073: Le Silence Terminé

It's been a little bit more than a year since my arrival to this land of opportunity, where streets are paved with gold, where your American dreams are fulfilled everyday. It's been a little bit more than a year having lived already in three different places in America and mostly apart from Mom.

Now, I am at my fourth residence under my aunt's roof; my father's little sister graciously has taken me in until Mom finds a decent place for us to live. Yet, it is here, in Washington state, with my tenth birthday soon approaching, when my aunt, who rarely has been home, who hardly ever has spoken to me, comes in to my room, her hand touching my knee, her eyes leveled to mine, letting me know my birthday this year would just come and go, no fanfares, no celebrations, just because her religion forbids it. "Do you understand?" she asks.

Holding her gaze, I nod—it’s not as if I expected a party: my cousins' birthdays were passed by with scarcely a mention, too. Yet. Still. I just keep nodding. Without a peep. My face, a blank. Silence.

Please note, though, that this isn’t about me griping about a birthday party I never had. No, it’s not. It’s just that, then and for a while, I…swallowed a lot of sorrows, even the little joys, and found my expression in a stone cold face and…ever growing silence.

In two months time, I fly over the majestic mountains, the broad prairies, the mighty Mississippi, landing in…Newark International, rejoining Mom, regaining my life, here in New York. But I am carrying to my new home, as I discovered, a load heavier than my bags in the trolley. The joyous event, or rather what should have been one, turns out awkward. The hugs and kisses, the barrage of questions, the comments about how big I’ve gotten, they all are for me; Mom’s expressions of her love for her son. Yet I can’t break my silence. I don’t know what to say, how to say… I just can’t. Get. The. Words. Out.

I crash. After two weeks of spending the majority of the 24-hour day asleep, I finally awake from my silence. A one-word answer becomes a phrase; a phrase becomes a complete sentence; a sentence to a full speech. I’ve regained my voice.

You see, I am not writing this for your sympathy. All of us have had at least one moment of hardship, a trial we endured and, hopefully, overcame. This little one is mine. I am writing with a joyful heart, knowing that my voice is heard. Who’d have thunk that this once muted boy is being heard?! Every day, I’m finding streets paved with gold and I’m fulfilling my dreams little by little. And it is good. Perhaps all this could be said more eloquently and poignantly; perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. But still, it is good.

Because you see, now, my sorrows, my joys, my fears, my hopes… they all find expression in my voice.

Le silence terminé.