Travelling is something that I’ve never really enjoyed. Visiting new places? Yes. But the journey there under the scorching sun while being deluded with motion sickness? Not so much. Thankfully, the twenty minute ride to school and back home doesn’t faze me. And when boredom strikes, looking out the window is the only option you’re left with.
While on the way home, I see a lot of buildings. Some ordinary ones, some empty opulent ones; but the one that always catches my eye is this newly-built fancy structure. I’ve never been inside it, but the erratic placement of half-naked Greek sculptures on pillars always makes my head turn whenever we pass by it. It has mint painted domes, an elaborate garden at the entrance, huge 20-feet gates. And it seems to be the ideal place for your morning walk or stray dogs to set up camp.
Further along the same road, there’s a dilapidated building which looks like it was built in the 70’s. (it’s probably newer than that) The empty flats provide the perfect sanctuary for spiders to put up cobwebs or to sell drugs. If you stare at it long enough, you are now viable to play the game of ‘What colour was the paint initially?’ I think it’s either baby blue or mustard yellow. Could be both.
The juxtaposition of these two buildings always amuses me for some reason. One is just starting out, is going to be the home for many lives. The other, no longer in its prime once had many happy residents (or drug dealers) in it. Maybe it represents something, something my pea sized brain can’t put to words yet.
Maybe you can interpret it? Let me know.
Me & Stuff 
That observation about guessing the original paint color is exactly the kind of small game that makes long commutes bearable. For me, it’s counting how many windows still have their original glass panes versus replaced ones — a quiet way to track a neighborhood’s
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The game of guessing the original paint color really resonated—baby blue or mustard yellow feels like a dusty riddle only a bus passenger could appreciate. Those two buildings side by side almost mirror the quiet tension between beginning and fading that we all carry through different seasons.
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The contrast between the mint-domed palace and the crumbling mustard-or-blue relic really stuck with me—it’s like watching two different eras share the same street without acknowledging each other. That little game of guessing the original paint color feels oddly profound when you think about how quickly a home can fade from memory.
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