Bakuɭ

Like many of you, I didn’t know the meaning of flâneur until a friend called me one. Curious, I looked it up. A flâneur is someone who wanders with intention. An observer, an explorer, someone who absorbs the essence of a place . It felt like the perfect description of me. I may not have traveled extensively, but wherever I go, I notice things. Because to me, cities are like people; each with its own personality, rhythm, and way of being. Some cities never stop moving. They stretch and expand endlessly, always making room for more, like someone eager to please, constantly accommodating, never wanting to say no. These cities thrive on movement! More people, more buildings, more opportunities. Yet, in their rush to grow, they often lose something: breathing space, quality of life, even identity. Until the chaos itself becomes their identity. Then, there are cities that hold back. They resist change, setting limits to preserve their character, like someone who values their space and remai...

 There’s something indescribably sweet about someone being curious about you: someone who wants to know every little detail, even the ones you think are insignificant. Like why you always choose this café over that one. What is your go to place. The story behind that tiny scar on your hand. Or your take on something as simple as a bogenvillea. To be loved is to be known. To love, in return, is to invite someone into your little world. It’s a choice, no matter how challenging. It’s giving endless chances, being patient even when it’s the 100th time. Love is like caring for something fragile yet unfamiliar; filled with newness, requiring constant learning and unlearning. I’ve seen love in small habits. My grandpa working through sudokus with a pencil, never a pen. My grandma turning on the radio while cooking. Something my mother does too. Her calendar filled with everyday notes: when the gas cylinder was installed, when the milkman missed a visit. My dad sneaking a piece of dark cho...