Suva – a once beautiful city. One wonders when it all went wrong. Beauty is everywhere but in a decaying state. It reminds me of well dressed old ladies in the street with silver hair, and their best tailored dress. The dress, once beautiful and fitting is from long ago, and is stained with yellow here and there; the hair still set in the style from the prime years of her marriage, husband and hair pigment now long gone and just a purple haze, the eyeliner on the top lid applied with rheumy eyes without seeing, and the red lipstick still the same as the one worn to the dance many years ago, seems to seep into the cracks surrounding the once full mouth.
Was it just political unrest to blame, or that foreign rulers who wanted to impart a sense of permanency to all they did and built, in a frustration with the temporary nature of everything here, but in the end, just left in disappointment and with regret?