I am an urban farmer who lives on the roof of an eight story apartment building. It's here that I tend my garden day and night. Tomato vines wind their way around the balcony rails and a few pumpkins have been placed in the stairway. Roots of the tangerine tree pierce through the cracked porcelain bathtub I filled with soil. The jagged buildings nearby make me think back to the Ba Vi mountains. The dense canopy of trees below are like fresh green rice paddies. Cars honking their horns in the street are the calls of the egret, and stray dogs are the grazing buffalo.
At night I sometimes look into my neighbour's windows and see them walking barefoot through their living rooms, see them watching TV, or feeding a crying baby; I even see them staring back at me. When I get tired, I lay down on the cement rooftop and sleep under the stars.
This morning the trees are still, the air, humid. The streets are already bustling with traffic, and the voices of workers rise up from below. But, these things don't have anything to do with me, don't have anything to do with an urban farmer.
-Zac HermanNông dân đô thị thanhnien.com.vn