Inarticulate one

Something is overwhelming about adulthood and how it introduces its inductees. Responsibility, family expectations, career obligations, and personal evolution are all realizations that transpire into real-time determinants that prospectively factor into our respective lives as we are ushered into the adulting phase of our numeric life estimation which we conventionally refer to as our age. Adaptation to the transition of adulthood varies across our individual lived experiences and our social interactions during our reformative years. For some people, the emotional jump shock that accompanies the overwhelming burdens of reality comes as a surprise while to some, the adverse conditioning they have been exposed to before their emergence into adulthood makes them unperturbed about the cringing challenges presented to them. In the wake of this exposure - regardless of how we react to it or not - we’re often given a stark turbulence by our various tribulations and circumstantial misfortunes, which in turn messes with our mental state, physical being, and spiritual entity. In the end, we all rely on a specific coping mechanism to rectitude our survival and to rejuvenate our well-being. Abrasive situations morph into multiple forms, they could come as failures, rejections, losses, emptiness, and disappointments; amidst many others. As we equally grow, we’re bound to fathom that every single person embodies their swelled abjection. To a very significant extent, every person out there has had their fair share of life’s premium dilapidated wreckage. Literally, we’ve all been fucked over. Something is however very intriguing and heartwarming about how humans deal with their hardship. Undoubtedly, we engage in a lot of coping mechanisms, ranging from therapeutic measures to liven our psychological domain; up to even the most common things like eating quality and mouthwatering delicacies to sew up our emotional weariness. But a commonality exists within almost every one of us when it comes to handling distress; which is to store up some things inside us and never mention them to anyone. It is injurious to anyone to just lay bare flat and accumulate every atom of worry within their bowel. Some things are meant to be shared with others to ease the grilling inferno that burns our lungs through our worries about them. Similarly, some things are also just meant to remain within us. Void of any superficial engagement or external intrusion.

Some people are very extreme when it comes to reserving their words to anyone concerning their worries. While some of us are as flexible as plasticine, as we share almost everything we face with someone close to us. But either way, we all have a barrel of conserved words we bury deep within the leathery walls of the most enclosed blood vessels hidden in the muscles of our hearts. The truth is, the words we don’t say aren’t a burden. They aren’t a volatile volume of inflammable treachery that’ll combust our soul. They aren’t a betrayal to our sanity that would likely deprive us of our humanity. They aren’t a threat to our reasonable cognitive development and our progressive emotional capacity. They aren’t a means of measuring us as an outcast or seeing us as a social rebellion. I look at people and often imagine what beams through their minds. The words they don’t share and how they arrange them beautifully within their abstract state of reasoning. The words we don’t share are at times what keeps us going, a reminder that we have to make things appropriate and attend to the reasons why we developed these worrying words in the first place.

Sometimes I’m tempted to ask people, "what are the words you don’t say?"But I guess that’s what makes these unsaid words beautiful. The fact that they are impenetrable and covet. The fact that it gives me a reason to treat people with kindness; because I have no idea how much they hoard within themselves and how it may be bothering them.

The words we don’t say aren’t always a curse, they sometimes enlighten our life with purpose