A simple walk that doesn’t last a lifetime, but one I will remember forever. A simple walk like this is all I need to know that even though I was not born here, I birthed my love here. Even though I was not born here, I birthed my dreams and my fight here. That these paved roads that are meant for sidewalks, these homes that have no backyard, and the people that can become family is beauty that I want to find. Walks like these allow me to understand that even though I did not live here, I will start my life here. This is where I am meant to be with the people that know me and the city that dreams and fights like me. I wouldn’t find this in the country I was born in, in the neighbourhood I live in, and in the city that I reside in. Theres no connection for me here, no birth of love that I can collect here and no sense of family that I see.
Walks that remind me why I don’t feel the same where I live, why they don’t find me in the fast pace life of reality and in the clouded smoke of money. There is no walk here in a city that relies on four wheels of rubber and not their two wheels of bones. All I end up seeing is too many homes being built that are still empty and cold. Why walk in a city that forgets how to walk? Why birth my love in a city that only holds industrial smoke to the sky? Why grow my roots in a country that often times forgets who I am and those like me.
My walk will be a journey that I take to reach my people, to reach my dreams and the mountains. I walk in hopes that my destination will be one that I will never stop loving. In the middle of the road that people call sidewalks, past the neighbour that I always speak to in the language of my mother and father, and toward the mountain that echoes “finally” to greet me back home. Breathing in the air of Kurdish bread and the heat of the sun. Pure sunlight shining down on a city that is caught in between two mountains who fight for love. One who takes in pain and one who takes the pain away. So I walk alone past the corner store while the owner waves at me, down the hill to see Dream city flashing its lights at me and I turn to my left to see my babpîr [grandpa] call out for me “Kêchâ mn” [“my daughter”] as I sit beside him legs crossed ready to drink my ça [tea] and dip my Kurdish bread into the tahîn I tell him about my day in the city of my life.
These are what I want my walks to be like..
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Credits to: @axink13 for the photo