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I’m in love with the Kirkland basement.

It’s a perennial social space for sophomores without common rooms — a place where laundry-goers must nimbly sidestep problem setters, pool players, and gym rats. The basement literally and figuratively connects the House, providing necessary resources while its common areas vitally strengthen the community.

Everywhere you turn, pieces of the past surface as reflections of the love previous Kirklanders had for the space. The green felt of the pool table is pockmarked with pale, miniscule craters, all memories of long-forgotten games. A kaleidoscopic collage of senior murals stretches under B entryway, imparting the most important messages left behind by each cohort of graduates. Just beyond, a lending library named after a former building manager houses a tattered yet eclectic collection of discarded paperbacks; plaques by the treadmills boast of intramural rowing victories almost a century ago; and framed photographs of smiling alumni bear timestamps dating as far back as 1977.

Caught up with ourselves, we often ignore these vestiges of past Kirklanders, even though their legacy markedly impacts our House culture today.

It’s easy to miss the gravity of bygone moments, but much also goes unappreciated in the present. We cozily sit in carefully positioned armchairs, unaware of the way the crocodilian cracks in the marshmallow-colored paint behind us infuse the room with a sense of snugness. Heavenly burgundy couches suspend nappers as if they were lazily floating in amniotic clouds, and an upside-down world map greets students as they pick up their mail — swiftly corrected by basement regulars if anyone makes the grave error of flipping it right side up.

The historic remnants and beautiful idiosyncrasies composing the Kirkland basement give it its character, imperceptibly affecting our dispositions and House culture. As I prepare to graduate, I’m slowly learning to say goodbye to my happy place, but I’m concerned that future Kirklanders may not be able to enjoy it the same way.

It is an alarming trend that recent renovations in other Houses have meant sacrificing character and history for sterile, unwelcoming corridors reminiscent of hospital wards. These modifications have rewritten the pattern language from crafting a comfortable community space to generating an alien one.

This column has been about considering the unseen, about looking at what usually goes overlooked in front of us and defending it when others don’t see it. When the basement is eventually remodeled, preserving small imperfections such as the textured walls and upside-down map is crucial for recapturing the quirky, cozy atmosphere it has today, and maintaining artifacts like the murals and library is essential for continuing our connection to the past. Otherwise, any indication of the love that I and so many others have poured into the Kirkland basement will be gone.

Adam V. Aleksic ’23 is a joint concentrator in Government and Linguistics in Kirkland House. His column “The Harvard Beneath Our Feet” appears on alternate Thursdays.

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