Le Parisian Brooklyn

Have you ever heard of New York? Probably not, being evidently sarcastic.

Nonetheless, if you have, well... Let me tell you that there is a City a bit more to the North. A City that has taken on many names, given by many.

A City to see from beyond. Raised by the outward bounded arrivals. One that holds meaning to welcomes, to new beginnings and horizons.

A City that belongs to no one and to everyone that dare to walks through its streets on Winter time. And if it does not welcome one, then nobody will stay put.

A City where there is a place for everyone in the bus to sit and if someone fancies any different, we know who to address from there.

Rules made by the outnumbered, the outvoted, to never let racism and discrimination last through the day. For there is always poems of Degradare afloat but they don't last long in these Streets of the Thousand and one Colors.

Where the minorities only contribute to the Big Agape that surrounds the Mont Royal. The whole World assembles in one place and in here, it does not matter where you come from, you will be understood. After all, a City of immigrants listen to each other no matter the language.

Designated various times, some know it as "The Parisian Brooklyn", "The City of a Hundred Steeples", "La Metropole", "The City of Saints" and consequently, "Sin City".

City of Sinners during the Prohibitions years in the States, heading North was an opened direction. And in fact, this City has not lost its touch on Crazy Night Life and hosting not just Festivals but de Celebrations.

For a common mistake is underestimating this City and its craziness, its shapes and presence. Furthermore, its People.

A city that you arrive at as a child arriving in a new school. Afraid and most likely alone.

Filled with strangers from far away places from different parts of the Earth. Speaking in tongues not known by the local growth. Nevertheless, they talk to it and this City does listen and understands. For It was raised by them, they have seen it grow, they have seen the views of the sunlight slowly fade away with the construction of more of the city’s giants.

Indeed, this Metropolis is always under construction, always with an orange cone at sight.. or an abundant amount of them. Always in movement and development for there is always someone new to welcome. Truly, this city shapes to everyone that comes through its ‘Doors’. There is something about these buildings and old architecture that always seem to reflect the essence of the sky even when this one is dim.

Even so, the real greatness of a city is not measured by how high their buildings are, in fact, the greatness of a city does not have to do with architecture at all. The real eminence of this City, of Le Mont Real, is how people live between these skyscrapers.

How to describe the movement of those lives in this city? Constant, unique, colorful, changing, momentarily flashing, motionless and nimble all at once. The movement that this city is bounded to, is made by the walkers that paint the walls and put color when the seasons darken.

There is rich, there is old, lot of young and lots of all and none. But there is a particular way in which this people walk. They bring all the continents that they had once belonged to and forget them all when stepping in the sidewalks. For in this city, this multi-cultural assembly, there is no separations, no certain benefits for one and not the other.

When I walk through this city, we are all the same. As if we all had one mother and recall her differently. I have seen many colors of eyes, many shapes of noses, various tones of skin but this City paints and photographs on black and white. All its inhabitants go up and down the street everyday, therefore the philosophy of this city it's pure essence of the Self.

This City takes no one for granted and no one as a Premium. It does not own a balance while swimming through the midnight lights, everyone is their own weight and whatever troubles they carry, they may forget while under the city lights. The place of reunion, of expression, if one does not matter, none of us do and if we are all the same, why not become one?

This city talks sometimes when you walk by the alleys when you seem to forget who you are. In a good way, you have only thoughts to appreciate the snow falls and the dancing shadows that the modern castles make, no expectation of whom to be. You can be who you want, belong or not, you will always be welcomed back. Truthfully is what this City searches, this is not a club to join, but a mere painting to decorate the ceilings with, to illustrate yourself on, does not matter where you come from, this city makes space for them all.

So much mystery when the freedom of being is given. A homeless man, a lonely woman, a child in a rush, somehow all the footsteps fit the same. Independent to move and see different silhouettes, endless flags in motion in every Quartier de la Ville.

So much history in one place, Italian color, French parfum, scenes made by Brooklyn, Rainbow rooftops to walk on, the more steps you take the more you find. Structure is the background, People are made of sparkle, made of stone and cotton. Even the forgotten villagers of this place all can join where the river narrows.

For this City is here for the everybodies, the nobodies, the lost, the doubtful, the under-construction, the researchers, the bodies that want to pose to the autumn blaze and stand like trees.

In this City nobody has to be ashamed of their accent, of the skins they wear because the People here speak two languages at work and another two at home. No space to be embarrassed of the speed of their movements, the feathers they decide to embrace. In here, we do not care who you are or where you come from. Wear your flags with pride if you must for in this streets, you are here and in a million other places. You are me and I am you.

You don't speak English nor French? .. Then sing to me what you are and where you are looking to go, we can go there together.