Speechless

“Mayfier? Marfir?” Although there was no spelling error, the tournament judge called squinting her eyes and trying to find it.

I know who it is: Mafer. My full name is Maria Fernanda, but I go by "Maria Fernanda."

She didn't look at me in any way other than astonishment.

She laughed when I pretended my parents were creative.

"All right, Mahfeer, you can go now!"

Before starting, I walked to the center of the room and took a quick scan. I exhaled slowly.

"Use your voice," I told myself.

At first, I spoke loudly to disguise the fact that I was overanalyzing every word I said. Eventually, the fake self-assurance gave way to genuine emotion as I shared the story of my upbringing as an immigrant woman, describing how much I missed my father, who had to travel back and forth every weekend just to see my mother and me, and how I yearned for a place I could call home.

As my set came to an end, I walked back to my seat with a newfound sense of optimism, thinking about how much energy I had expended on stage.

I used my voice to express myself. Finally. The speech program was where I belonged.

It was excruciating to wait for the speech tournament to announce the finalists' names. Every time a member of the staff passed by, I leapt out of my chair. To me, it didn't matter how many points I accumulated for the state or how much attention I received. I yearned for a second chance to express myself.

Everyone in the cafeteria waited impatiently for the finalist to walk up to the oratory postings with a paper in hand. Then it became apparent to me.

My name is. The text is presented in a dense, dark gray font with a white outline.

I had a grin on my face.

I walked to the oratory final on my own this time because I had finally gained the self-assurance necessary to navigate the quiet hallways of my high school. Heels were the only sound I could hear coming from behind me.

It was obvious to them that they were referring to me when one of them said, "I heard that a freshman from Saint Mary's Hall made it to the oratory finals." My heart broke for her. I didn't get to see her performance. Is that what you were hoping to hear? It was a great show. "What is she talking about?" the other person inquired.

As a Mexican immigrant, this is my story.

That's what caused her to break.

"It's the same pity story, there's nothing new about it."

That confidence that I had built up from previous rounds had vanished, and I wished that I had my more senior teammates there to help me deal with the girls' insults and jeers. However, nobody was present.

I thought my narrative was what made my words matter and made me matter, and I was wrong about that.

But they were irrelevant. I'm not going to say that anymore. Since then, I've been known as the Mexican girl whose name no one can pronounce around the circuit. I didn't even have to mention my name in order to be recognizable. Because of the peculiar way I pronounce words, everyone would recognize me. It didn't feel like it would make a difference what I talked about. It was as if I didn't have any impact on the situation by raising my voice.

How did it feel to you, Mafer??" Asked by my coach after the round. I couldn't believe how good I felt afterward!" I was telling the truth when I said I had lied.

I was devoid of any emotion. I'm not going to say that anymore. Speech not only gave me a voice, but it also took it away from me as well.