By: Lynette Yang
There’s a lot I want to say.
I want to pour out my emotions, flood them onto those who will listen, but not speak, and tell them of all the years I began to feel like I was stuck in time— stuck in a time where others were moving forward so fast, too fast. Faster than I could comprehend or accept, feeling like they were sand slipping between my fingers; fingers which were failing to hold onto the people and memories I cherished most, who I didn’t want to disappoint, who I didn’t want to disappear, who I wanted to tell them to stay for one more day because I didn’t want to see them go.
But I don’t.
I don’t tell them to stay, because I don’t wish to be a burden on them, because I don’t want to burden them with these feelings, feelings which have only caused trouble time and time again, times where I learned that expressing my opinions would only lead to ignorance and yelling, yelling that shook my demeanor, my confidence. My confidence and expressiveness held behind bars because little kids looked at me like I was a black sheep when I was biologically no different than them, who teased me for being too Asian, so I changed and somehow became both too Asian and not Asian enough, and everything else feeling like it’s too little and too much, and this too much being held in a jar on a rickety shelf in my mind that shakes each day, threatening to tumble, threatening to fall to the ground and shatter, releasing the rain that’s been contained and released over and over again.
I wish I weren’t like that.
I wish I could simply muster up courage from thin air and believe in the words I say, to tell people that I’m truly alright, but what does ‘alright’ mean in a world where everything can go wrong, where people are experiencing far worse than me? Is there a measurement of bad? Where is the line drawn between situations that are valid and situations that aren’t? I try to get up, dust my knees off, and move on, but for every step I take, I feel a tug behind my back, and I know that if I turn around, I’ll see a small girl who watched everything I saw and experienced everything I felt, looking at me and wondering if I’m leaving her, too.
I wish I could face the future.
I watch the ones I love most move forward to a place I’m not ready for, a place that I will never be prepared for, a place that I had dreamt of for so long, coming too soon for me to comprehend. I hide and place invisible walls around myself so I can wallow in my emotions, whilst trying to keep my ties with others simple, so it doesn’t hurt as much when I have to see them go. I want to properly tell them how much they mean to me, how much I hope for them to succeed in their endeavours; yet, each time I open my mouth, my tongue freezes, remembering the last time it was punished by others for saying something remotely close to my heart, watching as those from before choose to tell others without my permission.
I remain silent.
I remain silent even if I know that there might be a day when I won’t be able to tell those people how much they mean to me, because I don’t want them to begin asking me if I’m alright, as if my feelings come from a place of darkness and not light. I want to tell them how much I appreciate their existence every day, how thankful I am for their support and guidance during times when I didn’t feel like being myself, but a nagging voice in the back of my mind warns me not to tell them, out of a place coming from fear or shame of not feeling strong, not being strong, because the world screws around with people’s heads and tells them that showing emotion is weak and belittles those who do express their feelings.
It’s cowardly and hypocritical of me, I know.
But what’s to do in a world where some choose to harm others at their most vulnerable?
Those somebodies who decide to share that information as gossip?
My voice remains silent, choosing to skip over the details when asked, “How was your day?”
I wish I could say it all, but some things are better left unsaid.