I am a prisoner in a
scentless world. Around me, others flaunt their enjoyment. Shovelling snow off
of their lawns, the brown earth peeking through, the matted grass flattened
under the weight of winter. They smell, I imagine, the long-dormant earth, the
wonderful smell of decay that is the promise of new life. I see them, my
neighbours, sipping their morning coffee on their porches. The warm aroma. But
me? All I see is hard work and frequent urination. I cannot enjoy these spring
labors; I cannot enjoy the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
Is life in the suburbs
really that bad, you ask?
It is when you have a
sinus infection.
Indeed, this post is
at least partially about one of the advantages of the suburbs: fresh air. Yes,
having a head-cold in the suburbs is absolutely better than having one in the
city. I know, because I’ve been to the city a lot this week, and the smell of
exhaust in the metro is something that even the fortress of mucus that has
become my cranial cavity cannot withstand. What I can’t smell, I can feel.
I’ve also been looking
at apartments. In the city. (Yes, this blog is of limited tenure.) And what has
struck me is how used to my house in the suburbs I have become. In the city,
smokers are slotted on top of one another, creating corridors of second hand
smoke. The apartments themselves: expensive, small, black mold growing on the
ceilings of the bathrooms, walls yellowed from years of chain-smoking. Outside
the buildings, dog poop lining the sidewalks half thawed, tendrils of swill
melting off them in patterns of lace. Not being able to smell it, I am still
able to see it. In this respect, the head-cold is actually a defense.
What this means, I
think, is the suburbs have changed me. I’m used to having nice green things
around me, and not too many people. It’s not that the suburbanite is more
virtuous, it’s that he’s less populous. And as such, his bad habits are less
obvious.
The city:
overcrowding, homelessness, stripper bars, corruption and pot holes. But also,
yoga studios, people, music, art.
The suburbs: cliques,
consumerism, over-consumption and isolation. But also, gardening, family, open
space and sky, fresh air.
The lesson: the prison
is not the suburbs; the prison is my head. Quite literally, but also in a
deeper sense.
