Butterflies

"Where are we going, dad?" my son asked as I bundled him up on the back, and into the child seat.

"Just driving around, I guess," I replied, before adding, "I want to show you some of the places
I used to play around here when I was a kid, ok?"

"Ok, dad," he replied, somewhat uncertain about what to make of all this.

I started the car and drove out of our cul-de-sac, remembering well the directions to my favorite meadow where I used to go after school, just sit there, stare at the woods, and chase butterflies, get wet and messy,go home and get a royal hiding from my mother for getting home late and with soaked clothes again.

As I humored him with the stories of what I did when I was his age, I drove closer to where the meadow is,and to my dissapointment, there's a large supermarket instead. "Sorry champ,
looks like the meadow's gone," I said, sighing and turning my head.

He seems rather dissapointed by it, since it's not everyday your father takes you out with the promise that you can run around with no restrictions, only to find out the promised land has been turned into a supermarket with lots of gas-guzzling vehicles littering the car park, as people went in and out the monstrous structure carrying and endless array of products, in celebration of our consumerist religion.

"I know," I said, as I started driving slowly again. "Let's go to the field where grandpa and I used
to play catch. I think we still have that ball inside the trunk too, let's have some fun there, ok?"

"Ok, dad," he replied, an innocent enthusiatic look on his face, only to be turned back into a
frown again as we reached there, and discover that a new apartment complex has been built there in its place.

"Um, we'll go and look for some other places I used to go, ok?" I said, smiling despite my frustration
with the development enroaching this the city, destroying it's natural environment to make way for more
concrete blocks.

He just sulked in the backseat, opting to keep quiet instead.

As we drove around, and discovered that plenty of my old stomping grounds has been razed and pillaged, with uncaring shopping malls, inhumane office blocks, and cold and unpersonal housing areas built in its place.

As we drove some more, desperate to find at least one spot that is untouched by concrete, cement and steel, we were only confronted with more uncaring structures, inhabited by cold, sallow faced, unsmiling creatures that walked on two legs, but used machinery to make their movements.

As I drove around, I saw that despite the money and effort placed into making each building more unique
and breathtaking than one another, it seems that deep inside, they're just dressing up what is essentially grey and ugly concrete and cement underneath it, with multiple layers of paint, glass and steel to fool people into believing that such aberrations should be considered "beautiful."

"Sorry, son. Looks like we'll have to go home," I sighed, and looked at him and said,

"Ok, dad," he said, rather sadly.

Damn it, I thought to myself as we drove back home.

They've ruined this city, all of it.

I recalled when I first moved here as a five year old, new structures are being built and destroyed
with an amazing regularity, but even then they preserved the greenery. It was a place to live in, a place to grow up, a place to sit down and talk with one another over anything.

But now? The city's expanding at such a dizzying rate, that it's become another cold and inpersonal
city that doted this country's landscape throughout the centuries.

I remember as a kid, the whole city was open for me, every door was open, everyone had an open, friendly
face, that seems to hide no secrets from you, and always ready for a new friend.

This dull, bleak, colorless city is numbing everyone's senses, now they're closing up as a way to protect themselves and the littlest privacy they could find. The inecessant barrage of noise, the endless assault of lights, and the limitless oppurtunities of escape numbed their senses, driving them to seek solitude inside the privacy of their own homes.

If they could, they would try to keep their daily interactions at a bare minimum, with only the friends
that they consider to be necessary.

Just like my parents, who moved here to escape, I should move out of as well. For the sake of my son.

I want him to live in a place where he would be greeted with a smile, where they would greet him with a "hi", whenever he passed by them.

To a place where he can grow up and climb trees, and chase butterflies again.

As I parked our car on the driveway, I turned my head, smiled, and said, "Don't worry, champ. We'll go to a place you can run around in the future. I promise."

He looked at me, an uncertain look, painted with faint traces of hope with a creeping excited smile completing it.

"Promise, dad?" he asked.

"I promise." I replied.