It is becoming almost unbearable to keep reading Jane Jacobs' classic, as she writes about New York sentence after sentence. Anyone who has had any kind of vague contact with me knows it is my durrrreaaaam to get my bum to NY. I think it all started in year 10 art class with Ms Sheather, as she spoke very briefly about organising a school trip for us to NY (which, by the way was deemed too risky a trip for little sixteen year old expats by the school board). Anyone who knows me a little by better knows I love living in the city. We can have arguments and discussions about the pros and cons of this, but this is my monologue so stay out of it, please. I was recently asked by my uncle who resides in Hong Kong, "why would anyone want to live in the city? well, except for you.". Anyone who knows me well knows that I sometimes find it difficult to articulate myself (dot points ... dot points). Why do I like living in the city? Let me first make it clear that I don't like living in just any cities, but the more 'successful' ones, or what the media would term as 'liveable'. Successful in terms of Jane Jacobs-type cities. I have lived in Singapore. I would live in it's city. Auckland? Don't remember much of it aye bro, I was too young! Melbourne? Sure. Kuala Lumpur city? Probably not. Don't get me wrong, I love my home (which, for the record is in the burbs, and that's cool ... it's all good, I would live here), the amazing food, fond childhood memories, and all that sentimental jazz about not forgetting where you came from. But sorry hometown-city, it isn't going to work between us. It is you, not me. Oh, why do I love cities? Read Jane Jacobs. It is continually, page after page, reaffirming my observation, knowledge and that 'gut feeling' that Melbourne is indeed on its merry way to become a successful city. Hey, even Jan Gehl said so. It is also continually suffocating me in frustration that I really, really, need to get to New York.
Posted via email from zi xin wong
