I’ve always been a city soul, but I don’t really know why. Sometimes when I’m in the city I can’t stand the bustle; workers and tourists ambling about at different speeds as I rush (usually I’m in a rush) to wherever I’m going. But still, I like being there, in different capacities. I like working there, meeting up there, drinking, reading, laughing there. I like that it’s a central point, a convergence of different people, of buildings devoted to all manner of things, of alleyways, nooks and niches.
It’s really beautiful where I grew up. Recently I took my housemates out to my parents’ house, and as I rolled up and over the hill-like road that leads to my street I told them to look out the window at the city. From this vantage point you can see the skyscrapers, on a day of clear skies and full sun very clearly, on a foggy or smoggy day not so much. Although this particular day was cloudy and wet, you could still see the city looming far off. I explained to them how I used to look out towards the city as a child and feel some vague, undefined, and essentially I suppose unjustified yearning. And how when I was older and had my licence and would go gallivanting around the city and city suburbs I would drive home and look out to the point I had just come from, awed at the far off blinking lights, and somewhat marvelled by the distance I had just travelled.
After a heavy lunch, plentiful with wine and chit chat, my housemates and I traipsed about in the woodland near my house, a walk that I often took as a child with my cousins, aunts and uncles. The fresh air wakes the senses (granted the three of us had a sneaky smoke, taking advantage of being away from my parents for a minute!) We watched the kangaroos hanging out in the rain, eyeing us with curiosity. My housemates took some snaps, and after the kangaroos hopped away we wandered to an old abandoned farm nearby. With each step our shoes became more and more wet until they were soaked through, and the cold air pinched our faces and made our lungs icy. The umbrella I brought with us got mangled by the wind, so I let the rain fall down onto my hair and face, trickling down my chin and neck. I remembered a particularly rainy day not unlike this one many years ago now, walking about this same area with my cousins. My cousin stepped right into a deep puddle, completely submerging her leg into water that was hidden beneath leaves. I can’t quite recall but I think we tricked her into doing it. It still makes me laugh to think about it.
It felt really good to wander and look about, despite getting soaked in the rain. I love the easy beauty of the surroundings near my home.
Perhaps it’s strange, then, that I should like the city so much when I grew up in such an idyllic spot. My appreciation for it has grown though, now that I’m a visitor rather than a resident. It’s like my contrasting tastes for winter and summer. Winter slows me down, forces me to take stock, and I begrudgingly give in to doing relaxing things where I can revel in my solitude and my main aim is to keep warm. In summer, my senses are more alive, and I feel like life’s opportunities are endless. The country, my winter, the city, my summer.
In the city you need to work harder to find beauty, work harder to be heard and recognised.
I guess I like the challenge.
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