Ex Planation

And thank goodness they do — that’s how you know the spirit of curiosity is still alive.
Only at a certain age do kids become truly relentless with their questions.
They’re shockingly curious.
Sorry — what’s really shocking is when they’re not.
When the questions stop coming.

Whenever a child takes a deep breath and fires off a question from the hip, the invisible subtitle reads:
“Explain it to me.”

Children have a unique talent for making adults stutter.
You don’t hear those precise why-questions much in daily life anymore.
Grown-ups, as the word says, have grown out of curiosity — and that, frankly, is a pity.

Luckily, some people never quite grow out of asking.
We call them scientists — and, in a different newsroom jungle, journalists.
They chase after the riddles of this world with the same gleam in their eyes that kids have when they ask “why” for the tenth time in a row.

Whoever invented the question deserves a medal.
The real magic begins when the asker doesn’t just seek answers but dares to question the answers themselves.
That’s when light appears.

How much have we lost by pushing curiosity to the background?
How many mysteries stayed mysterious simply because nobody asked again?

That silence makes people nervous.
Humans want an explanation — any explanation.
And if no one can offer one, the unexplained quickly turns mystical — a sign of fate, of gods, of something “higher.”

That’s what I’d call practical fatalism.
Or perhaps just laziness in disguise.

Someone at a TV network once asked a wonderful question:
“How can we make the audience more excited?”
And poof — the game show was born.

Contestants sweat under studio lights, wrestling with questions for cash, while millions of living-room experts yell the right answers at their screens.
It’s thrilling, frustrating, and very human.
Most answers aren’t explanations — they’re guesses — but at least the questions are back on stage.

An explanation alone guarantees nothing.
Imagination, guesswork, and half-memories can sound wonderfully convincing.
That’s how myths are made — and mistakes too.

Then, just when certainty settles in, a child, a scientist, or a journalist comes along and asks another question.
And suddenly, the neat explanation flips upside down.

That’s the heartbeat of critical thinking — the courage to hold even your own answers up to the light.

The boldest interview you’ll ever face is the one with yourself.
Oh yes — that’s when the pulse goes up.

How many times have I embarrassed myself with my own uncomfortable questions?
Too many to count.
And that’s perfectly fine.

That uneasy feeling is the real classroom.
It’s the sign that your comfort zone just got a little dent.
And that’s where learning sneaks in.

Children ask because they want to understand.
Adults explain because they think they already do.
Maybe the truth lives somewhere in between — in the quiet art of never stopping to ask why.