Finding Beauty in a Not-So-Liveable City
Finding beauty in a not-so-liveable city is an act of patience, attention, and quiet love. Some cities welcome you like a well-prepared host — clean sidewalks, working public transport, manicured parks, and a sense of order that feels effortless. These are the cities that make it onto “Most Liveable” lists, admired for their planning and polish. But not all of us live in cities like that.
Many of us live in places that challenge us from the moment we arrive — cities defined by relentless traffic, flooding after a single rainfall, uneven sidewalks, and the hum of noise that never fades. They are not always beautiful or comfortable, yet somehow, they become home. The journey from resistance to belonging in a not-so-liveable city is not easy, but it is deeply human.
The First Encounter with a Not-So-Liveable City
When you first arrive in a difficult city, it feels like a test. The heat is heavy, the air is thick, and the pace moves faster than your understanding. Everyone seems to already know the rhythm while you are still searching for yours. The streets are crowded, the transport unpredictable, and even time feels different — not slow, not fast, but uncertain.
Gradually, you learn the city through its inconveniences. You discover that the shortest route is rarely the fastest, that buses arrive when they please, that the weather ignores your plans. And still, despite everything, something in you begins to stay.
Seeing Beauty in a Not-So-Liveable City
Beauty in a not-so-liveable city does not announce itself. It hides between the cracks of daily life — subtle, uncurated, and often overlooked.
It might appear in the soft calm of early morning before the engines start, or in the local food stall that remembers your order. It lives in the nod of a security guard, in a small garden blooming beside a concrete highway, in laughter shared during a blackout. These quiet moments are not grand or planned, but they begin to change the way you see. The city hasn’t become easier, but you’ve learned where to look.
Learning to Live with the Not-So-Liveable
Unlike cities that offer beauty freely, a not-so-liveable city makes you earn it. It forces you to engage, to adapt, to pay attention. You start to sense rain from the smell of the wind, to cross the street with confidence, to accept imperfection without resentment. Chaos becomes a kind of rhythm.
You begin to realize that beauty is not just about what looks pleasing — it is also about resilience, routine, and continuity. The fruit vendor who wakes at dawn, the neighbor who shares food without pretense, the persistence of life that refuses to stop — all of it is beautiful. A not-so-liveable city teaches that beauty is not only aesthetic; sometimes, beauty is survival.
When the Not-So-Liveable City Becomes Home
Then, one day — without realizing when — the city begins to feel less like something you endure and more like something you belong to. The once-confusing streets become familiar. The noise fades into background comfort. The humidity and chaos no longer bother you as they once did.
You stop viewing the city as an obstacle and start seeing it as part of who you are. And in that shift, beauty finally reveals itself — not as decoration, but as relationship, as belonging.
What a Not-So-Liveable City Teaches
A not-so-liveable city is brutally honest. It does not hide its flaws or pretend to be perfect. Its rough edges mirror your own — your impatience, your need for control, your discomfort with uncertainty.
It forces you to confront who you are when convenience is stripped away. It asks if you can adapt, if you can find meaning in imperfection, if you can love something that does not try to please you. And quietly, over time, it teaches resilience.
Choosing to Love the Not-So-Liveable
Loving a not-so-liveable city is not an accident; it’s a decision. It’s not the romantic love of postcards and travel blogs, but a love that grows through participation — through the act of showing up every day despite inconvenience and imperfection.
You don’t just live in the city; you learn it, grow with it, and change because of it. That love, once earned, stays. Because when beauty is not given but discovered, it becomes permanent.
In the End
You don’t love the city because it is easy. You love it because it has become your story. Somewhere between the noise, the humidity, and the chaos, you find quiet meaning that belongs only to you.
A not-so-liveable city may not love everyone — but for those who stay long enough to understand it, it loves deeply. And that love is real.
