Chidzey Ilia - WorldWideForest.com

Time had passed and changed so much that the place seemed strangely unfamiliar. By now industrial progress had taken over in a gradual battle against what was left of our countryside. Not that any outsider had ever seen or understood this beauty. The decay seemed obvious to me. It was where I grew up, and had been my hometown for many years. It was the place that I escaped to in my mind when I needed shelter from my ever increasing moments of fear.

Looking out of the taxi window as I made my way back home, I didnt recognize the streets. Many of the houses were collapsing and others now lay empty. The street was riddled with holes, and weeds were growing through unused bricks. It was surreal. The murky grey water of the industrial canal that had followed my trip for miles had something deadly and sinister about it. It always had, I remembered. In fact, this very canal was created when the industry began. It had been dug without any respect or consideration for the trees and natural environment that surrounded it. It created a straight line of toxic polluted water from the nearest city to the sea, disrespectfully cutting through my hometown.

Industry, or maybe I should say civilization, had always been my greatest enemy. It may sound strange, but I believe progress has caused more harm than good.

I definitely needed a change from my previous city life, but being confronted with what my hometown had become was causing me great distress. If not for any other reason, this home coming had made me articulate the many confused thoughts that I had been having lately.

There it was. The house. My old home! It was enormous, even bigger and more imposing than I remembered it. Its huge entrance was impressive. With stairways on both sides, you were reminded that you were entering an exalted area. Each room or angle was marked with its own specific detail. Whatever it was, from a wood-carved finishing or a cast-iron flowery fitting or even the light filtering in through the colored mosaic glass, it re-awakened vague memories. The 1920s architecture had left an imprint on my life, so that in many ways I had never understood modern housing. Contemporary places seemed empty to me. Not worthy of being called a house, let alone a home. Maybe for others, but not for me.

I have never understood people who live in apartments. The collective society that results seems unrealistic, like life in the big cities. Nobody seems to know each other or be connected to a particular house or place. It is a transient way of living, impersonal with people so closely packed together that life becomes an ant hill, inhuman almost.

This house on the contrary seemed proud, with a protective personality. Now that I came to think of it, not one of the places Id been to since had left an impression quite like it.

How sad it was to see it all empty and alone.

Are you Paco?

You must be! How nice to see you after such a long time.

We wanted to inform you sooner, but nobody knew where you were. Let me show you these last letters. It is so nice to see you. Your brother Charles is coming soon. I spoke to him this morning and his plane should have arrived already. It must have been quite a trip for him too. You two are very difficult to track down.

The sudden death of our father had been the reason to look for us. Very few of our fathers friends were left, so those who were, almost felt like family to us now. After such a long time, it was a relief to see them, how they still cared, as proof of our peaceful past.

It was as if we had seen each other yesterday. Charles hardly said anything, just a glimmer of an approving smile. He immediately started working in the garden. Clearing up the mess that had piled up in the past years, as he shouted what I should do. I think it was his way of getting over the loss of our father. It seemed natural and as it had always been.

Charles was a true farmer, and although he had spent the last sixteen years in New York, living life as a neatly dressed businessman, this farmer in front of me was his real self. We hadnt heard much from him. Life in New York, as I imagine, is crazy. Cars and huge buildings is all that is there, a coating of human-made pollution on our beautiful world. The few suppressed trees you find in every so many side streets are more like the ultimate sign of what had once been, rather than any positive sign for the future. Charles didnt talk about it, but I could see from how rapidly he adjusted back into his farmers style, that it was just what he needed. As for myself, I still was searching for who I really was. Not a businessman like he was, surely. Too creative to be that. A designer or architect? Maybe. I never understood the difference. In the past years, I had designed so many things that I could hardly remember. Luckily it was the last thing on my mind. All I wanted was to return here, and so here I was.

For years, I had been travelling from one city to the other, looking for work, following leads to find new challenges. But the more I developed my profession, the more I felt design and architecture have not gone forward at all. Todays cities are about money & work, whereas yesterdays cities were about life & people, and so was design. Once, every single house had an entrance door that had been designed specifically. Door handles and hinges were designed to fit the building in a harmonious way, and all the windows were decorated with deliberately chosen colored scenes in stained glass. It still had a human aspect. Nature was part of these cities because rivers still passed through them. Cities were actually built around these rivers, where trees and animals were an essential component. Nowadays, we create artificial lakes to brighten up the scenery, in the same way plastic flowers do inside our homes.