When it came to writing about Stockholm, there was a hesitation and procrastination that I couldn’t seem to shake. There was a heaviness to the seemingly utopian and oddly simplistic city, to the task that was understanding it. In theory, Stockholm was homogeneous, even, equal, and one dimensional, but visually, it was difficult for me. The density of the architecture, the thickness of the air, the fragmented pieces of land wrapped about by pockets of water...there was no organization, no rhythm or reason. Half of it felt sunny, delicate, and elegant; the other half gloomy, industrial, chaotic, and confusing. It was perplexing, layered, and thus, “heavy.” 

There was an innocent kind of contentment emulating from everyone I passed by though. The energy was comforting, making me wonder if my labeling this city “heavy” was misguided. Perhaps that didn’t even make sense. Even if Stockholm were “heavy,” even if visually it did appear contradictory or complex, the movement of the city, those that filled that visual, were buoyant and soft- not impenetrable. I procrastinated and hesitated because my argument for the “heavy city” had no basis. My conclusions about Stockholm were clouded by how much I was stuck in my own head. We both were. Weighed down by ourselves, each other, and quick to displace it. Stockholm was just a setting. The heaviness lay in our goodbye.