Dear Architecture,
I know it sounds unbelievable, but I think it was love at first sight. You don’t believe me? I can even describe what you were wearing that day; some sort of Park Güell skirt, a Casa Mila blouse and a Sagrada Família on your head. Everyone used to call you Gaudi, you were so beautiful, colorful, like a fairytale.
But then you changed. I witnessed every phase of you transformation: The Mies period, so cold and glassy, The Corbu, full of strict points how things should be done, your rebellious phase where everyone called you Gehry, your feminine side with the face of Niemayer. And I loved you in every one of them.
You know, I never told you this, but my love was full of sacrifices; sleepless nights thinking about what you said or why you said it, building models of our dreams, cutting fingers trying, glue all over my hair and a dry bank account buying you gifts.
You are not an easy person. There were days that you were so cruel, so brutally honest, you slapped me in the face with the truth. I was so young and immature. I didn’t know what I wanted, didn’t know who I’d become, dreaming of Pritzkers and Starchitects. You teached me that dreams and reality are sometimes miles apart. Idealism is for fools, was your favorite quote.
Yet, I still loved you. I think I still do. Does this sound masochist or weak? I don’t think so. You are a part of me, Architecture. You were my first love, the one that books write poems about. I couldn’t imagine my life without you. Even with fingers full of blood and tons of caffeine in my veins, you remain my favorite.
Hey Architecture, I am just an architect, standing in front of you, asking you to love me!
Yours truly,
Every Architect out there
