At first, I searched for a quiet, empty table on the ground level as a matter of geographic convenience to the door. But alas, little knowledge-filled study-ers crowd the public facility's tables--how dare they exercise their free rights.
Next, I thought I would snag one of the chairs in front of the back windows of the library. You can watch as destination-focused young adults walk back home, or to class. Also, being on second floor, each moving student is midget-sized and you feel far superior to them and embrace a king of the hill moment whilst you attempt to study.
But these chairs were filled as well.
Thus, all this resulted in my whereabouts in the furthest corner cubby. Back here people are not watched or judged by others correctly or falsely. In fact, if you sit positioned carefully no one can see you at all. Amidst this disappearance, you feel the necessity to lash out and to be heard, a longing to be comforted with the fact that someone somewhere at sometime will be aware of your existence within your invisibility. Thus, vandalism is a common reaction. Vandalism is described as "an action involving the deliberate destruction of or damage to public or private property." Although this is the depiction of the solitary individual in a place like this, I believe the intention of their action is better described as graffiti: writing or drawings scribbled, scratched, or illicitly on a wall or other surface in a public place. The definition of graffiti removes the connotation of planning to destroy public property. When in fact, no one enters the library with the premeditated thoughts to write their thoughts on the desk or walls. It just happens. Instead of studying, you sit and read what others have posted, and then, before you know it, you are reaching for your pen to comment on a post or to start your own discussion. To see what the reaction would be to the thought currently at my eye level: "God hates haters." or to "As far as animal treatment goes, HUMANS ARE NAZIS!" One person responded with "as far as plants go, cows are nazis too." Another strange one: "Death you are my bi*ch lover." The F word is a very common one among this graffiti, probably a product of that same desire to be known.
Yet, I can't help but be drawn to the Kurt Vonnegut quote engraved separately from everyone else's emotional discharging: "Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are 'It might have been.'"
This individual thought of all these words of men inscribed publicly, the worst would be ones of regret and discontent. What an interesting response contrasted with the crude comments. This person thought 'well, I can't judge them for trying to be heard, at least they are not holding it all in and regretting writing their opinion.'
I write this graffiti-entry because I want to be heard within my invisibility. And because I don't want to imagine "It might have been different" without this entry. It might have been different without my blog. It might have been different without writing. It might have been different without perseverance through the fire. I might have been different without the comfort that: "All things work together for good for those who love God."
God draws us into contentment with him. God calls us to live a life without regrets. God puts forth his opinion in our lives so that we may also be active like him and through him.
I just stopped typing and picked up my pen to decorate this corner cubby with small words with a big impact: God is love.
"...Because the saddest are 'It might have been.'"
