Hello everyone, you are welcome to my blog today.
On the first day, the weight of the unwritten note hit me really hard. It was the day I was sitting outside the house at the back of the kitchen with my brother David. He was on his phone and at the same time throwing little stones at our legs. I wanted to open my mouth to talk, but I just couldn't get the words out; it just hung in the air like the clouds.
David was someone I grew up with, and I've come to know him as one who doesn't indulge in silence. He talks about everything and anything – life, school, work, and whatever comes to mind. He has a lot of big plans, and it seems like everything is falling into place for him. In the middle of all this, I felt left out. Why do I feel left out? I was scared of opening up and telling him that, and I felt like I was fading into the shadows gradually.
Fast forward to 2 years later, David had left. By this time, he had a better opportunity and traveled out of the country for work. We all missed him; I missed him a lot. He didn't have time for the kind of communication that we had. It wasn't too dramatic or anything, but the communication kept dying down. I always had hope for the day I would see him again and see my brother's smiling face as we reunited.
My mother was not left out in the whole drama. Ever since we lost my dad, who died from a stroke he had for over 17 years, my mom is a woman of few words; she locked up. She threw herself into daily activities. I would say we all have different ways of grieving. She put her all into paying our bills, making sure we have food, paying our school fees, and everything else that made us comfortable.
I have always wanted to ask my mom, "Are you okay, mom? Do you need to rest? Do you want to talk to me about something?" Most of the time, I just think about these things in my head, and I don't find the courage to say it out loud. I just learn from her and throw myself into my schoolwork and improving my skills, too, bottling up the unspoken words within us.
My mom and I developed the habit of assuming. We always assumed that everything was fine between us. She always assumed that I love her and appreciate her sacrifices. Yes, I do. I see how she looks at me when I dress every morning for work and says, "Take care of yourself." At that point, I want to say, "I love you, mom, and I appreciate everything you do for us. Just don't be too hard on yourself." But the words still don't come out. At some point, when I got my own apartment and had to move out, I saw my mom crying for the first time. She held me and told me to be good. She said, "I will always call you." I knew she wouldn't, but deep down, we will miss each other.
My friend Amanda believes in speaking out. She wasn't born into a family where everyone had to adapt to keeping silent and swallowing up their words. She believed in saying things the way they were, and that made our stay quite uncomfortable for me. It made the silence more obvious between us because she wanted to talk, and I just sat there looking at her, battling with voices in my head.
Most times when she asked me, "How are you? Are you okay? Are you happy?" I would always say, "Yes, I'm fine, and I'm happy," even though most times that wasn't true. I was going through a lot, but how do I say to her, I rather keep silent. I tried to avoid our meetings and hangouts, and when she reached out and asked, I covered up with work and life. She tapped my shoulders and said, "You know you can always talk to me when you're not okay." I smiled and said in my head, "I wish I could."
One day, we went out to have lunch, and Amanda was sitting right in front of me. She told me, "Why don't you ever let people in you? You let people override you when you know you're not being treated right. It seems you are here with us, but at the same time, it seems you are not really here with us."
It was on a Thanksgiving weekend, and I traveled back home to see my mom. We were in the kitchen making a pot of stew with chicken when the oil splashed on her hand. Instead of being hurt, she laughed and told me, "I wish I asked for your help earlier. I wish I let you in early." We laughed so hard, the kind of laughter that we had not heard in the house for years since I lost my dad.
Later on that night, lying down on my bed and looking at my ceiling fan, which was making weird noises, I picked up my phone, and it was 2:00 a.m. I sent my brother David a long note where I had expressed myself. I already had it in my notepad and told him that his leaving hurt me so much and put me in so much loneliness. But I couldn't just tell him because I didn't want to be selfish.
The truth remains that the words we say and the words we do not say shape us into who we are and who we will become in the future. I remember I always go back to read the note in my notepad. I am learning to always speak up when I'm supposed to and to keep silent when it is right to keep silent. I still have some notes; I don't know if I will ever send out ,hopefully I will.
Thank you for stopping by my blog today.
Image used is AI generated.