This zine began in the oddest way: not in a library, but while I was watching television.
The show was about women who seemed lost and self-absorbed, lashing out at coworkers and friends. I found myself feeling sorry for them, even though they were fictional. It was easy to imagine their behavior had roots in childhood traumas, even if the writers never said so. Maybe they never had anyone to turn to. Maybe they never had anywhere safe to go.
That thought made me pause: where did I go to feel safe when I was growing up?
The answer surprised me, because I’d never framed it that way before. But looking back, I realized I always turned to libraries. When life was unstable, when the ground shifted under me yet again, libraries became my refuge. They were constant in a world that was anything but.
That realization became this zine.
And it comes at a time when libraries feel forgotten. Today we consume almost everything digitally. Even school textbooks have gone online. For those of us who own devices, it’s easy to take that for granted. But not everyone has a smartphone. Not every child has a computer. And without them, where do they turn for information, for safety, for the quiet dignity of a space that welcomes them without question?
Libraries aren’t just for research. They’re not only for pleasure reading. They are refuges — especially for those without other options. We shouldn’t neglect them, and we shouldn’t discount them just because we have technology that others may not.
That’s why this zine is called The Forgotten Refuge. It’s my story, but I hope it stirs a reminder: there are still kids out there who need a door that opens into safety, knowledge, and possibility.
