I walked down the bustling street with my friend, our shoes tapping in rhythm on the cracked sidewalk. Passing by a line of parked cars, my friend pointed out every police presence: a uniformed officer chatting by a corner, a sleek patrol car idling at the curb, and the distant thrum of a helicopter overhead. "There’s another police officer, a police car, a police helicopter," my friend muttered, scanning the streets.
"It’s funny how people notice different things," I replied, my attention drawn instead to the gleaming badge on the officer and the stylish polish of the patrol car.
As we wandered deeper, my friend began pointing out people of different backgrounds, whispering observations about faces and accents. "There’s another non-native person, look, another and another," they said, voice tinged with curiosity. But I only saw a kaleidoscope of beauty—the vivid scarves, the warm smiles, and the glowing diversity that made the city alive. "I think everyone looks wonderful," I said, marveling at the scene.
My friend kicked a metal canister, grimacing at the needles and trash along the curb. "Look at all these druggies," they complained, eyes scanning for the smallest signs of trouble. Yet my gaze drifted to the hidden corners—a mural blooming behind a dumpster, the shy smile of a cleaner as she swept up the mess. The city’s beauty persisted, even in its rough patches.
The overflowing trash cans and scattered litter caught my friend’s attention. "There’s a lot of fly tipping and trash cans overflowing," they commented, shaking their head. But I smiled at the driver of the garbage truck—a woman with bright eyes and a joyful wave—finding a small spark of charm amid the clutter.
My friend was quick to spot hazards. "There’s a lot of hazards around here, dazzling headlights, cracked pavements, and potholed roads," they remarked, steering me away from danger. Yet my focus lingered on the cake shop nearby, watching the lady carefully arrange her advertisement sign—a small act of hope and resilience in the midst of disrepair.
My friend murmured about refugees and foreigners, casting a wary eye at the changing crowd. "Look at all these newcomers to our country, pretty soon you won’t see any of us anymore," they sighed. Yet I saw only the beauty in the swirling colors, the vibrant clothing, and the symphony of languages. Diversity painted the night in strokes of gold and emerald.
My friend vented about political tricks and media manipulation, bitterness shadowing their words. "Political tricks and media manipulation have ruined our country," they declared, voice heavy. I watched them, feeling the distance grow, their envy and jealousy clouding memories of youthful joy. I wished they could see what I saw—the beauty of joining in, of embracing newness and difference, of living with love instead of watching from the sidelines.
Just an average day. "It is funny how people notice different things," I mused, hope lingering in my heart that tomorrow, perhaps, we would all see a little more beauty together.
