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Monchies went to bed at seven and I was left with some porridge for supper. Alone. The house was like the quietest little pocket in the middle of Ngilgi Cave I have once been to and sat in. In this deafening silence though, I got thinking about silence.
.
My Mom once or maybe twice told me that love, just like a prayer, has to be said in silence to be granted. Love comes to us only when we are rid off the noises of needing, of wanting, and of giving, hoping for fair returns. I never once believed her.
.
Until love came to me in silence.
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And Mom, in all her patience, tried to convince me that pain has to be dealt with in silence as well. I saw her dealing with pain quietly, determined that a loud cry would make it hurt even more and would cease all credibilities of the excruciation of pain. I was busy carrying my cross, then, that I shared not her faith.
.
Until pain came to me in silence.
.
I don’t want to admit that Mom was right. But if she really has to know, the next time when she peeks at me through the clouds above, she shall see me sitting in silence. Smiling. My prayers have been granted and my pain has been dealt with. I have come back to love Enida.
.
A lot has happened in July. A lot more can happen in August.
(Okay, okay… thanks Mom. I believe you now.)
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.
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Questa è Enida 
Silence is golden.