Brussels – the perfectly imperfect paradox

On Sunday, July 19th 2015, I was sat with my friends in the square of Grand Place, Brussels. Here is what I jotted down in my journal..


Calm, quiet – yet alive and loud. The atmosphere is pure. Sat in the square of the Grand Place, myself on my suitcase, and my two friends on the floor – all three of us are in awe of it all.

The air still holds the heat of the day, yet the cool breeze is winding through this cobbled haven. The various buildings stand guard around us, protecting us, the gold exteriors illuminated and magnificent. There are two policemen stood near the town hall, almost invisible in the scene, keeping a watchful eye.

I’ve lost count how many languages I’ve heard here; French, Dutch, Spanish, German, Russian…it’s clear that the love for this city is contagious, and cannot be contained by a border. There are countless people sat around, fully engrossed in their own worlds, all away from here, but all completely at home at the same time.

No one is too drunk, no one is too high. No one is causing trouble. It’s how a city should be; a relaxing hub for the young, the old, the wide-awake, the tired, the ignorant, the interested – Brussels is the perfectly imperfect paradox.


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