If I had to describe this city I would say it most resembles the one I grew up in, yet its hot unfamiliarity keeps my heart in my mouth. There is noise, incessant, traffic, incessant, and filth, everywhere. One neighbour is a music producer, another is a pianist, and helicopters whirr constantly overhead looking for God-knows-who. I have never listened to so much Bach.
At nights I lie in the dark on my giant bed and swat at my own moles thinking they're trying to bite me, zoning in the cicadas, zoning out the sirens. When a car comes home to roost its headlights fill my room and remind me I'm still awake.
By day the sun is sharp and hot and beautiful. Sometimes I ride along the street, pushing against the wind to keep cool, and I can't believe I live with palm trees. I'm learning a new vocabulary: semiology, epistemology, philology, basileo-patro-helio-theology. I'm learning a new history, old presidents, a new present (for I am currently at a beginning only afforded to those who have accomplished so much). I spend mornings taking myself very seriously, and afternoons taking the wrong train home.
Home, which this will be.
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