Someone’s silence really has different meanings.

A year ago, my silence meant being tired—having no energy to face anyone, for even waking up was a hard thing to be done. My silence meant I was in need of a rescue, but there was this loud clamor in my head and I couldn’t hear my own voice asking for help; the noise shut me up, and quietness meant torture. My silence meant I was in deep pain, but I chose not to share it to somebody else, because I couldn’t find the right way to say it. My silence meant avoiding people for months, because seeing them exhausted my being—so I chose to be distant. Many people misunderstood this action of mine, but I didn’t care; I needed my own time.

But these days, my silence means being contented—that I don’t need to prove to the world that I am happy: I just know to myself that I am. My silence means taking good care of my heart and mind; there are still reasons to be sad, but I can now deal with those properly. My silence means finding littlest reasons to go on with life, ‘though it is still hard. My silence means protecting the bliss I currently have—sheltering it at all cost.

These days, my silence is no longer tormenting; it means joy.

It means I am at ease.

It means peace.

—Ren Ednalig, The Storytellers.

Illustration: endmion1.

Blessed and Happy day 🌞