Sipping a coffee – the biggest one I can find – I sit, contemplating the world around me. Jostled, bumped, elbowed, squeezed, I sink back into my basket chair and am thankful to escape, at least for a while, from the busy city streets I have just battled my way through.
The whole city seems to be in competition. Like a tall green forest (something I understand better than this) - the trees straining upwards in competition for the sunlight – the entire city seems to be conspiring together, in a deadly ongoing struggle, not towards harmony, but towards securing the basics for life – light, heat and, above all, space. The tall office blocks and elegant church spires (new and old in tension) reach together for the sky and for recognition. A power struggle, masquerading as a ‘beauty’ contest, encouraged by the city authorities, has been inaugurated for the highest building to dominate the skyline, the weirdest design, the most innovative building materials. Steel girders, giant cranes, scary glass buildings, reflecting their surroundings but giving no clue to the secrets concealed inside, all jostle with each other for pride of position. Humanity follows suit. I must adapt.
In the old days, living in the quiet English countryside, I used to stroll through the centre of the little market town where I lived, greeting my neighbours, stopping for a friendly word or offering up a ‘half-smile’, the one we reserve for strangers, and stepping aside to let a harassed mother with a pushchair through, anticipating the polite dance that the oncoming ‘traffic’ and I would need to do in order to pass each other on the pavement. Those were the innocent days! Life was gentler, not so intense or focussed, and there was time for the niceties of life.
In the city, years later, life has moved on and it is a rude awakening. Nobody knows me. Nobody has time to know me or even consider me, or the small and very modest amount of space required by one small person, simply trying to make room for herself and her life in an alien environment. Everyone is intent on their own business. Each one has a purpose, a time scale, deadlines that must be strictly adhered to. In the process the relentless army mows me down.
As I sit contemplating the way life has gone over the years I reflect after all that maybe life in the city is not so different. Nowadays, my street is my village! In the city, it is true, I am still a stranger. In my street, after five years, I can exchange greetings with the neighbours. Now they know that, though foreign, I am here to stay. I have been in the street longer than many Dutch people now. On the street we chat about the weather; I search in my garden for lost footballs kicked over the wall by the neighbours’ children; I rescue a neighbour’s dog which has escaped and strayed into the busy road. Occasionally we even share a meal together or make arrangements to look after the neighbour’s cat or house plants at holiday time. Here, at last, I am a part of the community, even though I still struggle with the language.
Just lately, the weather has been like an early summer and, warmed by the sunshine, we smile at each other instead of hurrying on by, hunched against the cold and battling against the wind and rain. Why are we all so much friendlier when the sun shines? Why do we seem to undergo a complete personality change when we feel the warmth of the sun on our shoulders and relax in the soft, balmy air? It’s a miracle! Suddenly the whole city is transformed into a big village. Friends are laughing and drinking together in the pretty pavement cafés, urgent tasks are put off until tomorrow and there is a sense of well-being and community in the air. We are sharing this wonderful weather together! Tomorrow it may rain and we will retreat into our private worlds, but for now we smile happily and believe again that we are loved and life is good.
The whole city seems to be in competition. Like a tall green forest (something I understand better than this) - the trees straining upwards in competition for the sunlight – the entire city seems to be conspiring together, in a deadly ongoing struggle, not towards harmony, but towards securing the basics for life – light, heat and, above all, space. The tall office blocks and elegant church spires (new and old in tension) reach together for the sky and for recognition. A power struggle, masquerading as a ‘beauty’ contest, encouraged by the city authorities, has been inaugurated for the highest building to dominate the skyline, the weirdest design, the most innovative building materials. Steel girders, giant cranes, scary glass buildings, reflecting their surroundings but giving no clue to the secrets concealed inside, all jostle with each other for pride of position. Humanity follows suit. I must adapt.
In the old days, living in the quiet English countryside, I used to stroll through the centre of the little market town where I lived, greeting my neighbours, stopping for a friendly word or offering up a ‘half-smile’, the one we reserve for strangers, and stepping aside to let a harassed mother with a pushchair through, anticipating the polite dance that the oncoming ‘traffic’ and I would need to do in order to pass each other on the pavement. Those were the innocent days! Life was gentler, not so intense or focussed, and there was time for the niceties of life.
In the city, years later, life has moved on and it is a rude awakening. Nobody knows me. Nobody has time to know me or even consider me, or the small and very modest amount of space required by one small person, simply trying to make room for herself and her life in an alien environment. Everyone is intent on their own business. Each one has a purpose, a time scale, deadlines that must be strictly adhered to. In the process the relentless army mows me down.
As I sit contemplating the way life has gone over the years I reflect after all that maybe life in the city is not so different. Nowadays, my street is my village! In the city, it is true, I am still a stranger. In my street, after five years, I can exchange greetings with the neighbours. Now they know that, though foreign, I am here to stay. I have been in the street longer than many Dutch people now. On the street we chat about the weather; I search in my garden for lost footballs kicked over the wall by the neighbours’ children; I rescue a neighbour’s dog which has escaped and strayed into the busy road. Occasionally we even share a meal together or make arrangements to look after the neighbour’s cat or house plants at holiday time. Here, at last, I am a part of the community, even though I still struggle with the language.
Just lately, the weather has been like an early summer and, warmed by the sunshine, we smile at each other instead of hurrying on by, hunched against the cold and battling against the wind and rain. Why are we all so much friendlier when the sun shines? Why do we seem to undergo a complete personality change when we feel the warmth of the sun on our shoulders and relax in the soft, balmy air? It’s a miracle! Suddenly the whole city is transformed into a big village. Friends are laughing and drinking together in the pretty pavement cafés, urgent tasks are put off until tomorrow and there is a sense of well-being and community in the air. We are sharing this wonderful weather together! Tomorrow it may rain and we will retreat into our private worlds, but for now we smile happily and believe again that we are loved and life is good.
No comments:
Post a Comment