As the bus turns in towards the bustling city's gateway - two glass skyscrapers and a couple of towering lampposts - I wonder if my memories have failed me. The girl next to me nudges my arm to offer a cookie, but I shake my head and ignore her, instead choosing to remain focused as we roll into the Harborside; this is where everything starts and ends, where the ocean meets the sun, where America meets International, where boats meet water, where food meets the seaside, where old meets new. Outside, there are various groups of people smoking cigars, or carrying shopping bags as they roam around the chaotic streets. The old capital is placed in the center of outdoor shopping malls and business corporations with buildings that are sky-high. When the doors open, I'm the first to step out and admire the hustle of the city; there it is, the same glass aquarium in the photos where I was no older than four years old - oh, and there, the towering guitar hovering over the plethora of brick-constructed shops and restaurants. Cars zoom past me, and pedestrians tend to calls and texts, looking down at their phones as they cross the streets. Everything is close together, tight-knit. As the sun slowly sets, I watch from my penthouse room and try to recall the days I spent here.
Instead, everything is a blur to me.