A long time ago, she had believed some places were better to live at
than others. Some places have more resources, you may argue, to agree with her
first supposition. But that hardly has to do with the place in itself, more
likely with who’s ruling it. The lack of resources that can be found in one
place doesn’t determine that its population will not have those resources, not
in our global economy. The lack of money to buy them from somewhere does. You
see, its not really about the place, there’s so much more to it.
But different places have
different weather, you might say, still agreeing. And that is a fact. The dry,
melancholic wind that blows on the trees during the Brazilian winter is
absolutely different from the hot breath that comes in a Sudanese summer, and
all the other seasons in both countries have their particularities as well. But
the weather in itself doesn’t make one place better and other worse. What
decides the “betterness” is nothing but the taste of the client: if you enjoy
cold, a mild European summer with full blow snow on winter may fit you. If you
hate snow and feels depressed every time the thermometer drops, a tropical
country may be a better option for you.
In fact, no comparison
that involves the terms “better” or “worse” is reliable, since we who make
comparisons are people, and people prioritize different aspects when comparing.
The machines that make comparisons were also programmed by people to prioritize
certain aspects, and as its programmers, will hardly ever see the full picture.
Humans have great trouble looking at things constantly from multiple
perspectives. It is an art to learn during a lifetime.
Anyway, she had once
believed some places were better to live at then others. She had dropped that
supposition along the way, coincidentally when her list of countries know had
overcome the amount of fingers in one hand. By then she had realized what makes a place incredible is not only the
weather, or the touristic places. It is mostly the little things. It is the
person that greets you every time you get into the supermarket. It is the
canteen server that smiles at you every meal, and worries if you don’t show up.
It is the way flowers grown on sidewalk cracks. The species, color and smell of
these flowers. Their texture. It is the presence or the absence of bees. It is
the way snow melts slowly and is transformed into rainy drops dipping the
street when it’s sunny. It is the birds that you have finally trained to come
by your window, by tirelessly leaving pieces of bread outside.
A place is more than the
view. Growing accustomed to a place is to be able to walk without taking your
eyes off the ground, because the way the stones are set, and that particular
patch of concrete, and those specific bushes on the sides are so familiar that
you could be guided by them only, and not get lost. The beauty of a place
resides in the way it surprises you every once in a while, and at the same time
it feels like home in the way it’s unchangeable. Loving a place is, when coming
back to it, feeling your heart flooded of a warm nice soapy feeling, something
like the smell of a favorite soup flavor in a wet winter’s night. It is to
smell that soup’s scent in your soul, and feel comfortable just with the idea
of resting your bones in your old known bed.
Loving a place is also –
and sometimes, mostly - loving its people. Knowing you’ll miss them so deeply
if they aren’t there. Sometimes loving a place involves loving people that are
associated with it, but no longer there. Faces stained in your memory. Perfumes
and finger shapes and the texture of their skin, the way the sun reflected on
their eyes when they sat in that bench over there. Loving a place can be about
what happened there, or what you wish would happen. It can be about memories and
dreams. It can be about the sweetness of routine, and the bitter flavor of
leaving old, safe smiles for new ones you still don’t know if you’ll get.
When her passport carried
stamps from more countries than one hand could count, she realized all of that. And she suddenly knew that no place is better than other. That there is no best, and no worst. There is only you, and your way of looking, and the space you allow in your heart for that place to spread its roots. The amount of room you have for new people to curl up in. The amount of tea leaves in your cupboard to share mugs and stories.
She realized there is no better place: there is only a
better you, that will find beauty in every place.
