Blueprints of Belonging

The restaurant would usually be deserted by 11 pm but Sam sat there, in the deafening silence with his second cup of coffee. He held the warm cup of coffee between his cold fingers and had been aimlessly stirring it with a spoon for a few minutes. Typically, he would stare at the white froth and would lose himself in contemplation about his own life. But today, fear prevented him from doing so. There was one thing that Sam feared profoundly and that was oblivion. Not the oblivion of death itself, but of being erased, of fading into the white noise of existence so thoroughly that even his name would crumble to dust.

It was that very fear in him that was instilled from the time when he sat at the back of classrooms, where the teachers rarely noticed his hand raised. This fear had been nurtured ever since and had escalated even more when his mother died of cancer, taken far too young. Sam gazed at the blueprint in front of him and smiled at his life that was devoid of color. His life as an architect wasn’t entertaining either because in his mind, he was just stacking bricks and constructing skyscrapers that were one day, destined to crumble to dust. 

While paying the bill for his coffee, Sam glanced at his mom’s picture in his wallet that was taken before she passed away from cancer. She used to say “People won’t remember what you did. But, they will remember how you made them feel.” He wondered if she was right. If that was true, what did he leave behind? 

The next morning, Sam’s manager called him to her office. The firm had been retained to create a memorial park for a neighborhood erased by gentrification, a place to mourn what was lost, before it was paved over for glass towers.

“It’s your project,” she said, passing him a stack of papers. “Sam, you have one month to come up with something meaningful.”

He was scared again. The word, meaningful, haunted him as he drove home that evening. His mind churned with possibilities, but nothing felt right. How do you distill the essence of lives lived into stones, soil and bricks? How do you make people feel something? How do you add life or create a sense of liveliness into something lifeless? 

At home, Sam pushed aside his thoughts and started working. But before he could start the project, Sam spread old photos of people from that place. Though those photos were lifeless, they had everything. They had emotions, warmth, a sense of liveliness and purpose. And, most importantly they created a profound impact on the person who viewed the picture. That is exactly what Sam wanted to do with that park, but he wondered how. He created designs but no matter what he’d do, it seemed as if it was nothing in a bigger picture. Sam also thought about how the place he’d create would be forgotten, no matter how outstanding the design. 

Weeks passed in a haze of coffee-fueled nights. Sam even started interviewing some of the former residents in that area. Despite his progress, he continued to look for something that would revitalize the place and breathe life back into it. One afternoon, Sam met an elderly man named William, a former resident of that area. William invited Sam into his apartment for a cup of tea and they had a chat.

“The worst part about moving on in life, Sam, is that we have to leave behind pieces of our lives and parts of ourselves. Then, we replace those pieces with memories, but we can never return to them. Well, it's not that it's impossible, but the effort it would take, is maybe a little too much”, William said. His voice was full of emotion and maybe even had a drop of hope.

“How do you capture something like that in a park? Meaning, in a lifeless park, how do you breathe in life?” 

“Sam, you don’t capture it, you grow it again.”

Days passed and Sam meticulously created a design, keeping in mind William’s words. On the day of the pitch, Sam stood there before the executives. He could hear his own heart pounding loudly. Each beat was a thunderclap in his ears, drowning the whispers of doubt that lingered in his mind. His hands sweaty and overly heated, despite the cool air of the room, trembled slightly as he gripped the edges of the design’s folder. Fearfully, he then revealed his design: a vibrant, living memorial that featured a community garden surrounded by murals and displays that people could interact with. There was also a stage for music and storytelling, along with benches engraved with the names of families who once lived in the neighborhood. 

“This place won’t just be an ordinary park,” Sam said, his voice steadier than before. “This place will be a space for people to rebuild their connections, find a part of themselves and also honor what was lost. This place will serve to cultivate and nurture life, not incarcerate it.”

The room was silent for a moment, but then everyone put their hands together for Sam’s brilliant work. For the first time in years, Sam felt a spark of hope, that he had created something for which people will remember him. 

A month later, when Sam walked into the park, he smiled. He saw the laughter of young children playing around and people rebuilding their connections. Elders shared their experiences and stories on the stage and lively music filled the air. 

After a few minutes, a young woman approached Sam, holding a little boy by the hand. “Are you the architect?” she asked.

Sam nodded his head. 

“This place is beautiful,” she said. “It feels like home. Thanks to you, we all have the opportunity to reconnect with each other and find our lost selves.” 

As they walked away, Sam’s eyes brimmed with tears. His mother’s words echoed in his mind: “People don’t remember what you do. But, they will remember how you made them feel.” 

For the first time, Sam was joyous, not because he had created a wonderful place but because he had done something that created a profound impact in the lives of others. Sam realized that his legacy would live on even in the laughter of strangers and in the lives that would be touched by this place, and this made him feel less fearful about being forgotten.