A living, breathing entity.

That’s the thing about this city: it sucks you in.

You become a part of this city, like a streetlight, a length of pavement or a building.

I always wanted to be part of the buildings – standing tall, everyone noticing me, taking pictures with me – but buildings are demolished. They are torn down and renovated, rebuilt. I did not want to change to fit into the trends of the time. If I had an imposing gothic-inspired exterior, I would not want to change to a modern, contemporary façade.

Did I want to be a streetlight? Yes. I wanted to shine a light on my friends, celebrate their achievements and embracing them in a golden glow of safety. However, someone came along and threw a rock at my light, shattering it into a million pieces. These tiny pieces would get stuck in people’s shows and cut them. No, I do not want to be a streetlight anymore.

To be walked over, trampled on everyday does not sound appealing in the slightest, but maybe that is all there is left for me in this city – to be a length of pavement.

Taking a sip from my coffee cup, I looked at the old man feeding the pigeons in the park. He had a smile on his face, calling out to each individual pigeon with the name he had given them.

“Eyes, don’t steal your sister's food.”

“No, Pecker, that is meant for Grayson.”

The lines on his face showed what he had already given this city, what he had already given the rest of us.

Maybe, just maybe, there are more options for me.

I do not have to be part of the physical world of this city. I could be part of the soul of this city.

I could feed the pigeons, greet my fellow city-dwellers on the street and clean up the park.

My phone dinged, signalling that my lunch break was over. Slowly getting up from the park bench, I waved at the old man, acknowledging that we were two souls connected by our location.

I merged into the foot traffic heading to the architects’ office where I worked. Around me, the rhythm of the city was played by people walking to their destinations.

That is the thing about this city, we are connected to one another.

Even as we wear masks and keep our distance, the soul of the city does not falter. We feed it everyday by being here, by keeping the city at the forefront of our minds. Our laughter is painted into the foundations of the city, but so are our tears and despair.

Entering my cubicle, I sit down and take out the plans for the park remodelling. It was missing something. It was missing a heart and a soul. But how do I infuse it with life?

It was the park where I had met my first friend in the city, where I spilled red wine all over my white dress on a date, where I had had my last picnic with Johnathon.

I still remember that day clearly. A perfect day in Autumn, the leaves just starting to turn red, yellow, and brown. A few of them had already jumped ship and they crackled under our feet as we walked. Johnathon had spread out the blanket next to the pond and the ducks would periodically try and join our picnic. I had packed our favourite bagels from the deli below our apartment.

Taking a breath, I dispelled the memory of Johnathon’s smile from my mind. That part was over and done with. I was no longer willing to wallow in that heartbreak and sadness. My melancholy days were behind me.  

Tentatively, I started to sketch an outline with pencil.

The park was the heart of this city. Yes, the grass, the plants, the trees, and the animals may change as the years pass, but they give this city life. Because life is a series of changes. Good and bad. Happy and sad. We can celebrate the changing of seasons by celebrating all that we have overcome and all that we’ve achieved. We can also simply celebrate the fact that we have survived another year. That is not something to take for granted.

Is the city emptier these days? Yes, of course. A massive blow was dealt to our city, but nevertheless, we will persist. We will again fill the city with laughter. No more tears. The buildings, the pavements, and the streetlights have seen too many tears. They have heard too many cries of despair.

The monument took form under my pencil.

We have survived and this city has survived. We have lost irreplaceable parts of our city life, but we have a foundation on which to rebuild, while remembering those that came before us. All is not lost. This city is not dead. No, it is only going through its rebirth.

This city has survived many near fatal attacks – it will survive this one and conquer. We will be part of it, together with the souls we have lost. For they are not completely lost. They have become embedded in the very fabric of our city. We are all collectively making up the heart and soul of this city.

The monument now finished, I started on the background. For you must view this monument in its context. It is a part of the city. It is part of the physical components of the city, but it showcases the heart and soul of this city. It represents us city-dwellers.

I may not be a streetlight, a length of pavement or a building, but I am a part of the builders of this city. I am part of the inspiration for this city. I am a part of this city’s every single breath. As those who have left it in this year, we all become part of the city’s foundations.

That is the thing about this city: it sucks you in. You become part of a living, breathing entity.