Any bright morning light couldn’t reach this side of town.
We were covered in a thick mist, palatable as soon as I stepped out of the door.
Despite being outside now, I’m relieved to realize it felt colder in my room.
How could a bed feel windier than the open, paved path outside my house?

Only after a few steps can I sense it.
The busy silence of a winter morning.
I find comfort in those hoping into their cars. Wondering how many times they have had to make this trip.
Did they know their way by heart now, relying less on their senses to navigate their way around?

I feel my footing change as I reach this next pavement.
We’re out of my compound and onto a side street.
It’s quite steep, and the shine of the tiles reminds me to thread carefully.
I walk down this path every day, only seeing the main road in the distance.

Its constant stream of cars heading down the tunnel brings the noise up.
I am now reaching society, and just a quick turn left separates me from my favorite breakfast.
The fans loudly rotating over the bustling kitchen cover the traffic noises.
I luckily manage to grab my usual seat and order. I am a creature of habit after all.

While I wait for my food, the person sitting next to me strikes up a conversation.
It’s quite rare to have an interaction in this place, as people are in and out in minutes, not here to linger.
After clarifying my situation, he explains that few foreigners are staying in this neighborhood.
“Because of the crematorium,” he says, “people would rather not live so close to it.”

Our fleeting discussion continues and ends, but this stays with me.

I wonder how it feels to consider this when moving somewhere.
To not only think about the energy of your home but to also think about what other buildings around you are.
That a hospital is too close to home makes it a not so good place to feel safe in.
Is this sentiment something felt deeply that I don’t have wiring for?
Can I build this sensitivity somehow, just to understand the experience?

Then I also wonder about those who still chose to live here.
Was this sentiment not strong enough to deter them from bathing in it daily.
Is this something they were looking for in some way? An external presence that could add to the experience of their village.
Is this a place they didn’t have a choice to be in and had to wrestle with from day to day to feel comfortable in?

And what about them?
Those who came from these places, how were they feeling about their environment?
Did they know about those not wanting to be near them? Is how they are perceived even a concern of theirs?
So many questions this small interaction brought to mind.
I really hadn’t realized all this about my neighborhood.

Feeling oddly good in this place.