Walking is one of the last activities that can’t be scheduled, fast-forwarded or rescheduled. Walking is a documentation of the five average walks that I take around campus at Virginia Tech, through places like the Drillfield, over the Duck Pond bridge, and through the small walkway between Torgersen Hall and Squires. Each location provides a specific lens through which to consider how the physical and digital coexist and sometimes clash.On these walks, I felt myself negotiating attention. The phone in my pocket was always a temptation to break up the moment, taking pictures, not seeing and recording, rather than remembering. But the more I paid attention to that tension, the more walking became a counterpractice: a slow, embodied way of thinking. In doing so, the project is a part of the lineage of psychogeography, but in a twenty-first century where navigation apps and digital documentation reshape our inhabitation of place daily. I hoped to imply something about order and randomness. In the ways that are true in the ABCDEary, our daily routes are formed yet impromptu, both put-upon and invisible infrastructures we seldom interrogate. The multimodal elements: photographs and video, audios, continue the inquiry of turning motion into artifact: how documentation makes experience of the past, future happen. In the end, these walks make an argument for slowness. They remind us that meaning doesn’t always lie in speed or efficiency but in matter’s very resistance, the crunch of gravel, the sway of wind, the friction of air. Walking transmutes into a philosophy of presence, an act that resists allowing the virtual to dominate tactile experience.
A is for Atrium
Prompt 1.01 Studying at Newman and resisting my urge to not take a snap. Date: Sunday, sept. 07, 2025
Fig 01: Photograph of the Newman Library atrium. It’s a photo that most of all underscores reflection of the literal and metaphorical sorts, illustrating how students exist in an interstitial space between physical construct and digital connection, stable presence and signal-bound attention.(Original Photo: Mahatheer Hamid)
The atrium of Newman Library always strikes me on a threshold, as some intermediary zone between worlds. I can hear each footstep sharp and contained, as though the building is listening too. I walk into this room nearly every day, and all distances travel the same; I never know how it will be because my head travels less than my feet. Laptops buzz like insects, keys clatter out of time, and the blue sheen of screens glows on students’ faces.
Sometimes walking becomes waiting for a file to save, a notification to come through, or information to clarify itself. There’s a tug here that is gravitational and digital. The structure anchors my body, but my attention slides upward to the Wi-Fi signal. Each table has its very own little orbit. I understand now that walking here, stopping here, logging in here is a ritual of modern learning,
a choreography performed between the terrestrial and the virtual. Sometimes, in fact, I believe the glass ceiling is a metaphor for that balance: transparent but dividing. If I stare up there long enough and relax my eyes a bit, I can almost see my double there; my digital shadow type casting itself just in advance of my actual fingers. (270)
B for Bridge
Prompt 2.03: Bridge by the duck pond, that connects both sides. Date: Thursday, sept. 11, 2025
Figure 02: Photograph of the Duck Pond bridge on the Virginia Tech campus, taken mid-walk from the wooden planks looking out over the water. The image captures the tension between motion and stillness the bridge stretching forward, and the reflections of trees bending with each small wave. (Original Photo: Mahatheer Hamid)
The bridge by Duck Pond has been one of my favourite walks. It’s easy and quiet, but each time I walk along it, something catches my eye. The boards of wood creak, my shoes sliding back and forth on them; the water underneath is a sound that makes me drag. It’s a good place to think. I’ve found that walking the bridge derails me every time. It’s like a mini vacation from the chaotic campus. I’ll sometimes find myself about to reach for my phone to snap a picture, but I’m getting better at stopping.
I ask myself, What is it that I’m attempting to rescue here, the view or just being there? Because in the end, when I go back to look at pictures I took of that moment, it doesn’t truly capture how it felt to be on the bridge. The water does not stir, the air does not move, and thus the silence can’t be transferred. It’s that difference that reminds me you can’t really record walking. It occurs in time, and it goes away when you stop moving. In that sense, the bridge crosses not just two sides of the pond.
It brings together motion and stillness, observation and memory. Every time I cross it, I’m reminded that not every experience needs to become content; some things are meant for living, not saving. (270)
C is for Corridor
Prompt 3.09: The long walk I have to take everyday to go from Torgessen to Squires. Date: Friday, sept. 12, 2025
Fig 03: Photo of the hallway between Torgersen and Squires, its long stretch of lights and people walking straight through without pause. Students blur past, backpacks swinging. (Original Photo by Mahatheer Hamid)
The space between Torgersen and Squires is among the most popular spots on campus. It is long and thin and designed to pass through, not to stop. Most days I stride through without a second thought. My phone is the antithesis, creating an infinite scroll without moving anywhere. Walking here reminds me about the ways physical space and digital space condition attention in significantly differing manners. At times I take it slow and stash my phone, listening to other vents and footsteps. It serves as a reminder, to me at least, that movement isn’t always progress. Sometimes it’s just about paying attention to where you are. (90)
D is for Drillfield
Prompt 4.07: Random late afternoon drillfield walk. Date: Friday, Sept. 12, 2025
Fig 04: Photograph of the Virginia Tech Drillfield at daytime. The image captures the tension between stillness and immediacy, an instinct to frame and record versus a choice to simply observe. (Original Photo by Mahatheer Hamid)
The Drillfield is always different from the rest of campus. You’re inside all day, and it’s like you’re out in the open air again. There is space to move, but even there: I still grab my phone without thinking — time check, picture snap or scroll. It cleaves the moment in two: my body here, my mind elsewhere. The light at sunset makes for a perfect scene, and instead of recording it, I just pause to look. Walking through puts me in mind that not everything needs to be saved to be real.(90)
E is for Elevator
Prompt 5.05: Riding the elevator and scrolling through my feed for the 1000th time Date: Sunday, Sept. 14, 2025
Figure 05: Photograph taken inside the McBryde Hall elevator, where mirrored walls multiply the rider’s reflection (Original Photo by Mahatheer Hamid)
The elevator ride up in the McBryde academic building, is strange “because it feels like you are moving through the Internet.” I press the button, doors close and everything unfolds. There’s no exertion, only a sensation as the floor lights pop. The space is neat and controlled, sealed off an app that conceals how it works. The mirrors amplify my reflection and I lose count of which is me. It makes me think of scrolling, motion without destination or stop, until the doors slide open and my steps take me back into the flow of time.(90)
F is for Forest Path
Prompt 6.01: Quiet & Attention; Media: Photo of the forest path; Date: Monday, Oct. 14, 2025
Fig 07. A photo of the wooded trail behind Duck Pond, showing sunlight moving through trees and natural ambient sounds of wind, footsteps, and insects (Original Photo- Mahatheer Hamid)
The path behind Duck Pond through the woods is one of the few places on campus where time moves slower. I use it if I want a break after class. The atmosphere is cooler, denser and more still. I’m stepping on gravel, insects are humming in the distance. I made an attempt to photograph the sunlight through the trees one time because that picture was empty. It longed for the smell of dirt and how wind can move the air. When I do come to a standstill, everything quiet becomes louder and the world feels patient again.(90)
G is for Garden
Prompt 7.01: Growth and Attention, Media: Photo of Hahn Botanical Garden, Date: Wednesday, Oct 16, 2025
Figure 08 : Overlay from Hahn Horticulture Garden, showing walking path, plant textures.( Original photo by Mahatheer Hamid)
The Hahn Horticulture Garden is one of the few places still moving in its natural place. I visit it early one morning, when the grass retains the memory of dew and the light drapes everything in its sleepy, soft folds. I walk down the stone path that winds past the beds of marigolds and ornamental grasses. Every few steps, I pause and regard the light on the leaves, which twinkle like glass and are dull and shadowed. I take one photo on my phone out of habit, print it, and sketch over it.
I trace the lines of the path and draw arrows to show where my focus jumped first. It was remarkable how it moved to color from shape, and to brightness from pattern, maybe the camera compels the same way, extracting what was bold and expedient rather than what was soft and asked to be watched. I sit down on a bench near a small pond and put the phone away. It seemed like the garden was breathing differently when it was not being seen. For this one time, I was not trying to photograph it. I was just trying to keep up with it. (180)
H is for Hill
Prompt 8.08: Elevation and effort, Media: Time-lapse video, Date: Wednesday, Oct 16, 2025
Video 01: Time lapse video from base of Upper Quad showing gradual climbing (Original video: Mahatheer Hamid)
Upper Quad’s hill doesn’t look all that steep until you’re actually climbing it, no matter whether you’re looking at it from the side or from the top. I usually walk up the hill to get back from class when my backpack seems to weigh twice as much as it should, and there’s that deep burn in my calves that lets me know if I’m really moving through space and not just swiping past it. One day, I simply told my friend to
capture a video of me climbing up in a time-lapse. It’s only fifteen seconds long, receding form, gradually straightening, and then marvelous stillness barely visible as I almost reach the top. Watching the video, “I remember laughing at how easy it seemed. The actual climb was far sweatier and more stop-and-start than the time-lapse allowed. What I wouldn’t give to have that unsteady effort back, the only real thing that could have made the top feel worth it.(180)
I is for Intersection
Prompt 9.02: Crossing and decisions, Media: Photographs. Date: Monday, Oct 21, 2025
Figure 09: Photo of Alumni mall and Kent Street intersection near Virginia Tech Alumni Center (Original photo Mahatheer Hamid)
I cross this spot nearly every day without even realizing it is there, where the Alumni Mall ends near the intersection at Kent Street. There are cars parked along the road, and pedestrians navigate between the cyclists who buzz past us. One cold morning on my way to class, I stopped for no reason. Finally, I truly saw the place for the first time: the cold that pierced my breath transparent, the levels of sound, engines swallowing,
pushing voices, the loud click of the crosswalk pole, the muted buzz of wires above. I took several pictures quickly, but none actually captured the way the place felt alive. The camera’s picture captured movements, but not the motion I felt in my chest and stomach when I waited, then stepped off the curb. Crossing the place felt more than just routine; it was a small performance repeated hundreds of times a day, mostly unseen.(180)
J is for Junction
Prompt 10.07: Convergence and Choice, Media: Photograph, Date: Thursday, Oct 25,2025
Fig 10: Photographs of walkways intersecting behind Burruss Hall, showing curved pathways meeting near benches (original photo By Mahatheer Hamid)
A scatter of walkways from a puzzle behind Burruss Hall. It is not something I ever noticed, that is, not until one afternoon, when I slowed down and navigated through them one after another. Some of the paths lead towards the Drillfield, some would loop back and terminate near the benches. I did not feel as if I was following the maps; it felt as if the maps were forming around me. The circuits are linked; I do not look down to make a stop. I picked the longest route home, and let the pathway decide the day, instead of me. Sometimes, it seems walking is the act of choosing to pay attention. (90)
P is for Plaza
Prompt 16.01: Walking through Dietrick Plaza between classes, Date: Thursday, Oct 25,2025
Figure 11: Photograph of students gathering in Dietrick Plaza (Original photograph, Mahatheer Hamid).
There is seldom silence in Dietrick Plaza. When I went there today, people were playing music or talking to friends and eating food from nearby places. The scent of fries and coffee lingered. I just positioned myself by the benches and watched all those people walk by. It’s amazing what all can come out of the same place. This is a place that reminds me that walking can be social, even when you’re alone. We may or may not say anything, but for a few minutes each day we are fellow travelers.(90)
S is for Station
Prompt 19.02: Waiting at a Blacksburg Transit bus stop, Date: Friday, Oct 26,2025
Figure 12: Photo of a bus approaching the stop (Original Photograph Mahatheer Hamid)
I stood on the corner for the bus, and observed all the people standing where we always do. There were people on their phones, some people in quiet conversation; there were also plenty of people just staring down the road. I kept moving my weight from foot to foot because it was cold. It was an all together manouver when the bus came by. I gave it up and waited for the next one instead. It got me thinking about how much time we spend waiting while walking from here to there. It’s all anticipation, waiting and not yet walking.(90)
U is for Underpass
Prompt 11.07: Walking through an underpass beneath Torgersen Hall, Oct. 31, 2025
https://jumpshare.com/share/rlt8fYkgDI8A9EOJjelB
Audio 1: A short audio recording of wind and passing cars beneath Torgersen Hall, capturing echo and shifting sound as I walked through the underpass. (Original audio recording, Mahatheer Hamid)
(Sensation) The air beneath Torgersen Hall throbs with sound each car that rushes overhead shudders the ceiling dust. My tread sounds like twin-heartbeats.
(Reflection) Listening to the audio again, I understand now that space speaks volume. It is the hum of not being noticed but still coming into direct rhythm with the city. I was diminished and sure, a quantity not of light or seeing but of sound ebbing and returning. Sometimes walking teaches you how to hear yourself coming back. (90)
Y is for Yardline
Prompt 18.01: Watching band practice on the football field. Date: Friday, Oct. 31, 2025
https://jumpshare.com/share/TjaZdyyk1N21j9Cms9CQ
Audio 2: A short recording of the drumline and band rehearsing on the practice field during the afternoon. (Original audio recording, Mahatheer Hamid)
I would sit out by the practicin’ field in the afternoons and listen to the band play. The drumline started, stopped and started again every few seconds. It made me recall, too, how routines give rise to discipline in music or in school. The players appeared focused and tired in it, running the same play again and again until they got it right. Watching them made me consider how walking can be like that small actions repeated enough times and incrementally however slightly at a time that they add up to something larger. (90)