When Does Silence Kills You?

            Silence is a very crucial thing. Or perhaps it may be a concept, or an ideology. But, either anything, it sure is another of the many double-edged swords everyone bears just like our words and even like its contrasting concept and that is of speaking up. For either side of the blades, it can always empower and kill us all at any time.

            I grew up listening to other people and the world more than taking my own fair share of sweet time spewing my mind. And my ground, the environment that I grew up with also played a big part as to how that blossomed wildly into a habit, and sooner a personality. I was known as a shy, proper, and behave child next to my little sister, who by the way, got the title as “the sibling who doesn’t know how to speak,” because of how she doubled my shyness and wore it like a lucky charm and also due to her bad anxiety. Being known by people as something as this and that sears and embosses a mark in you. It can be pretty or bloody and messy, but, either of those, it always leaves a huge puddle of chaos you have to tend to yourself all alone as if your the master of the party. And it frames you in a murder because it always have your growth chained by your doors.

            Nevertheless, today, I spoke up. I took off what people branded me as ever since growing up. I burned the mark the world tattooed on my skin and it made a series of cacophonies that still ring and bounce off echoes in me until this moment. And it sounded so badly and deafening, but, the burns felt good. Today, I looked at my shadow. Eye to eye. I realized that it has deep dark irises as I do, and for the first time, I thought it was beautiful. Today, I bit my lip and decided to put down my pen and instead, roll out my tongue. Today, I did not mind how I sound like. I was always like that whenever I speak. I am a very meticulous person when it comes to my melodies and flow, but, today, I was never. Instead, I held my words and looked at them. I caressed their curves and lines and hollows and watched their every crevices. I cradled them like a small child at peace and sleeping and it was also today that I dropped them off like a parent watching her grown kids jump into a swimming pool, into the world.

            Today, I built an argument and fought for my place against my abuser. I used to be so bad with my anger management skills but I made it today without raising my voice and fumble for my tongue. It made my fingers shake for some good hours, but my dive into that pool never felt so good than anything ever in my life. And even though the fall set me free, it broke the stillness of my world and a few of my bones. Because that is what honesty does to you. It slaps you, quick and heavy, and hands you down with a warm, comforting smile slathered with assurance of having another chance.

            Silence is sophistication. It reeks of power and authority. But never all the time. Because other times it can also be a sign of toleration. It is what fuels for people to do the unspeakable and never get caught. Silence can be the fires that engulf bridges and burns them down and can be the deep waters that drags a person into suffocation and back to where they are born from.

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(Hello! I hope your doing well and thank you so much for getting up to this far. If you have insights related to my article or you may want to share your experiences dealing with overcoming your silence the moment it turned deadly, please do not hesitate to comment down below. I would love to hear your thoughts too. Have a great one!)