It was a night in our first organization’s meeting when I hurriedly went home after my 7pm class in Physical Education. And after presiding the meeting, I encourage some of my peers to listen to the story I’ve just wrote last night.
He was there, listening to his Mp3 and lying on a flat surfaced bench. His presence didn’t stop me from reading my story. I was confident enough that he neither listens nor cares about what I was doing.
With low and modulated voice, I read the story to my peers without them to notice that it was my own true to life story. Every word that comes out from my mouth seems to be a thorn which is pulled out from my heart and it felt amazing to my part.
I was happy that night…happy because at last! I’ve poured out how I felt. Aside from that, it made me feel proud…it made me feel that I am now a real writer.
Flashing a smile in my face, I decided to call up his attention to say that I wanted to go home. Looking at him, I noticed he was asleep. (Sigh) He really didn’t care to listen. Thank God!
He walked with me on my way home. We’ve talked about many things that night and I was really smiling then. Smiling because here we go again, talking happy moments with each other and all of my worries will vanish.
I was holding a big book at that moment when he took it away from me which didn’t bother me that much. He was scanning some of its pages as if he was looking for something. Yeah! I was right. He was looking for my notebook in which I wrote my written story. I just smiled because I let my best friend borrow it for her to read the story. It made me feel safe because hooray! He can never read the story… he can never know what I was feeling.
My smile fades away when I hear him saying “You don’t have to hide what you’ve wrote because I’ve heard everything… every words you’ve used.”
Oh no!
Every trace of smile in my face seems to be erased…every thoughts of being a real writer vanishes. I was a dope! How can he hear me if he’s listening music in his mp3? I was not thinking after all. I never thought of the possibility that he might be pretending.
It was totally a disaster. I don’t know if I’ll laugh at myself or get worried because he might not understand me which will definitely lead to misinterpretations of the story.
But I guess it was the perfect time to tell him how I really felt… I believe…
No I was wrong. If it was the perfect time then why I can’t seem to talk? It was as if I am a mute. I run out of words to explain everything or do I owe him an explanation?
Silence is in the air and now I’ve realized that even silence can break your ear drums.
He was there, listening to his Mp3 and lying on a flat surfaced bench. His presence didn’t stop me from reading my story. I was confident enough that he neither listens nor cares about what I was doing.
With low and modulated voice, I read the story to my peers without them to notice that it was my own true to life story. Every word that comes out from my mouth seems to be a thorn which is pulled out from my heart and it felt amazing to my part.
I was happy that night…happy because at last! I’ve poured out how I felt. Aside from that, it made me feel proud…it made me feel that I am now a real writer.
Flashing a smile in my face, I decided to call up his attention to say that I wanted to go home. Looking at him, I noticed he was asleep. (Sigh) He really didn’t care to listen. Thank God!
He walked with me on my way home. We’ve talked about many things that night and I was really smiling then. Smiling because here we go again, talking happy moments with each other and all of my worries will vanish.
I was holding a big book at that moment when he took it away from me which didn’t bother me that much. He was scanning some of its pages as if he was looking for something. Yeah! I was right. He was looking for my notebook in which I wrote my written story. I just smiled because I let my best friend borrow it for her to read the story. It made me feel safe because hooray! He can never read the story… he can never know what I was feeling.
My smile fades away when I hear him saying “You don’t have to hide what you’ve wrote because I’ve heard everything… every words you’ve used.”
Oh no!
Every trace of smile in my face seems to be erased…every thoughts of being a real writer vanishes. I was a dope! How can he hear me if he’s listening music in his mp3? I was not thinking after all. I never thought of the possibility that he might be pretending.
It was totally a disaster. I don’t know if I’ll laugh at myself or get worried because he might not understand me which will definitely lead to misinterpretations of the story.
But I guess it was the perfect time to tell him how I really felt… I believe…
No I was wrong. If it was the perfect time then why I can’t seem to talk? It was as if I am a mute. I run out of words to explain everything or do I owe him an explanation?
Silence is in the air and now I’ve realized that even silence can break your ear drums.
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