I find myself in all these uncanny places where I don’t fit in.
These lost places that magnetize me. Each place unlike the other, but still stitched together by the twisted and torn fabric of this city.
I am captivated by the threads of steal rebar and crumbled debris strewn all across the sand-filled street below. I am always drawn to the rubble, to destruction, it’s no secret why, for I am one and the same. Disheveled and weary, I sit and wait, waiting for the pieces to put themselves back together. As if somehow it would change everything, and I would be back on my way; but where to? I could not find solace in these cement totems, not in the busy streets, not even in the rising water.
It’s not long before I am on another journey, in search of something I am unsure of. Everything is limbo, everything is in between. Even so, I place myself, however brash it may be, in the midst of these places. Where I can oversee, bit by bit, change overcoming these surroundings. “Trespassers will be prosecuted” the sign read, but it didn’t mean anything to me. I wait to be transported by this machine that was once crammed with people like a can of sardines, but it is no longer moving. Now the steep stairs adjacent are sprinkled with an assemblage of empty soda cans, disbanded garments and discarded cigarette butts.
Overlooking once again, I am on higher ground; but really there is no ground beneath me, just space, and underneath that blank space, a myriad of little machines. They drift on ribbons of grey stretching throughout vast lands. Each carrying their own stories, each venturing to their own destinations. Moving through tall glass towers some separated by stretches of land, some clustered together domineering the rest of the city. I try to imagine what goes on in each of the boxes within the towers, when the lights are scattered at night. Like an irregular chess board creating its own pattern, dependent on the life styles of each living being.
I get lost in my thoughts; I look around and I’m in another location. The striated sands, forever in conversation with the waves, mesmerize me. Families buzzing, more so on a sunnier day. They come out here in their tin boxes after gliding on miles of asphalt, but their time is short lived, only to be rushed away again once the clouds thicken. As I just sit and watch.
I find myself in all these uncanny places where I belong. Unruly, just like me. As different as I may be, they satisfy me. I feel at home, surrounded by familiarity. The sounds of the streets in symphony with the sounds of the birds. I feel the rubble once again and I am taken back to where I began. This cycle doesn't terrify me, once I am returned back to my territory.
I knew I had to keep moving, moving until I reached this place. Here is where the light warms my back, here is where the ground feels soft, here I smell scents of habit. The walls are closer, making me feel safe. I just needed to cross the threshold to get here.