The park was nothing like those of the smaller towns. Theirs were miniature formal gardens for the elderly that had retired there for the quiet life. They had benches, ornamental trees, flowers year round and water fountains in clear lakes that were stocked with Koi carp. But not here. Not in the big town. Here a park meant acres of concrete interspersed with neat grass verges. We have rollerblading tracks, tennis courts, basketball courts, water parks and skate boarder basins. There are vendors with hotdogs and burgers, vendors with curry and rice, vendors with tacos and sour cream. There’s always music, sometimes clashing from various sources, none of them official. We don’t have colour from roses or asters, but it is more vibrant than any planned garden. I’m sure when my hair begins to whiten I will move out just like Nanna did and sit somewhere the birds can actually be heard. But right now I feel like that day will never come, even waiting for each weekend feels like an eternity.