“Why are you so quiet?”
Perhaps because I want to scream.
Quiet People Are In This Together
We hear that question from everyone, everywhere, all the time. It’s one of the first things that people unnecessarily point out about us, and maybe they think they’re being merely observational, curious, or starting a conversation.
But if you ask ‘quiet’ people if they like to hear it, 99% of us would tell you we absolutely don’t. The other 1% are probably neutral. Most of us believe it’s really … shallow. And very, very discouraging when heard from someone the moment we’d begun to feel like we were making social progress and feeling proud about it.
(Which, oh God, happens a lot.)
We ask ourselves that question more than you do. We are more tired of ourselves for being like that than you are with us. Personally, I had lived with myself and the tranquility of my mind since I was a toddler, and had always known that I had a bird fluttering in my chest that just won’t be set free.
And perhaps, if I scream, I’ll set it free.
It’s amusing that those who inquire about it actually expect a genuine answer to that question. Like: “Oh well, Sharon. You see, I have a lot on my mind, and it’s not really sad, like, I’m wondering how to say ‘washing machine’ in German. I should look up the translation when you leave me alone. Maybe it is sad, because I’m also thinking about how some people bother me, including you, Sharon.”
But the way I respond instead? The very famous duo of a giggle and an eye-roll — a supposedly not-so-impolite cover-up for my exasperation at people’s endless shallowness.
Aloneness and Quietness Can Be Cheerful Things
It’s not sad, doggone it. It really isn’t. It’s lovely and peaceful inside our heads. Usually, we dislike having our peacefulness interrupted by a conversation, although most of us don’t fight it. We cannot hide in our protective shells forever.
Personally, despite my invariable initial reluctance, talking to people often leaves me feeling better than before. So I admit that talking is … good sometimes.
But I don’t really wanna talk —
I either wanna scream,
or go non-verbal for a few months.
Maybe that’s why I am so quiet. I cannot simply scream in public what goes through my busy, dizzy head.
I often feel that my world is a library: there is a lot of beauty to learn about, but I cannot make a sound, so I keep it all to myself.
That’s why I sometimes feel that my chest is tight. Because the little bird inside has a lot it wants to say. The little bird inside yearns to sing and be heard.
What Birdie Has to Say
If you know me personally, you know that my memory is something to brag about. In my free time I memorize birthdays and poetry and really long words.
When I’m alone in my room and recite “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe out of memory, that’s when I’m truly happy.
When I recite “Goodnight” by Percy Shelley, it feels like I’m floating. Any poem by Khalil Gibran leaves me hoping to create wisdom out of my quietness, rather than eccentricity.
“An Eastern Ballad” by Allen Ginsberg makes me want to dance with words that rhyme.
That is sheer, pure happiness for me.
I could go on. I read poetry like I listen to songs — by obsessing over the same few for a period of time, then dropping them to find better ones, then maybe going back to the older ones later. I enjoy poetry. But I am tired of hiding like that. Sometimes I want people to hear what I have to sing. Because being alone makes me happy, but being lonely tears apart at my soul.
And while I’m at it, I’m gonna think of all these poets’ birthdays and maybe say them out loud too. Dates come to my thoughts when I think about people before even their names.
Of course, people’s interests change like the seasons, or with the seasons. Recently these thoughts for me have been more linguistic than anything else. If you ever catch me staring at a blank wall, and you ask yourself what could be so interesting about that wall, remember that I’m probably translating the word ‘wall’ to my five favorite languages.
And if you ever catch me gazing into space, with sadness and confusion in my listless eyes, worry not. I am probably thinking about German two-way prepositions.
Everyone has their own reasons for their preferred quietude. These are mine. I do wish people understood that, sometimes, it’s things like this that we love to wonder and ponder about, and that’s it’s not always as serious as it seems. It could be, right?
Whether someone is enjoying their thoughts or begging God to turn them off, asking them the question “Why are you so quiet?” is probably not the wisest thing to do. It shuts us off, and makes us want to go home.
Ask us what we’re thinking about instead. Actually listen to what we have to say.
Trust me, you would be taken aback at the meaningfulness, beauty, and depth of the chaos that dwells within our serenity.
Perhaps because all that the birds in our chests need is a little bit of love.
