Invisible Cities : Italo Calvino - Zenobia

My feelings as I read the book Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino.
Thin Cities - Zenobia

Excerpt from the book:

"Now I shall tell of the city of Zenobia, which is wonderful in this fashion: although set on dry terrain it stands on high pilings, and the houses are of bamboo and zinc, with many platforms and balconies placed on stilts at various heights, crossing one another, linked by ladders and hanging side-walks  surmounted by cone-roofed belvederes, barrels storing water, weather vanes, jutting pulleys, and fish poles, and cranes.
No one remembers what need or command or desire drove Zenobia's founders to give their city this form, and so there is no telling whether it was satisfied by the city as we see it today, which has perhaps grown through successive superimpositions from the first, now undecipherable plan. But what is certain is that if you ask an inhabitant of Zenobia to describe his vision of a happy life, it is always a city like Zenobia that he imagines, with its pilings and its suspended stairways, a Zenobia perhaps quite different, a-flutter with banners and ribbons, but always derived by combining elements of that first model.This said, it is pointless trying to decide whether Zenobia is to be classified among happy cities or among the unhappy. It makes no sense to divide cities into these two species, but rather into another two: those that through the years and the changes continue to give their form to desires, and those in which desires either erase the city or are erased by it."

I arrive in Zenobia and I'm filled with awe and wonderment at the undecipherable plan with its crazy array of buildings on high pilings and stilts.

I look up at them, suddenly feeling very tiny, as they tower around me. They are interlinked by criss-crossing stairs  platforms and balconies.Although the inhabitants are happy and content to live amongst these chaos, I feel somewhat claustrophobic. I wish there would be some more openness to the city. Something more for the happy citizens.

One of the streets comprised of a typical building which is repeated in different manners along one particular street. I memorize its appearance and it lays etched in my mind..

I keep on walking, I see people celebrating, people fighting, people singing and dancing. I long to be a part of it all, and yet I find myself lost in the narrow, crooked streets of the darker side of this city that is otherwise teeming with energy. I encounter those who live hidden here, ones who have loved and lost, ones who have no friends, people with illnesses and sorrows and either have no one to share them with, or choose not to. I feel even the last drops of joy from inside of me vaporize, as I'm consumed entirely by this perpetual sadness.

I wish to lend a hand to those who suffer, but alas! my hands are tied up with the guilt of my actions and I've nothing to offer. I wish to be the shoulder to cry on, for those who need it, but alas! my shoulders are burdened with my grievances. I wish to be a friend to the ones that are lonely, but I myself am not a good enough friend. I swirl in my whirlpool of depressing thoughts, every one of them gnawing at my insides, punishing myself, causing myself pain. I want to scream out loud, but I have no voice. I want to call out to the gods of this city, but even they can't hear me from this corner of the world.

Just like this city, I live on.. I add on more burdens than I can bear, more sorrows than I can share. And yet I am happy with what I am, and what I have. Always content, always glad. With my burdens, pleasures, sorrows and celebrations. Through the years, my desires giving form to my changes...