Fifth Journey Day 78: One Sandal Dragging

Date: July 25, 2025
Location: Oral, Kazakhstan

I walked through the back streets of Oral this afternoon, away from the center and the river. There, the buildings are replaced by quiet, lined streets of homes. The air felt held — not completely still, but as if everything had slowed just enough to allow each movement to settle. In the heat, the roads felt warm, but not hot, and I stayed in the shadows.

I noticed the layers of the place. There were metal gates that had been painted over old ones. Grapevines climbed chain-link fences. Pink and green satellite dishes were fixed to faded brick. The plants here look strong. Even the weeds look like they've been arranged in advance, as if they've been practicing where to grow.

A boy rode past me on a bike with one sandal dragging. He looked back at her once, without any emotion. I didn't take a photo. It didn't feel like that kind of moment. It felt more like a sentence I heard in a language I don't speak, but I understood the tone.

There's a certain feel to places where people stay. These places aren't designed to impress, but to last. You can see bits of lace curtains through the iron grills. Tubs of dirty water from the laundry sink reflect the sky. I drew some pictures: window frames, cracks in the corner, and a plant growing out of an old pipe. They felt like small, simple places — not grand, but quiet acknowledgements.

I didn't talk to anyone today, but I didn't feel lonely. The silence was like part of the building. My body felt good in the heat, surprisingly — the kind that feels nice and comfortable, not the kind that feels like it's burning. I think I needed this: to be anonymous, not very important, and pay attention without having to explain myself.

It's evening now. The light is long and low, and I've left the windows open. I just heard the sound of a train — it wasn't loud, but you could still hear it. It's as if the town itself is the one remembering.