Trading cities 4, Ersilia
Viewpoint: A man trapped by the strings
Architecture and Memory
I felt like a dew drop on the precipice of a leaf that was bending and twisting with the winds of change. I was surrounded by my city that was once the centre of my life and which now hung by its edges onto the last remnants of its parts and pieces. The boxed buildings stood tall in their stead, against a backdrop of coloured mounds which invited me inside for a game of hide and seek like the one I played with my memories. The city had changed. I remembered when it was once an open park with a lone swing that danced to the music of the breeze and the familiar wire trees that invited me to embrace them for who their were. The simple wooden doors of brick-walled houses reminded me of when my mother used to wait by the door for me to return with eagerness and now, I do the same, awaiting my little one, but with an uncertainty that the strings will pull her apart and hide her within their strands and that the chaos of the city will tear apart her wings and pull her underneath where the demons once lived. Every wooden door was now the same one amongst which my mother stood, amongst which I now stand, the same one through which my daughter left, the same one through which the rest of the city left. Each building was a different community, each one that had held us together but were now the very same were pulling us apart. The vivid coloured mounds of concrete with windows set in place of doors interspersed with common brick and mortar houses once felt like a thing of beauty, and now were just an overwhelming mix that give no direction to the city, causing it to crumble and give way to dust. All this beauty, shattering, and each piece connected with strings – like a million neurons firing in our brains and the synapses and cells coming together to coerce a movement that signified life.