I love cities. Which is a relatively new development – only the past two years or so.
I used to hate cities (though I have spent all my life in those giant conglomerations of dirt and cement and polluted air and grime). But increasingly I have come to realize that cities are a place of so many stories, so many dreams.
Not houses finely roofed or the stones of walls well builded, nay nor canals and dockyards make the city, but men able to use their opportunity.
People come to the city, always, in pursuit for something. Yet just as they come with a bright hope of some better future, so many also leave their dreams buried beneath the cold hard pavement, and grow weary and cold themselves, while others resign themselves to hold eternal vigil over vague memories of a happier time.
Cities are not kind places.
I love being in the city, because each day you brush shoulders with so many people, each with their own story to tell. Some are heroic, others tragic, some have come-of-age, others are cocky with the arrogance of youth, some are thousands of miles from home, others have never left town, some will tell you stories of wars and battles they fought in far away lands in days gone by, others would show you where he was knifed just last week, some are young and single and struggling so hard to raise their child on their own, others are whitehaired couples happily married for over half a century.
Not all stories are pretty. Not all are happy. But each story is the valiant struggle of a human being. When you are told such a story, you are offered a brief glimpse into another’s life, another’s soul. I don’t know about you, but I am honored to be offered such trust. Perhaps because I grew up on the milk of stories – from children’s books to fantasies to memoirs -, and perhaps because I am training in the profession of a historian, I feel a duty to seek out these unheard stories. I feel a pressing need to preserve a little, even a little, of these men and women who are such an integral part of the fabric of the place I call home, before time and the City whisk them away so that we never cross paths again.
Do you now understand my love for cities?
I am travelling soon, to Athens, and the rest of Greece, and finally, a brief little visit to London. So many cities! I can’t help but think to myself, so many stories to hear! Admittedly, I will be surrounding by an inconveniently comfortable bubble of friends and teachers. But I assure you I will find time to wander, and to hear stories, and to bear a solemn witness to the tears and laughter of others.