Sometimes when you realise that you live in a city that is so big it overwhelmed you, and you feel so, so tiny and irrelevant, it makes you think that every effort you gave is going to waste anyway however hard you try. Problem comes and goes, and you try with all your might to solve it, yet you still feel like it is all insignificant. Where is the end of the road?

I was on a train to Stansted for a morning flight when I thought that big things are just the other things and they could be as insignificant as you. Or actually, you could be as significant as them. Or whichever metric you used when negative thoughts consume you.

Big things are beautiful because you look at them from afar. The shape of a big thing is solid and sure, not a single thing of doubt. It looks like they had it all figured out already. They are still pretty even when you changed your point of view. Just. Magnificent. Of how sure they exist.

But again, big things are beautiful because you look at them from afar. Take a hundred steps closer and you’ll find how fragile it is, the construction, the imperfect shapes with scratches, the ageing and fading paint. Not necessarily ugly, but fragile and complicated. Like you.

Like how you see yourself.

You are the closest being to yourself, and however hard you try to see yourself from afar you just can’t. You know how you work, you remember the origins of every scar, you know why the paint is fading. And you are fragile and complicated and maybe there is some parts of you you don’t like, yes, but it does not hinder you from being beautiful. You are still beautiful, but more than that, you are vulnerable and real and human. And what is it from being human that is not beautiful?

Cologne, Germany