layout, stuffy, overcrowded rooms and perpetually broken soap dispensers. Some days, frustration drove me to other study spaces, but ultimately I always came back to Singel. Now as I think about it closing, I can’t help but reminisce about the good times, the hours spent studying with close friends or the serendipitous encounters with others I hadn’t seen in months.
Camaraderie
Singel was one of the only spaces on campus where students from all walks of academic life came together, sitting shoulder to shoulder cramming what we could to get by. There was a camaraderie that developed among the various weary souls who walked the halls of Singel, particularly those who remained long after the sun had gone down. It was possible to gain comfort in the presence of the other stragglers who’d chosen to forgo sunshine and happiness to stay inside studying. Watching a stranger’s belongings during their break, adding another Club-Mate can to the growing tower atop the bin, or collectively enduring the agony of exam week all contributed to a silent sense of community that existed solely within the library’s walls. Even the mice were in on it.
The (mostly) sentimental messages on the many memory cards that now decorate the library’s entrance hall suggest I wasn’t alone in my experience. As we turn the page on Singel, it feels that we are saying goodbye to what was arguably the heart of the university. And even though I was likely just another passing face in the crowd from Singel’s perspective, the impression it left on me will be lasting.
