City, for me, represents a transfer of historical agony and human’s suffering to present people.
Visit of a big city fills me with sorrow and my heart gets broken while I walk down the touristic paths of a metropole. With every step on that polished artificial avenues, enormous pain awakes.
Every glorious object I see, I find it magnificent for the amount of pain that accompanied its creation. Wondering about lives of unnamed and unimportant builders, their families, about their children, I imagine their misery and I ask myself: Did they know what are they building and that someday people will come and admire their work? Was that the consolation they believed while exposing their lives to such a torture, both physical and mental, in, or they did it simply because they had to do it? Either way, these eternal objects are indeed caught in history as never lasting, as it is human sweat, tears and suffers. Architectural creations are symbols of how human is able to torture another human, and they will stay great as long as there are people admiring it.
For torture is present still today, in every construction site of a city. They are building and creating a masterpiece that will be admired by some future tourists while they live in some modest shelter, forbidden to reach a basic human dignity. Hidden from the rest of society as a disgrace and irritation never aware that in fact without their hardworking hands and sweat these architectural triumphs would never be possible.
It hurts my heart watching all those happy tourists, violent in their pleasure. They guard their enjoyment (I paid for it and I am not going to let anything to ruin it) with unreal laughter, jumping … taking pictures in every step excessively ecstatic. Selfish in their euphoria for which they paid so much money it made them blind to the cruel reality around them.
Walking down those avenues my heart shrinks more and more, while I watch reality slipping past visitors.
For there are people of the city in the streets. Each of them trying to humiliate himself to the point to be recognized by travelers. All of them, prostitutes, for one look, for one smile. And we pass by. Like that is something normal. Moreover, like they don’t exist.
We recognize them only so to judge them. To fill our egos on their misery, proving ourselves how thankful can we be for our parents, our states, our society. Mostly they serve us as an apology, an excuse for our miserable lives.
Alienation of humanity from humanity becomes so painfully obvious in a big city. People not living with, but over others. They cover other lives with their lives which will be covered with even further lives. Humiliation and disgrace became such a natural thing in a metropole that it took place of a tourist attraction.
I go, every now and then…seduced by other people’s talks and pictures…in hope to find beauty.
And for now, all I could take from the city were tears.
photo: Aleksandar Mazzora