The Tokyo Metropolitan Central Library 

Sunday afternoons in my house were not quiet.

The worst kind of loud, in fact.

Words don’t make sense when they’re spoken in 

the worst kind of loud.

I needed quiet

so that day I decided to run away

find quiet

just for an afternoon

somewhere I could just sit and read.

I never just sit and read anymore. 

I don’t know how I did it before.

I never know how to make words make sense anymore.

I don’t know how I did it before.

I walked to the park and sat on a boulder

leaned back on a light post 

and read. 

Until I couldn’t not notice

the light post digging into my spine.

Words don’t make sense

when something’s digging into your spine

so I sat on another boulder nearby

and read.

Until I couldn’t not notice

that boulder digging into my spine. Again.

I couldn’t not notice

the breeze of the first spring day giving me goosebumps.

Words don’t make sense

when the breeze of the first spring day is giving you goosebumps.

And then I remembered

there was a library in the park just up the hill.

I had gone to this park all my life.

Never once had I set foot in that library.

I gathered my things

walked up the hill to the library

picked up a visitor’s pass 

locked my valuables in a locker

held only my book and cell phone.

You can run away from home for an afternoon

but you can not

under any circumstances

ignore a call from Mom.

So you carry your cell phone when you aren’t allowed to carry much else.

There was a sign at the entrance

“Place your belongings inside the lockers.”

You cannot get more Japanese 

than rules.

And following them.

Everything was quiet in this giant new old building

I did not dare breathe or walk too loudly. 

Not because I was afraid of the quiet

Actually, the opposite. 

I did not dare lose what I’d finally found

Quiet.

Perhaps that is why I never noticed the library

or ever thought to venture inside.

This building was quiet

even on the outside.

Life was always loud outside

and inside.

So I never noticed the library.

I never noticed the quiet.

I took the elevator to the top floor.

Top floors make you feel more like you’ve run away

even if just for an afternoon.

“Fifth-floor reading room”

said the plaque at the doorway.

An hour and a half or so went by. I think.

I just sat and I read.

No light post digging into my spine.

No breeze of the first spring day giving me goosebumps.

I could just sit and read.

Words finally make sense

when you can just sit and read.

When you can just sit in the quiet.

Until I couldn't not notice

there was a cafeteria on this floor.

I couldn't not notice

the grumbling of my stomach threatening to disrupt the quiet.

Words don’t make sense when your stomach is grumbling.

I had read enough

I had sat enough in the quiet

so I took the elevator back down to the lockers

fetched my wallet

back up the elevator to the fifth floor

ordered soup and a muffin from the confectionary.

I sat there wondering how many times I would come back again.

I never did. 

About the Author

Mia Woo is currently a junior Ceramics major/Psychology minor, as well as the president of Arcadia's PRIDE club. An American-in-progress raised in Tokyo, Mia is just trying to figure out the world around her... which she'll write about once in a while through poetry. When her hands aren't covered in clay, that is.