The Streets I Had Walked Through

Night fell as I began to walk.

It was my first time being in this city, and I was resting at the moment.  Something caught my eyes as I wandered along the river that ran through the city.

A busy street. So, out of curiosity, I began heading towards the avenue.

Bright colorful lights began to flicker on and brighten the occupied streets that were once lit by the setting sun.  Smudges of pink and red and orange and yellow faded from the sky; then would the darkness and stars replace the disappearance.  Slowly, but surely.  

As I entered the vicinity, I heard familiar sounds.

Barrages of the sounds of the people lifted the mood of the narrow streets. The country’s language and music sprouted from players and TVs that rested in the small buildings.  Outside, native men sat at tables resting from the day’s challenges and commuted with drinks, delicacies, and playing cards.  Children in their springtime of youth laughed and giggled while running down the streets, soon to be scolded by the shop owners.

Many street vendors were yelling and selling their foreign commodities of sweet and delicious flavors. Tourists and Visitors wandered the open area to experience the cultures, and were drawn to the unknown. Mopeds and drivers shouted as they continued to struggle to squeeze through the crowded population.

As I walked, I sniffed the air of the night.

Walking down the street, there was only a neutral scent.  Each individual smell was like a door out of the many in a long hallway.  Foods and dishes gave away their aurora and attracted the many who were hungry or new.  The slight smell of tobacco floated up from the pipes of the elderly old men, but only temporarily. All of them somehow blended together so well; there was no mess or hassle.

Night’s activities continued its course as the nonexistent festivities went on.

The occurrences brought a slight smirk on my face as I observed. The scent and sound of the vivacious streets reminded me of a certain memory I couldn’t quite remember. However, I knew deep down I’ve felt this feeling before.

The feeling of comfort and relief, of warmth and liveliness, of happiness and tranquility. The feeling of home. 

The scent of mysterious and delicious foods being made, the shouting and energy of the little ones in the household, the harmony of music playing in different rooms, the conversation and laughter between two folks, the vague aurora of tobacco coming from the elders’ rooms, the warm lights that illuminated the rooms.

Nostalgia.

A bittersweet realization, but more sweet than bitter. It’s a  thought that makes appreciation come across our minds. It lasted as I walked down the avenue.

I smiled and continued on with life. I wanted to experience the warm memories again: the lively and blissful childhood I once had. The intangible treasures that I cherish.

Now, there was a new hope. An everlasting one which grew in my heart, and which was born in the streets I had walked through.