No Photos. Just Feelings.

The "Guardian Angel" at the Zurich Station. I needed her.

I was alone in a foreign city, yet surrounded by people.

I didn't take many pictures on this trip. Not because the city lacked beauty - it is effortlessly charming, even beneath gray skies - but because I was trying to escape my own sadness. Pain I thought I had buried resurfaced unexpectedly, stirred by something that happened with the family I was traveling with.

Childhood trauma has a way of sneaking into the present. Sometimes, all it takes is a glance, a word, a gesture, and BOOM! I am that little girl again. Small. Unseen. Anxious. Invisible.

That is what happened in Zurich.

One fleeting moment cracked something open inside me and sent me retreating into destructive patterns I thought I had left behind. Suddenly, I wasn’t simply a woman on a family vacation in Switzerland. I was a child trying to figure out how to make herself small enough to survive.

So, I disappeared into the city’s rhythms.

Trains. Buses. Corridors that demanded my full attention. Cobblestone streets that didn't care about my mood, or the shoes I was wearing, even though I looked super cute in my jean jumpsuit.

Zurich simply kept moving.

And perhaps that was part of its lesson. The city revealed its beauty in quiet, almost accidental ways: a glint of sunlight dancing across the Limmat, the low hum of early trams, the understated elegance of the old town. Under those gloomy skies, Zurich seemed to whisper that beauty doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes, you have to notice it while you’re hurting.

There, I was experiencing the worst kind of loneliness: being surrounded by familiar faces and still feeling completely alone.

My thoughts swung wildly, like a drunk bear on a tightrope, panicked, caught between three impulses:

• Escape: run from this situation. "Hey, look over here so that you don't have to feel what's happening over there."

• Reframe: imagine a better scenario. "You’re okay. Don't mistake someone's lack of self-awareness as judgement of you."

• Speak: release the hurt and risk losing those I traveled with. "I feel like my contribution is not valued here. And that makes me feel insignificant."

I chose escape.

Sigh.

With hindsight, I wonder if speaking up might have been braver. Maybe saying what hurt would have been an act of courage rather than a threat to everything around me. But at that moment, I wasn’t ready. So, I clung to whatever comfort I could.

I sought refuge in Zurich's scenery, its hospitality, and the kindness of strangers. Sometimes it is easier to lose yourself in beauty when your heart feels fractured.

One day, I took an Uber from the Airbnb into downtown. My driver spoke mostly German, and I understood very little of what he was saying. Still, he spoke with enthusiasm, telling me about his favorite basketball player and his trips to visit family in Bosnia.

I smiled and nodded, partly polite, partly detached, feeling the weight of my own emotional distance.

Then he said it again, "beautiful lady."

He said it with such unguarded delight, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror each time.

It was a small thing. A stranger’s kindness. A simple gaze that felt warm, genuine, human. And somehow, it pulled a smile out of me I didn't know I still had. Perhaps he sensed my melancholy. Or perhaps he simply saw me.

I don’t even recall whether music was playing on the radio, but between his accent as rhythm and the city passing outside the window, my face briefly reflecting in the glass, I was being consoled.

Childhood coping mechanisms don't always translate well into adulthood. What once protected me can now look like coldness. Silence can be mistaken for rudeness. Withdrawal can create the very distance I am desperately trying to close. And then the spiral begins.

Self-discovery abroad wasn't on my itinerary. I came to Zurich expecting beautiful streets, new memories, and perhaps a few photographs. Instead, Zurich gave me a mirror. Not the kind hanging on a wall of a grand hotel, but the kind that quietly forces you to look within.

I saw the old wounds.

The fragility.

The isolation.

But something else came to the surface: maybe it was the little girl within me - the one who never felt acknowledged - who was hurting. Not adult me. And if that’s true, then now I have a chance to hear her. To acknowledge her. To remind her that she does have great ideas.

Ah! That very expensive mirror I bought from the souvenir shop turned out to be a souvenir twice over.

Zurich, darling, we’ll meet again. Next time, with fewer disappearing acts and more money in my pocket.

With an open heart,

Emi

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