Silence between the noises

It's quiet, too quiet. I can only hear the wind and the distant cars that travel wherever cars travel on a Wednesday afternoon. My mind is still, but my body feels heavy. Each breath feels like lifting a stone from my chest. There's a pressure, a scream, an inner voice demanding for peace and stillness. I take a deep breath, grab my jacket from the hanger, and step out for a walk.

Night is slowly settling in, a daily battle between light and darkness. I start walking, letting my mind release its grip on work, deadlines, desires, and distractions. I glance into dimly lit apartments, observing the people inside, glimpses of life behind curtains. On the second floor of an old building, a young couple hangs a painting in their living room: she holds a hammer while he balances on a ladder, the artwork tucked under his arm.

I keep walking, taking deep breaths to relax my body. Outside a subway station, people rush in and out while an old man rests his head against a violin, emanating melancholic notes. My mind drifts to the past, to memories that feel like from another world. I am dancing on the streets of Paris with a girl in my arms. I smile nostalgically and return to the present moment, to the man and his violin. I pause briefly, tilting my head toward the full moon peeking between buildings. In a small park next to the subway, a grandfather plays table tennis with his nephew.

My body feels lighter as I listen to the sounds around me. I keep walking while night has almost taken reign over the city. Step by step, more apartments light up, emanating a warm, cozy glow that feels dreamlike. I watch the people on the streets, some rushing to their destinations, others carrying groceries, speaking on phones, or drinking on terraces. Spring seems to have arrived, creating a bustling atmosphere and lifting the cold winter depression.

I remember the cigarette tucked behind my ear and slowly light it up, entering an almost meditative state, free of thoughts and worries. I walk and walk, observing life unfold around me: apartments and buildings, cars and restaurants, lovers and loners, parents and teachers. Happy or sad, healthy or ill, loved or not loved, we all flow like a waterfall through time.

My walk approaches its end, and reality still seems distant. I stop for a few minutes, simply being there, existing. Thoughts and ideas return, along with observations and reflections. During my thirty-minute walk, I noticed that no one raised their head, looked around, smiled, or seemed present in the moment. Only one elderly lady in a wheelchair truly observed her surroundings. I caught her eye and smiled, returning the gift of a smile I had received from a stranger today.

How and why have we become so busy? When did we stop raising our heads to gaze at the sky and moon, to dream and think? What makes us so preoccupied, what could be so compelling that it keeps us perpetually wired and distracted? Why do we choose to watch strangers dance or stream games online when life's wonders unfold right before us? Will this disconnect deepen, or can we rediscover our humanity, forge real connections, and build genuine communities?

Questions upon questions from a restless mind seeking amusement. My walk ends, and I return to our small office, inspired to write down these thoughts and savor the calm, inner silence that follows my journey.