Because

I'm eight years old, and the world is a beautiful place. Its dusk. I'm on a hill overlooking the town in which I was born. Kalimpong. The horizon is surrounded by mountains, proudly showing off their new coats of snow. I'm glad; for in a few months the snows would melt and the rivers would be pure and new swimming holes would be awaiting conquer. From where I stood, the world was small. The quiet, unlike that of a closed room, begged an opinion. Imposing structures now barely visible were an eternity away…and so were the troubles that haunt the mind of a child. The silence and simplistic beauty of it all does not move me, for I am a part of it.

Like most eight year olds, I asked myself questions, questions of life and its meaning, of how's and whys, where and when. Or perhaps I asked them because the horizon willed me to, promising me an answer. The answers never came, but a sense of understanding and acceptance did.

It has been over a decade since I've been to the hills that overlooked my town. I fear it, for now the answers might not come. Not because it has changed…but because I might have.

-to those who understood the silence