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 were all rich and famous and could buy $17,000 landscape paintings at a gallery opening on a whim. Life had some actual meaning. It wasn't just a short gap filler between long stretches of work. People you cared about existed in flesh and bone, you could wrap an arm around their shoulder as you walked down the street and chat and laugh uncontrollably about what you'd done a few hours ago in a space you all occupied, for real, not virtually.
This new experience of the same city is intoxicating. It makes you want to pack your bags and come back. But what if in just a blink the southerly wind became spiteful, work took over, people got too busy to see you for drinks and the city turned into the same grey and impersonal longitude and latitude it was in 2015?
The city is nothing but a mold taking the shape of your feelings.
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