The Art of Stumbling

No, stumbling into a situation, a moment, or even a person often belongs to that rare category of wonderful coincidences.
Or, as we call it here in Canada: serendipity.

One of those lucky stumbles for me came in the form of four words that first made me pause, then smile:
Human Library and Living Book.

No, it’s not a new literary genre that sorts writers somewhere between human and artificial intelligence.
The idea goes much deeper than that.

Every person, throughout their lifetime, fills themselves with stories.
Every life becomes its own little library.
And that’s where this idea turns powerful.

A Danish Idea Travels the World

In the year 2000, four friends in Denmark —
Ronni and Dany Abergel, Asma Mouna, and Christoffer Erichsen — sat together, talking about prejudice, misunderstanding, and the quiet violence of everyday life.

Then journalist Ronni said:

“Let’s start a human library.”

And so they did.

At the famous Roskilde Festival, over 50 Living Books opened themselves to readers — eight hours a day, four days in a row.
More than a thousand people came to listen, talk, and read — not with their eyes, but with their hearts.

The project grew from the youth initiative “Stop the Violence”, created as a response to rising social tensions in Denmark.
Today, The Human Library has become an international non-profit movement active in over 80 countries —
including Canada.

How Does a Human Library Work?

The idea is beautifully simple:
Visitors “borrow” a human being — a Living Book — for a conversation.

• Each book tells a story.
  
• Each reader listens.

The goal is to build empathy, challenge prejudice, and reduce discrimination through dialogue.
These events take place in public libraries, schools, universities, festivals, and even workplaces.

And they work —
because these books are alive,
because they can laugh, cry, and pause,
because they speak from the very pages of experience.

Today, I am one of those Living Books.
I share my story — the journey, the drama (and occasional disaster) that eventually brought me to Canada.

The last twenty years weren’t easy, but they were deeply instructive.
And somehow, the good people at the Newmarket Public Library decided that my story was worth reading.

I look forward to meeting the other Living Books —
each carrying a different story,
none of them romantic fairy tales,
but all of them profoundly human.

Final Page

As a Living Book, I feel many-sided.
Maybe even multi-volume.

And I hope that whoever “reads” me
will judge a little less —
and understand a little more.