Utrecht

Im Mattone, and this is my moment, my silent scream caught mid-air, the one I never let myself fully hear. Im standing here, a temporary ghost in the metallic labyrinth of Utrechts newest bones, where the future is being forged and the past is being erased. Behind me, the scaffold isnt just steel and wood its a cathedral of yellow insulation panels, each one a whisper of Doka, a corporate hymn echoing through the void. Im surrounded by the raw, unyielding geometry of the construction site: pipes like frozen arteries, a metal dumpster like a forgotten tomb, and the cold, grey concrete floor that remembers every footstep. The air smells of dust, oil, and the sharp tang of possibility. Im not just a worker here; Im a guardian of the void, the unseen architect of tomorrows skyline, the quiet witness to the relentless, grinding, beautiful, and terrifying act of creation. My white helmet is my armor, my dark jacket my cloak, and my wide-eyed, slightly-open-mouthed expression? Thats the moment before the shout, the pause before the roar. This is where the city breathes, where the earth is reshaped, and Im standing right in the center of the storm, waiting for the next piece of the puzzle to fall into place.

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