The Forgotten Garden: Rediscovering Hidden Green Spaces

I trace my steps on a winding path, not sure where I’m going.

The day has been long and rough. I went on a walk to clear my head, but the sky is just as foggy as my mind. All I see are the dark fumes of smoke hanging in the air, as cars are stuck in a jam and restless people hurry by. I miss Grandma’s farmhouse in the countryside, it made me feel so free, so light. What a shame I can’t go back. The Earth grew too hot for her crops. She even said the chickens stopped clucking as happily, and the birds stopped singing. She had to shut it down a while ago and move in with Mom. City life is more stable, even if it feels less alive.

While reminiscing Grandma's farm, I took out the strawberries in my bag and started to chew. It tasted… Artificial. Nothing like hers. Nowadays, real fruits and natural farms feel like an ancient relic, lost to time for everyone and not just my family. Even greenery and potted plants are rare. Most land looks just like this dull concoction of urbanism. If not abandoned, soil is buried under busy roads, like the pavement that’s starting to blister my feet. Yet as always, I keep walking, a frail attempt to take the weight off my chest.

This time, I took a different path than usual. Maybe in hopes of feeling something new. Still mindlessly chewing on those strawberries, I suddenly find myself in front of a small alleyway. Though this city has plenty, this alleyway pulled me in—it connected to a smaller, twisting and turning path ahead. It must lead somewhere, I thought, so curiosity got the best of me. The winding pavement road was getting closed in by alleyway houses, bins, and people’s motorcycles and bikes on each side. But as I started getting deeper, I started noticing a lot more color, splashes of paints and dye, and eventually… pops of greenery!

Suddenly, vines were wrapping the ragged walls and potted plants were lining the roadside. Eventually, I was met by a curtain-like drape covering whatever was ahead. I tread carefully, parting the drape with both hands. As the light spilled in, it almost felt like I opened up a whole different world.

It was still the same alley—the pavement, the concrete walls, the brick and cement—but somehow it had widened, just enough for colorful children to run around with their roars of laughter. Rows of plants lined each side, manmade pots of various fruits and vegetables. Some came in the classic dirt and clay pots, while others grew with circulating water and surprisingly no soil involved. Men and women were bent over these makeshift farms, steadily tending with roughened hands. Chickens pecked at certain corners, running around and laying eggs in makeshift coops. Somehow, these people recreated what I saw at Grandma’s farmhouse even without the giant field of land and grass. Instead, amidst asphalt and concrete. This was agriculture of the city people’s own making.

An elderly man caught my eye and smiled, his face creased with remnants of joyful days. He showed his grandchildren, in their little gloves, how to plant seeds and tend to the crops. Nearby, a grandmother stirred a pot, fumes of vegetable stew filling up the air. Children crowded around her, entranced by her hands’ dance as they held onto their bowls eagerly. On another side, a young woman sat cross-legged as she crushed up flowers into dyes, her arms covered in splashes of red, yellow, and indigo. Her hands were colorful and eyes bright, ready to liven up the look of her people.

It was still part of the city, this little hideaway. The ground was still pavement, except for the little areas where it’s been broken to expose the soil beneath, and the people’s homes were still built of brick and cement like any other. Yet within this alley, an abundance of nature and agriculture bloomed. It felt baffling, yet breathtaking—nature in places where it shouldn’t be, kept alive by one community.

The sun started to sink and the sky turned orange. As much as I longed to stay, I knew it was time to go. With a few goodbyes, I stepped out into the city I knew once again. Except this time, something had shifted. As I walked the way back home, parts of the world seemed a bit more noticeable: weeds growing out of the broken cracks of the street, moss taking its place on damp walls, and even birds nests overlooking city signs.

Maybe, just maybe, nature was fighting back too.

Perhaps it isn’t wrong to long for the countryside, even in this terribly grey city. The wonderland I just discovered proves it: We don’t need to erase the city, but bring nature back in our story. For the first time, I believed that even beneath the concrete, the Earth is still waiting for us. All it asks is for us to remember, to revive.