some sort of release
Sometimes I come to the viewpoint at Place Polaert to look at the city from above. I go to remind myself of where I am, to tie myself visually to this city which already at first glance had me falling in love. That was almost five years ago and at times I stroll past my favourite places, remembering how I felt to still be discovering them. The joy of collecting these personal pearls of mine, of saying that I have chosen them, although I had the distinct suspicion that this city had in fact chosen me.
I come here to chase that feeling of being found. As I ask for a glass of rosé from the make shift bar, I see the waitress has a perfectly symmetrical cactus tattooed on her elbow. It's just so unoriginally hipster and for a moment I am unsure of whether I dislike it for its banality or if I envy her. Envy her for not caring at all about anchoring herself to a tattoo meant to embody everything she is, hoping it'll help her touch the ground. Envy for that unbearably casual way in which she greets every patron, all of whom are much more heavy spirited and have come here- to the top of the world- for some sort of release.
It is a worn out cliché that getting physical distance from one's ordinary life can provide psychological clarity. Here, looking out over the rooftops, over this crazy jumble of buildings strewn across a certain geographical space and subsequently dubbed a city; it soothes me. I think of the sign my sister proudly displays in bedroom, the one suggesting a messy desk is the sign of a creative mind, and I want to explain the peace it gives me to look at something so improbably chaotic and know that it still makes sense.
