Autumn

First day of Autumn today, they remind us on the news. What does the end of summer mean to you? The end of pretty girls in dresses, shorts and tank tops?

But it still feels like summer, doesn't it? That lady there in the black dress. Summer making her last stand. But the temperature will drop, the boots and jackets will come out, and we know Autumn's here. This is life. A cycle.

But you know, much as we love Summer, Autumn is really our season. Autumn defines us. We are a city of romantics. Melancholic, grandiose, we are like that.

See those steps? Where the students, the office workers, young mothers with prams are? Well, we jokingly call it 'The Italian Steps', after the Spanish Steps in Rome. I think it is very picture-perfect. Imagine, a pretty lady in work attire, sitting on the steps, shades pulled up to her hair, a cigarette in hand, nonchalance.

That girl across the street listening to her mp3? Well, we are certainly in a league of our own, no? Traffic lights have almost a mythical place here. Next to cafes, trams, launderettes, supermarkets and bookstores.

Bookstores? You look at me in disbelief. Everyone here has his or her own bookstore. Just around the corner, up the slope is mine. Giovanni's.

Ah, the smell of old books! Open one, and what swirl before you are not just the words the writer has painstakingly chosen, but also the memories, the thoughts of the people who have held this book before you. That, is the charm of books. Didn't Coehlo say that books are meant to undertake their own journeys?

Ever removed a book from a shelf to see a face in the space left behind?

It is a small shop, as you can see. Giovanni lives on the second floor. He has a balcony and we can go up.

I can see Giovanni here, looking down at the street, at the people hurrying by, looking across at the rest of the city. The cacophony of tiled roofs, chimneys, the TV antenna, windows and balconies. There is beauty in chaos.

Giovanni's lover used to say, according to him. She was a book lover, so after she died, he opened this bookstore, selling books she loved.

Sunset, balcony, wine. If you ever date a local girl, remember these three words. But it is time to go.

The evening has just come to life.

Up for some tapas? A Spanish Kiss. Possibly the best Spanish place in town. No, the owner isn't Spanish, he's a local, though the chefs and waitresses are all Spanish. This place is a second home to most of the Spaniards here.

Well, I know the question on your mind. When he was still a student, he was out drinking with his friends. They got so drunk that he didn't know how he got separated from his friends. Next thing he knew, he was on the tram floor, in the arms of a girl. A very pretty girl, he said. She was asking him in English if he was all right. 'Are you ok? Are you ok?' He nodded, and she asked him where did he live. He told her, and she told him he must change trams. All this while, her friends were talking to her, and they seemed to be arguing. Finally they all got out and she walked off. A guy told him he had to change here and they had to get on their way. He replied that he was all right and could manage on his own. So as they were leaving, he asked the guy: 'What's her name? Where is she from?'

'Her name is Aida. From Spain.'

He spent the rest of the summer searching for her, because he was sure she was an exchange student. Summer passed. 10 years have passed. He never found her. About 5 years ago, he decided to open this place. Maybe because he never gave up.

Hope is the absence of reason, huh.

The air's noticeably chillier, no? We always say, people meet in summer to snuggle together in winter. Autumn is when the relationship deepens, the romance and all.

Sluts and Bitches. How did they come up with this name, I won't know. But it certainly catches the attention, no? Don't worry, the people who come here are nice. It is really a misnomer. And this place is where the best of the best gather. It is actually the perfect place to start. Good food, good ambience, pretty waitresses and hunky bartenders. Something for everybody. A winning combination.

Midnight, a new day has begun. A toast to me. New start. I am getting divorced. Went home one day and found my husband cheating on me. That's why I am back in this city. My city. Why did I leave in the first place? Home is where the heart is. A toast to my city.

Trudging revelers on their way home. Whether you drank out of joy, or to drown your sorrows, you have to go home at the end of it. You have to go, because life goes on.

That guy on the steps in front of that townhouse. He looks a wreck, doesn't he? Now you think we are a city of broken hearts. But hey, you know, we are a city of romantics. We believe that somewhere out there, the person for us is trying to get here as fast as he or she can. Hope for the hopeless.

The sun is coming out, the autumn air is crisp and fresh. The smell of freshly-baked bread from the bakery, the newspaper boy making his delivery, the girl in tracksuit on her morning run.

Like a dream, wasn't it?

Reach home safely and take care.