If you have been to the city of J., you might have heard of it. A Crossroad nicknamed after the only building found there. A Crossroad surrounded on all directions by nothingness.
From the East of the Crossroad, begins the yellow-and-black highway that separates the city of J. from a crowded holy city. Northwards is a less deserted road, but it can still turn into a pedestrian suicide site on certain days of Summer.
From the West, the road leads to where everyone else lives, if you can cross the old airport’s vast expanse of grounded dreams.
From the South of the Crossroad, the road leads to the city of J. University, where questions go there to die unanswered. The good news is, before you go into that territory of ambiguous hell, a part of the Wall stretches along its entire side. The Wall gives passerbies enough time to think before giving up their questions to the locks of despair.
On the Southwestern block of the Crossroad, there is a massive fence called the Pregnant Fence. Or, simply, the Wall. In a country where people drink motor-oil more than water, the Wall is famous for its pedestrian-friendly sidewalks. If you went there at the right time, the sidewalk almost flows with a two-way human stream.
The Wall circumvents an unused block of campus land, one side of which is at least two-kilometers long. That block is a patch of desert flirting with the old airport, but we shall not wander in that forgotten direction.
If you have the Wall on your right side, then you are going away. If you have it on your wrong side, then you might be coming home. Whichever side you keep it, the Wall will keep you and your secrets with the same discretion. It does not matter what you decide, as long as you can bear the emptiness beyond the Wall.
In contrast to the solidity of the Wall's silence, the emptiness brings forth questions. As soon as you lose sight of the Wall and go beyond the Crossroad, you must bear the consequences of the direction that you have taken. And the loss of wonder is always lonesome even in the thickest crowds.
Whatever comfort found in the brief endlessness of the Wall, the Crossroad is your last point of return. Whether you take the distance, return home or stay there, that Crossroad marks a finality. The finality of you. The end of you and the beginning of everything else. Everything that expects you to perform or fail. Everything that does not care. Everything that you will have to answer to in the emptiness that follows the Crossroad.
I wonder if the length of the Wall was designed to build momentums for decisions to be made. Or if the Crossroad was placed there on purpose, in case one walk was not enough and a second thought was needed. I wonder how many times the Wall stretched itself for rambling thoughts to bounce upon.
I wonder how many people have reversed their decisions there. I wonder if you walked by the Wall long and far enough, you might retake every decision you have wronged. And have the chance make them right again.
