A thought written on a Sunday morning.
When I was a kid the world made a different sense.
There was a moment when I was particularly excited by the cracks on the walls. You know, the cracks that might be on the surface or might run deep, going beyond the layers of colors. I remember for the adults that was equal to trouble and calls to the professionals to come and paint over so that aesthetics is restored. That, I couldn’t understand. To me the cracks were interesting, and more than interesting, they were useful. In my mind the cracks were what cities use to breathe. On the walls, on the streets. Cities breathing through cracks. You paint them over, but soon enough a new crack will emerge. The city needs to breathe. I defined beauty in what pleased me.
Growing older, the world makes a different sense. I learnt to think like an adult. The cracks are bad news now. There are no stories of cities that breathe any more. I need to have the wall painted, it looks neglected. A responsible adult takes care of their cracks. I need to be responsible. I now define beauty in what pleases the others.
