Notes from Saturdays

You'd think a city -with all its solid buildings and urban and geographical marks on the planet- has a clearly defined existence. But I see now it is nothing but a series of transient experiences. A city is a different place if you fell in love in it, or were mugged in it. It's not the same place if you were a poor student in moldy draughty flats or a thriving professional driving an SUV & shopping at high end stores.  I walked and bussed around the city these past days, just like I did 7 years ago. But it couldn't be less like 7 years ago. As if the me of 2013 - 2016 had died, leaving her memoirs behind and now I was walking through the same streets seeing the memories all through new eyes; The wind was still cold but not spiteful. The shops were inviting, not a sad smirk at my student scholarship. The scent of jasmines filled the night air even in mid autumn. I caught up with friends after work, and drank grown-up cocktails and gossiped about ridiculous lawsuits. We w...

The black beat-up Toyota had been abandoned in the middle lane of the crossroads, right behind the pedestrian crossing, hazard lights flashing, no passengers or drivers to be seen. A white police car was parked behind the car with two policemen standing around the rear of the Toyota, looking as chill as two policemen could be at 10:20 am around an abandoned car at the traffic lights in the centre of the city: very chill. I was hovering around Monique's desk that's closer to the window overlooking the traffic lights:  - How can they be so relaxed? There could be a bomb in it. - It's so strange.  I walked back to my desk. I wondered if the curtain walls are shatter proof? The blast could definitely shake us. For god's sake they are not even wearing special vests. What is it they wear anyway? Anti-blast vest or is it just called bullet-proof? You spend all these years learning a foreign language and then comes the day when a ticking bomb is about to go off across the road ...