When you are suffering is when you are most real. When you are suffering the emotional turmoil that results from your unbalanced existence. The emotional turmoil that, today, arises at your realisation of the transience of the moment; the transience of being back in your hometown before disappearing back to your place of obligation. The hometown, whose unconditional beauty and whose primitive and earthly inconveniences, continues to captivate you and ensure that you resort to her ground no matter the love you cultivate elsewhere.
The city is cold and distant, the sweltering heat has migrated away to leave behind grey and windy chills that haunt the concrete forest. The hustle and bustle persists but it is muted behind the persistent drizzle and your floating consciousness. You are hurrying to some place but no place in particular.
The nondescript cacophony of city immerses you. You, who have little influence on the greater destinies that the metropolis establishes for itself. That over-inflated image of self which thrives in this dense and preoccupied exemplification of modern human values.
What comes next you do not know of, but you know that your time here is limited. It is so harsh and yet so thriving. Nowhere else would thrust upon you so same pressures for greatness. Nowhere else would unfold to offer your wildest desires. And nowhere else would be your home in the heart.
