#Seclusion

Hermit life is a pastime of fleeing civilization’s cacophony and pondering one’s existence to the scent of mosquito coils. In practice, any ideal or silence evaporates with the flick of an electric kettle switch, spawning residents of huts who secretly long for city lights. They chant self-sufficiency while finding solace in the thud of delivery trucks and having their meditation interrupted by wildlife. Ultimately, those who stage solitude often care most about unseen observers.

A monastery is the walled palace of sacred silence, in reality a communal dormitory stuffed with ascetics' endurance and endless small talk. The inhabitants appear absorbed in profound prayer, yet spend their days tormented by the snoring next door. Holy contemplation becomes a convenient excuse for self-inflicted hardship, while strict schedules claim the virtue of constrained freedom. Though it pledges to sever worldly clamor, it daily endures the racket of donor tours and rumbling coaches.