I Can’t Say This
Sitting by the window, I stare at the monitor but don’t see. My ears tune into the voice approaching me, my mind focused on finding an excuse.
“Hey, you coming to the team gathering?” The voice breaks through my thoughts.
I turn my head and see her face, bending over my desk, smiling and staring at me with great expectation.
No, I hate team gatherings, my heart screams, but I can’t say this.” I wish I could.” I manage a brittle smile. “But it’s my boyfriend’s birthday. Sorry.” A fake apology stretches across my lips.
Watching her receding back, I release a deep breath I didn’t know I was holding. A smile spreads across my face, celebrating my successful escape from another gathering.
I am not fond of gatherings. I’m not one for crowds. I can’t handle a whole room of voices all at once, can’t sway to the deafening music, and can’t down alcohol that cuts my throat like a knife in one gulp without feeling it.
But still, I’ve been to crowds. Not only team gatherings but all kinds of them. Weddings are one of them.
Sitting around a table with strangers, forcing a smile at their boring jokes about others, all the while hoping I won’t be the butt of their next joke.
“How are you?” he asks. Turning my head, looking over my shoulder to a strange face, or a face I don’t recall the name of.
Who the fuck are you, my face says, but I can’t say this. “Hi, how are you?” I say, instead, wearing a fake smile on my face.
“What’ve you been up to?” he asks as if he really cares. I begin telling him about my job and try explaining the team project, even though I’m more of a bystander in it.
But then, the bride releases a flock of wedding pigeons. Cheers erupt, scattering my words like those pigeons taking flight.
Another day when I wake up, I see my cat lying on my pillow, covering her face with her paws and purring softly. “Morning.” Smiling, I rub her face. She stretches her limbs, yawns, turns her head, and pushes her chin into my hand for a gentle scratch.
No noises, no cheers, and no fake greetings. She catches all my words and emotions all at once, effortlessly, never allowing them to scatter in the wind or freeze in midair and fall to the floor.
Little Tommy, hair tousled, runs around the room playing tag with his cousins, his high-pitched giggles echo off the walls. Olivia, the youngest, toddles around with a wobble in her step, clutching her favorite stuffed animal tightly. Her face grows bright when someone scoops her up.
“It looks like Mike has lost a lot of weight recently,” Uncle Bob says. “Is Emily expecting another baby?” Aunt Jane asks.
The room’s filled with alcohol, cheers, and laughter. Everyone embraces this lively, chaotic, and heartwarming atmosphere that only a family gathering can bring, except me.
Voices drain me. I slip to the backyard and sit on the wooden bench under the tree, where nature’s greenery has yet to awaken.
I seek the comfort of solitude under the faint sunset barely painting the sky red, with the chilly breeze of early spring kisses on my cheeks.
Here, I drain stories about far-off lands and adventures in my head freely.
Mom swings open the door and leans out. “What are you doing? Come inside, we’re taking a family photo,” she calls, pulling me back to reality.
Voices inside are killing me, Mom, my heart says. But I can’t say this. It’s her siblings inside. Her blood. “Coming, Mom.” I face her with a smile, jump up and rush to the door.
After the family photo, I settle into the suede cushions of the black leather couch in the corner. I pull my turtleneck up to my eyes, hiding and hoping not to be found.
Dad scans the room. His eyes land on me. “Come over here and show Uncle Bob some of the Japanese you’ve been learning!” A smile edges his eyes. His face is flushed.
Are you done discussing Uncle Mike’s weight and Aunt Emily’s baby plans? How about you guys switch gears and talk about something else? Like cousin Jane’s new puppy’s gender or Uncle Johnson’s trip to Europe. Do you really care whether it’s Japanese or Chinese? Or is it just a ‘Half Time Show’ for you? By the way, I’ve been learning Chinese. Can you focus on something else now, Dad?
But I can’t say this. It’ll kill everyone’s buzz. Most importantly, it’ll hurt Dad’s pride and ego and embarrass him.
“Okay, Dad.” I pull my turtleneck off my face, slip off the squeaking leather couch and walk toward their smiles under their expectant gazes.
“Nǐ hǎo, wǒ de míng zì jiào xiǎo wáng,” it’s a very good thing. My voice trembling slightly. Uncle Bob smiles and nods approvingly. I can see Dad’s pride shining in his eyes, and for a moment, that makes it all worth it.
Sometimes, it’s hard to do things against my own heart and thoughts. But I fear being disappointing, fear saying ‘No’ to others. I love seeing smiles and satisfaction on their faces because of me.
A soft heart, delicate thoughts, and gentle words spell me. I meticulously plan each word I speak, requiring ample time for consideration before it escapes my lips. I don’t know if it’s a gift or a burden. I don’t know if I can simply call it being an ‘introvert’.
Sometimes, I envy those people who freely speak their minds, unburdened by the weight of others’ opinions. But that’s not me. I am not made one of them. Not even close.
Lying in bed, devouring words, filling my head with stories, laughing at the funny parts, crying at the sad, covering my face with books, I act out every frame of the story in my head.
“Hey, the boys are having fun in the park, why don’t you go join them?” Mom asks softly, sitting on the edge of my bed, touching my hair, and looking at me with a gentle gaze.
I don’t like those teenage boys, Mom. I am not one of them, my eyes say silently, but I can’t say this. It would worry Mama. “I’ll go after I finish this chapter, Mom,” I say, smiling at her, easing her worries that her son is a weirdo.
How can you not see me, Mama? I whisper at her back as she walks towards the door.
Teenage boys. I know how they have fun. I know what they play, and what they talk about. I am not for those dirty jokes and crude humor, not for sitting on the park bench whistling at the girls passing by.
It’s easier for me to stay alone, but I don’t feel lonely at all. I am happy inside. I am for books, stories, wild thoughts, raw imaginations, or just quietly doing my own things.
I live by ‘Can’t say this.’ I let my voice carry the softest words and swallow the hardest. Crowds and noise drain me. I find peace in solitude, where my thoughts can wander freely.
I escape to the park, where the rustling leaves and chirping birds create a symphony just for me. I run to the river, where fish swim around my feet, and the gentle current carries away my worries with each passing ripple. I stay at home, where I read, drink, or even lie on the couch binge-watching a series, where I don’t have to pretend to be someone else.
I can go to a café with you, just me and you. Settling in a seat, shoving our cheesecake in our faces, sipping our black coffee, and talking about whatever we want. I can go on a road trip with you, just me and you, driving down winding roads with the wind tousling our hair, our laughter filling the car as we share stories and dreams.
I may even accompany you to crowds, but that’s not for me, that’s for you. Or I may say no without saying ‘No’, which is a response you won’t often hear from me. What a freak, you may say, what a conflicted oddball. And yes, that’s me.
