Fifth Journey Day 32: Loaf in Transit

Date: June 9, 2025
Location: Trondheim, Norway

I walked without needing to arrive. Bakklandet unfolded like a quiet whisper — brick paths, bicycles that were leaning, rusted hinges, and flowerpots that seemed to be left exactly where they were supposed to stay. The houses felt lived-in, not like they were decorated for a show. Paint chipped in soft patterns, shutters were slightly ajar. Everything was heavy but quiet.

At one point, I stopped next to a low windowsill. Inside, there's a pair of blue socks on a heater and a single spoon in a mug. I didn't draw anything yet. Instead, I stood still, watching my own reflection in the glass, seeing someone else's life reflected back. I was in two places at once. Another visitor.

The cobbles were still dark from last night's rain, and the river moved slowly — not still, but not fast either. It was like the warehouses, with long, shivering verticals. I saw one duck make a perfect wake and disappear into the underpass of the old bridge.

A girl in red rubber boots passed me twice. I once had a loaf of bread. He was empty-handed. We didn't say anything to each other.

Back in the small apartment I'm renting, I sat by the window and peeled an orange. The scent reminded me of the end of the year in Singapore — school holidays, wet fingers, and too much light. It's strange how memory can be hidden in citrus.

I didn't do much today. But I paid attention. And somehow that feels like enough.