I looked outside to the gentle but steady falling of snow, the paper snowflakes pasted on the window and the icicles that hung from the eves. The world outside was white; land, grass, house all covered in snow. It was a white country. Its exquisite beauty stared out at me from every nook and cranny. But it failed to pierce my heart. It failed to touch my soul. The more I tried to pierce the honey-dewed arrow of beauty into my heart, the more I failed. It was as if my heart had barriers built against it. I knew this wasn’t true. I was a product of culture and conditioning shaped my beliefs. It was unsettling to know that conditioning shaped even the deepest intuitive part of me.  It was unsettling to know that I was not as important as I thought. I didn’t know anything here, the places or the people. I was lonely here. I was lonely back home too. I was addicted to the loneliness among people I know.


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