The Final Call

The Power of Silence

The Power Of Silence

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"When you build in silence, they don't know where to attack."

    June 15th, 2012. It had been a week already with Derealisation but it felt as if I had seen the world. Every hour started to feel longer than the other. Throughout the past week, I had slept with my demons on a bed made of fears of my own. I had sailed seas of agony, made out of tears of melancholy. I had sung hymns and recited grace to the voices in my head. My brain had become a maze of undiscovered ideas that twinkled in place with the hope to be seen one day. Just as the days passed, I started to get used to this uncanny feeling of never belonging. Adaptation is a form of art. Art is an expression that portrays the voiced in my head.

"We are the kids our parents warned us about"

I started going out for graffiti. It was how I used to break apart. Sometimes when things are falling apart, they might be falling into place. It was important for me to release and let go. I stood on top of a freshly painted caravan that said, "I want to believe!" and took a quick look of the city I had been considering home for as long as I can remember. It felt cold yet you could sense the wild aura hidden amidst the people, like a touch of scarlet to the root. Every street held a certain scent and every scent felt fragile to the touch.

Like a chameleon, I changed colors to adapt to my environment. I modify and transform to hide from my phobias just like I have adapted to live in a world lacking color because my colors are my sources, even though my world is painted in shades of red and blue. I have adapted to the ability to speak in shades of Wine and Maya. Each color has its own intensity. Some are easy to deal with whereas others stand dominant in this world. My second-grade teacher used to ask us how we're feeling and we'd have to respond using color. "What color do you feel," she'd ask with red being, "I'm good Ms. T" and blue being, "Not today". This made me feel compacted as if I was missing out on something. All I could tell her was I either felt blue or red, nothing in between. Almost as if I was bound to feel more than just the two.

Over time, Derealisation became a constant thought. It lingered within the darkest depths of my soul. It whispered sonnets that echoed for years inside my chest. My body started to feel comfortable through each touch yet my ability to open up lacked shade and flavor. It was bland and non-existent; like winter near the coast. Opening up was already inconvenient yet when you have a figure in the house that won't leave you till you're truly satisfied, it gets rusty. "Try looking for distractions," He told me, with a look of maturity in his eyes. Yet I have been trying to get rid of distractions to find a way out of this cage. We all have limitations. We are bound to subjects that we are meant to break down. Even though I had the ability to move from zones

"The only thing crueler than a cage so small that a bird can't fly is a cage so large that a bird thinks it can fly."

I've agreed to sit in a room with a stranger every Wednesday and during that process have missed the season finale of "The Office". Therapy does not help me one bit but Michael Scott's one-liners are therapeutic. I think this is where I should've drawn the line. The therapist was tall and wore the same pair of jeans to work every session. She smelled expensive with Chanel smeared all over her collarbone. She'd hand me a stress ball which would cause abrasion in both my palms. "This'd help" she'd smile and tell me, with her perfectly aligned teeth and dented cheeks. Grinning proudly, gleaming with confidence as if she was certain of what was best for me.

Silence became my best friend. I conveyed thoughts through gestures, gestures through motion, and motion through the pain. I found a source to convey my pain. I learned to speak using the most powerful tool instilled within us yet no one out there truly understood, the power of silence.