The pink mountains gazed down at me from above as I walked among rows of flourishing orange trees. A silence I had never experienced enveloped me.

In the residential area of the city where I grew up, I lived next to a metallurgical plant, so even in the depths of night, I could hear the humming of motors. In the cities where I lived, the concept of silence became relative. Even in the night, I could always hear a passing car or an ambulance. But at that moment, amidst the oranges, I heard only silence, the kind you read about in books, a deafening silence.

In the last six months, my life seemed to have come to a standstill. I ran from country to country all my life, trying to escape my problems or family. I flew across oceans, hoping that my past thoughts would leave me alone, but they always sat with me on the plane. And now, my life suddenly froze in its tracks. I, a city rat accustomed to dirt and noise, found myself in a small, sunny grove where it’s clean and quiet.

But unfortunately, I cannot find peace in the calmest place in California. My brain tells me to run across the continent as far as possible. I need the dirt, the noise, the people, the movement. But now, I am frozen, stuck in time, unable to understand what I am doing here. Days merge into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and I gradually go insane among rows of juicy and bright orange bushes.

PC:me