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We have all found those moments where we find ourselves either sitting staring at the wall hoping for the other person to say anything, anything at all, during a conversation. I have found myself in this instance almost on a daily basis. However, I have also found myself more capable of drawing conclusions about the environment around me. I expected my grandmother died after days of hospice when I saw the hearse roll by my high school after school one autumn evening. I also predicted future relations amongst my friends based on the aura and body language. With this skill, my 6th sense, I have found myself in a place of never ending the silence. Even if I knew I was right, society expects everything now to be kept quiet. One step over the line such as knowing another classmate's third-hour class, or remembering someone's birthday that isn't related to you could cost anyone the label of "stalker."
Silent is, also, usually how I went within my classes. My teachers acknowledged me as a smart kid; maintaining at least a 3.0 or above average in each of my classes since I was a freshman. This was no surprise to my AP Literature teacher. She knew that I wanted to be an English teacher after graduating college and always found my class writings to be a delight for her to proofread, of course, with the exception of a few grammar errors.
One day, whilst sitting in my AP Literature class, my AP Literature teacher presented the class with an assignment that was unusual to our class. The usual assignment for our AP Literature class was "analyze the effects of this poem and how the author used poetic devices to achieve the overarching theme" or "Analyze one aspect of a tragic hero and compare and contrast it throughout three literary works." The reason this was unusual to my class was when she said "I will be introducing to you 'This I Believe,' which is a creative essay about what you believe in. Your essay must be also read in an audio recording so I can burn the recording, along with your peers, onto CD's that will be given to you at the end of the year as a gift for you to remember this year's class." I am not going to lie since AP Literature was the last period I had in the school day, I was completely tuned out when she was explaining what "This I Believe" was. From my understanding, it was essentially a podcast that was people identifying with something that made them unique; such as believing in The Beatles, going to the funeral, barbecue, etc.
So I sat there, pondering, "What is it that I could possibly right about that people could wait for?" The first thing that popped into my mind was the "6th sense" that I had. However, I thought there was no real way to describe it so the rest of my class could understand. That's when I wrote, "I Believe in the Unsaid." After much thought about exactly how to explain it, this was the essay I submitted to her:
Is it better to say what needs to be said or just let the silence speak for itself? Saying something bluntly can lead to someone getting hurt. Not saying anything, however, will just leave blissful silence. I believe in the unsaid. In certain situations, I have found that silence speaks wonders. That someone or the world can communicate to us through only a feeling.
The beginning of my senior year, my grandma fell out of her chair, breaking her leg. The nursing home had to constantly supply her with morphine in order to keep her out of pain. On a cloudy autumn night, my parents forced me to visit. When we came in for the visit, my grandma was fragile. Although her smile was on her face, I could tell that she was in a great ordeal of pain. She asked me a few questions in a weak voice. I knew by the weather, the shaky hands, and her fragile voice that this was it. This was her unsaid goodbye. I kissed her goodbye on the forehead before the car ride home where my parents said how she lived a long and happy life. However, her legacy was not going to keep her alive and I knew it.
The unsaid continues to follow me around people I care about. Like most teenagers, throughout high school, I have had someone that holds a special place in my heart. This person and I have a lengthy history, however, there was never a time when they didn’t know how I felt. I have come to find that even in a room of silence with just them and me, the unsaid “I love you” and the unsaid “I’m aware” hovers in the silence of the room. Sometimes, they have pushed me to my breaking point through either a difference of opinion or by their actions. However, I am not the kind of person to say I’m disappointed in you, but by just making eye-contact, the unsaid “I’m disappointed in you” comes into the air.
In high school, I have remorsed things I have said more than anything. My words have never come out the way that they were meant to. When I try to clarify these words it often makes things worse. However, with the unspoken, I am able to portray how I feel without having to speak. I have regretted things that I have said, but I have never regretted the unsaid.
Through this, I found silence as a blessing. It was a way that I communicated without saying anything. For me, that did not mean anything bad. It meant that I perceived something unique, to be my own unsaid blessing.