3:03am with notes
A loquacious child there was once on a far away land of nosiness. Raised from a kinship group of some curious sort — too mindful of their own business and fond of others too. That said, flabbergasted you’ll no longer be, for he fancied then the humid clime of inquisition — umpteen of questions he liked to throw; well-founded judgement he’d never left unseen; fervent opinions would rather be said than left unheard. And for that very reason he gathered contempt aplenty here and yonder. A startling fact it no longer was, for we need not be reminded of archaic fact that a boastful man forsakes his own kind (rejects the bragging of others), hence, a throng of nosy people despise one another for being one themselves. Poor child left dishearten for his kinsfolk regard him as rather disrespectful and too bold; a mischief for his begetter. From that day on he succumbed to silence — beseiged with unuttered words.
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It took me an hour or two to write this down with as much eloquence as possible. This had indeed happened but not from time immemorial and of a place afar because this is, as a matter a fact, the story of I.
I can’t bear this dread over me anymore. And that is the very reason why I wrote this down, or blogged if you much prefer. For it has already been a year since I fully surrendered to muteness. Unreserving, mind you. And like 2 or 3 years since my partial submittance to silence. An exaggeration it is not because, seriously, I don’t talk and I find it hard to talk in the first place. Like as if every uttered words required a strenous mind processing and it really tires me out to say a word even to someone I know or someone I knew, so much more to strangers. And it’s the freaking reason why it is impossible for me to find so much as a new friend. To top it all, I absolutely hate social gatherings, especially now that I’m all alone. Not speaking makes it even worse. Believe me, I am the awkwardest dude you’d ever come to know. You would likely construe me as a psychopath or any of that sort if fate played on us and let our ways crossed. Then let it be for I don’t give a shit anyway.
‘The kind of predicament I have now should not be left ignored’ is what most people of my age would probably have in their mind. And I think so too. Lest solution come my way, I factored everything out and the upbringing turned out to be the cause after all — being raised in the kind of family I have. My kinsfolk are the queerest among the queers. (Or maybe they are not. I don’t know.) They talk a lot and for that reason they have petty quarrel right among themselves, they say many things for you to do that they themselves didn’t do, they’re such a gossip but they haven’t had the faintest idea that they are, they are such a nosy too but hate anyone that would put on his/her nose on their business, and those things alike. In short, they are so noisy (not so literally) that they won’t hear any word of yours. And in case they did, you get scolded for it and call names of many sort. So I better be careful.
I got tired of it eventually. Little by little, I lost grip of talk. The dwindling words in the sentences I make, from a considerable amount, became perilously scarce. Till I don’t talk at all and just stare at them. Stare intently and listen. Listen to their noise — the world’s noise. And have my opinions trapped within the none-cornered wall of my cranial bone. I let them be there, not daring to spurt one out. From little talk I began to become a none-talking dude. They noticed it — everyone around me. I know they did. But I didn’t bother to explain. I let those wild ideas play on their mind. (The fool of them.) I turned to silence and surprisingly found solace in it. Peace is the right word perhaps. With the wonderful works of Literature around me, I became daring and cunning — not in spoken words but of experiences. I felt the elusive joy and relief came crashing down over me. People around me may think that my mind is in idle. BUT THEY ARE WRONG. Down right stupid. For I have wandered in the world of vampires and demigods. I have explored the Wizarding World and all the wonders and magic it can offer. I’ve been in future and seen the past. Yet still, I am tramping on from the Shire up to the Misty Mountains down to Mirkwood off to the Long River to Running River and up again to Lonely Mountain. They have never gone to where I’ve been to. They have never had the bitter-sweet taste of adventures I had. Neither did they shed tears nor share laughter to fictional people whom I became friends with.
It’s not dread that I’m feeling after all. IT IS CONTENTMENT. Yes, it is clear now. Although people may call it silent and dull amid the noise, but this will still be the life I would gladly choose and live in if chances offer me.
