We are not many. Very few of us have ever seen tall buildings or foreign lands with our own eyes. We do not know of hurricanes, divorces or inflation. Our parents dress us in shabby clothes so the dirt would not show so soon. In school we are taught where the best blueberries grow and how to play soccer with six people. There are no strangers, and families are shared – the village life raises us better than any parents alone ever could. Our only curfew is the setting sun: when the darkness begins to fall over fields and meadows, it is time to head home. We do not skip Sunday school. We are the most brilliant, radiant and imaginative bunch, yet we carry a mountain of envy in our hearts. We turn any abandoned site into a cheerful playground where we meet after school, eat biscuits and talk for hours. The oldest ones sometimes get a couple of coins from their parents, and we spend them to buy sweets from the lady at the barbershop.

We take turns in ploughing the snow off the driveways that belong to those who are too old or sick to take care of their own yards. We are scared on our way to school because someone saw a wolf near their house. We smoke behind the windmill. When it rains, we stay in. The forests are quiet. We go on long walks on the lakeside. The street lights are turned off at midnight. Our homes are cold in the mornings. We fall in love, but never with each other. Sometimes our thoughts are dark and heavy, and our minds are shattered. Some families have mortifying cracks in their foundations, and they can never be brought up. We kiss on rowing boats, and we dance on docks. We dream of big cities and wide windowsills. When we must make decisions, we are afraid. We swim in rivers and go out to reach any star.

We have come far. Many of us are fulfilling our dreams. We got away. We are mothers, fathers, soldiers, unemployed and students. Some of us get lost. We succeed. We own houses, cars and big dogs. We look tired. We spread to different continents. We remember our adventures. We get together on holidays. It takes four and a half pots of tea and candlelight to catch up with familiar faces. We feel disconnected. We say Merry Christmas. We go home to our families and sleep in our childhood bedrooms. We inhale the silence.