There's So Much in the Silence

"Seoul Sisters" is what the group chat is titled. Though I cringed at it throughout the summer, I have to admit, it's too not far from the truth. The sentiment is growing on me. I'll deny it if you ask me, though. I don't carry such feelings openly on my face. I don't have that confidence yet. But it's growing on me. Silently.

---

I have a pretty high pain tolerance. Life taught me many lessons at a young age, so to adjust, I grew thicker skin, took up invisibility as a personality, and only shared secrets with those who earned it.

"This ocean already has enough sharks in it. Don't be another shark."

I kept my thoughts to myself. They echoed around in my head like rice in an inflated ballon. Waiting for the right angle, the right edge, to pop me. Biding their time.

I taught myself to be my own therapist. I told myself I wasn't going to be another shark. My life had too many sharks in it already. And I lived merely in a pond. I asked myself what made me feel this anger, pain, frustration. I asked myself why there was this itch inside my head that I couldn't scratch. And I sat across from myself in the darkness of my mind. "Deal with it," I told myself. I demanded myself.

I don't really remember what I was upset about. It didn't really matter because it was merely the hair that tipped the scale. They sat across the room on their beds, pretending not to hear the argument happening in my corner. We all lived in one room. No matter how much you pretend, the invisible walls aren't that thick. I knew they were listening. But I wasn't going to take this so publicly into the hallway. The phone call ended and I hung up the phone. My insides were burning with too many emotions to name.

I covered my face with my hands. Breathe. It was like glass, that silence. Transparent, but noticeable. Thick but fragile. And no one dared break it.

And then I began to sob uncontrollably.

I don't know when they came over to my corner, but I can guarantee my whole body was shaking. My whole being was shaking. It was as if I had just seen a shark fin in black water. My throat clenched up and refused explaination. As if I had shards in my throat threatening to pop me. Like uncooked rice in a balloon. But she sat next to me on my bed and brought my shaking head to her chest anyway. Like a mother consoling her child. Still it was silent. Except my ugly hiccups for air.

My hands that never left my face. Like curtains hiding shame. Because to be honest it was weird and new and scary to have a shoulder to cry on. To allow someone to see you at your most horrifyingly naked and accept it without judgement. Without demanding explanation. Without collecting debt for the patience and energy I was costing them.

The other one ran to the restroom to bring me tissues. I wiped away the slime from my face as I regained my breath. Ok. I'm ok. You're done. You got it all out of your system. It was still silent.

I said my thank you's and they said their it's-okay's and we each went back to our respective corners. And I don't know why or how or what kind of sense this makes, but somehow, being consoled, made me even more upset.

I cried on my own shoulder for so long, that I didn't realize that others existed? Or that I would ever deserve them? It was a moment of unexpected grief for feeling safe and supported and genuinely accepted for the first time, and the sudden weight of all of the memories of not being allowed to grieve. I had always been the comedic release. "You're bringing the mood down," I was told. Don't show me your ugly.

And so I sobbed again. The ugly kind. And they came again and sat next to me. Again in silence. And I cried and they held me and that was literally it. That was what happened. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. And I think that was the day that I knew what all those cheesy movies about best friends were talking about. I used to think it was just unrealistic drama, but in a way, I get it now. Friends are the people who are there when you need them, and don't expect anything back. They're a shoulder to cry on.

They're the people that I trust, silently, without explanation, without judgement, without cost. And I love them so much that it hurts. The trust feels heavy. And my heart feels tired.

And after all of it, we laughed at how silly the argument was. How silly life and happiness and sadness and love and hate are. And we laughed at how I finally let someone love me, and it made me cry. I realized that I don't need to understand why they love me to accept it. Because love has no business with words. It's as clear as glass. As obvious as silence. You don't see it till you do. We laughed at how they started crying while watching me shake in cold tears.

We laughed.

And I guess it makes sense.

Silence has no business with words. Why would laughter?