Stockholm

The eerie silence creeps into me as I sit in the lounge staring at the vast expanse of pure white snow covering much of the landscape. The frigid layer extends as far as the eye can see, looking cold, dry and emotionless, criss-crossed by black tarmac. A couple of flights touchdown. A few take off.

I take in the scene in its entirety. And muse about how closely it mirrors what I'm feeling inside - peaceful, emotionless, strong on one side, while marred with doubts and misgivings about this venture on the other. Is this the right thing to do? Should I have waited a few more days so that I could have all the answers I'm looking for and then flown to the States? Well, that might've never been answered.

I'm in Stockholm, en route to Newark. It's three in the afternoon, but it's already getting dark outside. Too far up in the North this place is. Too silent. Too rich. Too inactive. Too eerie. Most of the off-city limits of Europe are like this. This seems no exception. For us people, who come from crowded, 2000 plus people per square km lands, these places no doubt seem scarily empty!