Wilmarsdonk, Life as a Labyrinth

The first day of school, container 24, hallway F. The first hairs, container 97, hallway G. The first menstruation, container 17, hallway M. The first kiss, the first guitar, the first plane trip, the first disappointment, the first paycheck, the first time...

There are people who keep their life packed, always ready to leave. Memories wrapped in cellophane with a barely noticeable layer of dust. Years sorted into containers that are stacked in tall towers, held together by a vague memory, as fragile as a rusty crane.

An unfortunate encounter, container 12, hallway C. An incomplete wedding, container 35, hallway K. Waking up in a strange bed, container 9, hallway V. The fourth weekend with the children. That hail in August. A destination pending approval, an unsent letter. The apartment packed in a pile of disordered boxes.

There are people who are in the middle of a journey, in the waiting room of an airport with no air traffic. They wait for the weather to change or the stars to align or the call that never came or a series of coincidences that might bring a desired twist. They are people who constantly watch the screens without finding a destination as the present spills at their feet. Through the loudspeaker, echoes of a last call for travelers with an uncertain destination resonate: Gate B24.

The unexpected return, container 4, hallway A. An unforeseen death, container 19, hallway D. Chronic illness, container 7, hallway F. The last coffee at the station, a layoff letter with empty words, the postponed trip, a forgotten hug, a broken heart, a word not spoken in time. Missed opportunities are found in the recycled paper container.

Franchise hotels on the outskirts of the city, empty receptions, water and coffee dispensers, narrow beds, panel partitions, plastic bathrooms, card payments. There are people who never quite reach their destination, lost in the labyrinth of baggage claim. Stepped off from a world in motion to rummage through a past that never existed, trying to find the boarding pass for the flight they never took. They are people who intend to leave their present as soon as they arrive.

Wilmarsdonk, life as a labyrinth. / ILLUSTRATION BY JAVIER RICO

Wilmarsdonk was a populous village in Flanders dedicated to fishing and agriculture. Through its canals, shallow draft boats sailed to catch pikes that slipped between the river Scheldt's pebbles. The channeled water irrigated lush gardens of spinach, lettuce, or carrots and played with willows that bent down to drink alongside the reeds. Farther down, marking the path from the capital, the leaves of the elms crossed themselves with the wind's hand as they saw the farmers return exhausted after walking the 9 kilometers separating them from Antwerp. The Steenweg path led them into Wilmarsdonk rising through the stones that carpeted Waterstraat. From there, they moved through narrow alleys to Dorpstraat, where thick church steps awaited them or a dirt ramp, down which carts descended releasing scents of vegetables and fish.

To expand the port of Antwerp, they emptied Wilmarsdonk of all that. They leveled its unevenness, paved its cobblestones, and covered it with docks, warehouses, and crossroads. Between 1950 and 1965, its inhabitants moved their homes, businesses, and the church of St. Willibrord, although they left the bell tower over a vast emptiness as a witness to its former presence: a unique Baroque building from the 18th century that seems to raise its hand in the midst of a demonstration of iron blocks. Its rusted bells no longer toll the hours, now they just silently observe the constant movement of goods. Common, obedient, jealous of their privacy, the containers are now the inhabitants of this city in transit.

There are people who, without knowing it, live on some street in Wilmarsdonk. Locked in a container waiting for a destiny that does not quite fit. Occasionally, they climb out of their iron walls to perch on the bell tower of St. Willibrord, eager to find a reason that helps them settle outside the labyrinth.