What's Your Story?

What's your story, Copenhagen?

I have been here for three weeks now and I'm still wondering. You never talk. Never attempt eye contact. Even when I look at you, you shy and look away. What's going on there, inside your head? What mysteries thrive in the criss-cross of your numerous lanes and  in the quiet of your green recluses? What does the wind carry when it blows over your cold grey-blue ingresses of water?

In my room, I can hear the cars zooming down the highway, all day. In the mornings, I can hear the birds chirp. Sometimes, late into the night, I can even hear the rain falling on the cobbled footpaths and the trees rustling with the wind. But, rarely, very rarely do I hear people talk, walking under the artistic street lamps.
Why are you so afraid of people listening in? Your privacy you guard with a knightly fierceness.

Yet, I've never felt so comfortable being out on my own in the streets, on a crowded bus, riding an elevator, visiting a mall or any of those places where you would typically find yourself surprised by a traffic of people. It's liberating to be just a part of that traffic: not caring about other people's business and, blessedly, not having to care about people caring about your business. Your privacy you can learn to prize.

Does it get lonely? I am waiting to find out. So far I have been too excited with the freedom to just enjoy solitude to worry about it.

Copenhagen, I may never fully know your story, but I must thank you for giving me the space to work on my own.

*Picture Courtesy: Wikipedia


Words are always welcome.
Appreciative or critical- I'm waiting to hear from you.