This Is My Home

Does the city remember the people who lived in it all their lives? Every day they walked its streets, breathing in its breeze, dust, and smoke, fighting for its peace and integrity, burying their loved ones in its earth, and greeting new generations with open arms. I know you can’t remember every face—people are like the swift and endless flow of a river. But I believe the city remembers those who love it, who serve it with their work—they leave their traces here.