Furr and I

Furr is a strong, aggressive, mean competitor who has no fear on the soccer field. Not afraid of going after every single ball whether she knows she’ll obtain it not, and attacking every girl in sight. Not afraid to dive into a huge pile of mud to get a shot on goal for girls varsity soccer and slide tackle her opponents. But is that really me? Violent, mean, not afraid of anything? While Furr is the vicious player on the field, I am an inviting, sweet girl. Caring and friendly who would never intend to harm others. Furr may not show any signs of fear or let anyone get in her way, but I am not the strongest person. I am scared of a variety of things, and have many weaknesses.

Furr and I are very different. Furr is the one sweating profusely, hair messy and uncontrolled, and grass stains smeared all over her white BCDS jersey. But I am the nice and polite girl who enjoys dressing up and and going shopping.

While Furr is the one who people fear and are scared to be close to, I am the welcoming girl in which other people like being around. While I enjoy meeting new people, Furr is constantly driving others away.

Steinberg and I

Steinberg is a musician. Steinberg gets up in front of hundreds of people and sings Braham’s German Reqium-- in German-- and doesn’t think about her hair, or whether the audience is bored of all these repetitive harmonies or their inability to understand the words because the chorus’ german skills are shaky at best. Steinberg spends 45 minutes a week with the most intimidating woman at New England Conservatory and gets by without too many shivers. Me, I spend 45 minutes with Ms. Clara Sandler, with her snobby Brazilian accent, and feel like the most inadequate person on earth. I am an underachiever. Steinberg is an achiever. Steinberg disputes the fact that singers are not considered musicians by many; fights back.
I accept it grudgingly.

Steinberg is who I am when I am not myself. But I always try to be Steinberg, so I guess I never am myself. For some reason, though, not being myself, being Steinberg, seems more like me than any me I ever could be.

Furr and I

Furr is a strong, aggressive, mean competitor who has no fear on the soccer field. Not afraid of going after every single ball whether she knows she’ll get it not, and overall outrunning and attacking every girl in sight. Not afraid to dive into a huge pile of mud to get a shot on goal for girls varsity soccer and dive tackle her opponents. Sweating profusely, hair messy and uncontrolled, and grass stains smeared all over her white BCDS jersey. While, I am the nice and polite girl who enjoys dressing up and and going shopping. I am a caring person who never intends to harm others, and always cares about those around me.

While Furr is the one who people fear and are scared to be close to, I am the welcoming girl in which other people enjoy being around. While I meet new people, Furr is consistently driving others away.

Mamon and I

Mamon is a friend. However, there is not one definition of a friend. In fact, there are many. So many definitions that derive from so many social groups, social networks, and social functions. One may describe friendship as a mutual “like” with another person, however another may describe it as being not just as an individual or even human. A “true” friendship does require mutual companionship. This companionship, although on a very wide spectrum of ideals and values, implies that you have someone--or something, that is there for you, and someone you can talk to. Now, this “spectrum” that I previously just mentioned varies a great deal. On one end is the “best friend” and the other, is just an acquaintance. However, even if you just met a person, the rule of companionship should still apply-- but it doesn't.

To me, Mamon is just a friend. I would not consider him to be a best friend, but definitely more than just an acquaintance. Mamon is somewhere in the middle. I don't trust him as much as other friends, but I do not think he is at all a bad person. He is more of a school friend, than a home friend, but that still counts. However the friendship we share is mutual.

"Aswad and I"

I appreciate music; I enjoy listening to the sound of the violin when my mom plays a CD compiled of various Arabic songs. Aswad also appreciates music, but in a more intense, analytical way. She analyzes each note, she feels inspired to compose a piece, she would very much love to do a duet with her sister. I might not recognize Bach's work, even if I've played several pieces by Bach before. I don't practice the violin every day. I don't even think about playing the violin every day. However, when I do play the violin, I thoroughly enjoy it. I feel empowered when I play the violin, as it is a difficult instrument to master. My fingers sometimes feel sore after I've played for a long time, but it's worth it. However when I think of someone who loves music and truly understands music, I think of my sister. Aswad thinks that they can compete with each other musically. I don't feel as confident in my musical talents as Aswad does. Aswad walks on stage and plays a piece, passionately, soulfully; I walk on stage and feel nervous, I pick up the bow and I feel like my hands are trembling, my palms start to sweat. My grip on the bow loosens as I start to feel more and more anxious, I feel like I might cry if I make a single mistake while I play (though my mom said I seemed confident on stage; she must have been listening to Aswad play the violin). As I quickly walk off the stage, I feel relieved. Aswad bows and gracefully waltzes off the stage, smiling, feeling euphoric. Aswad plays the violin because she truly loves it. I play the violin to feel distracted from worries.

West and I

She stands in front of an audience. West doesn’t care what she says in front of a room filled with people, only because they aren’t her own words. She can get angry if that’s what the script says to be and she will jump up and down as many times as she is asked. Her new name is Sunny and when Joe calls the name Sunny, she responds just like it is her own. I have to worry about what I say, when I say it, and I have to hesitate before I speak, but West speaks through somebody else. She worries about verbs and beats and subtext of her artificial words. Her goal is to memorize somebody else’s feelings and words. Every movement of her foot, hand, and head is planned for months before it is done. West only needs me when she wants to be more real. She tries to take from my personal experiences and emotions and turn them into fakes to make them fit another mind. I never know when West will become me, when I will start to act when I am trying to be myself. She can slip into my brain when I am telling a lie or trying to impress. West is me when I want something I cannot have.

Segar and I

Charlie enjoys lacrosse while sometimes I feel like I should be doing it. I worry about which coaches are there and how well I have done so far. Charlie takes it seriously because it’s what he is best at but he never lets the fun of playing Lacrosse get lost. The mood and expectations of club lacrosse tend to override the relaxed and smooth movements that illustrate the genuine nature of the sport. Charlie is confident and plays like he knows he can with a swagger as if it doesn't matter who is watching. College coaches line up on the sidelines with their clip boards and predetermined judgements on the teams and players. Their presence is felt by me but for Charlie it gives him a rush similar to pure excitement but more controllable and with a genuine desire to impress. Eventually I find myself driven by intuition and instinct and the nervousness is replaced by a relaxed enjoyment that makes me feel like I'm playing with Charlie.

Gruber and I

Gruber sits in front of the computer, pushing keys and clicking buttons while explosions and bullets dance across the screen. It is the only source of light in the room. I hate him for doing this, night after night, like clockwork. Gruber will exit one game and open another, never pausing, never slowing, never wondering why he can’t do anything else but stare at the pixelated images of things that are far more beautiful in the sunlight outside. I try to talk to Gruber but he never listens. Nowadays, he doesn’t listen to anything but the sounds of zeroes and ones in the throes of artificial death by his simulated hands.

Sometimes he drags me into it with him; I get swept away in the tide of make-believe worlds, and for a brief moment I know why he wants to live here instead. Other times he won’t let me leave: he keeps me here while he sits and plays. I’ve given up on trying to convince him that there is life outside the machine. I will have to live that life on my own. Gruber will stay behind and grow old in front of the circuits and wires and zeroes and ones, and maybe someday he’ll wonder why he didn’t go with me.

Dynan and I

He yells out “Dynan” a strong and harsh voice that rings in my ears. That is what my drill sergeant coach calls me. I dislike it, I feel like I am being controlled by my name. This name is like a label on a soccer ball that sticks to me and I cannot get it off. I am addicted to soccer; I use the soccer ball as a ticket to my future. I want to be recruited for soccer and play for my four years of college. I have a talent, I am committed to soccer and I always work hard. Dynan just wants to give up and she cannot take it anymore. The pressure is too severe for Dynan and she thought soccer was supposed to fun. As Dynan hears her name being called, she just wants to give up on soccer. I have been playing soccer since the age of five and it is always fun for me. I love soccer and I couldn’t live without it. All the pressure lands Dynan in the hospital: a broken ankle. “Out for 2 weeks the doctor says,” at this point Dynan gives up on her coach and the season. But I never quit so I continue with the season. My ankle heals and I finish the season out strong playing for myself and for my team.

Randles and I

Randles and I:

Randles and I exits our teacher's office and we are immediately filled with a sense of intellectual accomplishment. Randles and I have just concluded a discussion on Existentialism and I feel very fulfilled, smart even, Randles feels this too. That night I watch a movie about Ludwig Wittgenstein Randles is there too but he is tired and doesn't pay all that much attention, but I watch regardless. Wittgenstein spent all his life wondering if philosophy was really necessary in life. At one point he concluded that language defines the world; All philosophical problems are mere excommunications in language. Earlier that night my father explained to me that he dropped philosophy in college, he doesn't want to be discouraging but after a while I gather that he thought it to be mental masturbation.

My father dropped philosophy and focused on language and literature. Literature, even when its about all the ugliness of life and it's unbearable nature still reminds us that we can get out for just a little while, even if the place we escape to is just as bleak. Randles is still pretty into philosophy and stays up too late to read about it on the internet but its a habitual thing really.

Goodman and I

Goodman and I: Goodman is a tennis maniac. Through day and night he re-grips his racket just to practice. He sits in front of the t.v. watching the old classic tennis matches between Sampras and Agassi, however Adam only enjoy shows such as Jersey Shore and Real World. Goodman looks for the positives of life (usually through tennis) he sees a brand new wilson racket in sports authority and smiles, while Adam only sees his old one. Goodman understands that there is more to life than winning, in a tennis a match or regularly. However, to Adam everything is a competition, not including tennis. The word life is defined by dictionary.com as “the condition that distinguishes organisms from inorganic objects and dead organisms, being manifested by growtht hrough metabolism, reproduction, and the power of adaptation to environment through changes originating internally.”however they both see it differently. They both understand that there is more to look at in their everyday lives.

Goodman is destined to do well, however Adam believes that he is destined to fail. Tennis is the only source of satisfaction for both at the same time, when Goodman aces the opponent with a perfectly hit serve up the t, he knows that nobody can stop him, Adam is the same. Goodman goes for the winner, while Adam waits for the opponent to double fault. Goodman aces Adam.

Demick and I

When Demick and I sit down to write it’s complicated. She’s complicated, intricate, slightly confused and usually won’t focus unless I give her a pin-point idea. So specific and small that when I speak it, when I tell her it, it gets lost in the air between us. Swept away and consumed by everything else that is floating there, sucked up and gone like a hole in her atmosphere.

But sometimes…yes sometimes it will explode and she will see it and it will reflect back in her eyes. Bright colors snapping and sparking in the two glistening mirrors set on her pale face. I never look in those eyes, those mirrors-that’s the explosions job and a line that I never dare cross.

Her hand will begin flying across the paper, her lips cracked and papers edges burned. Words collide with the paper. The fire spreads like a disease, a patch of mold, across every page, hungry and out for blood. No spot is left un-tarnished. Nothing is left white. But that’s just how Demick likes it. I watch her, an atom bomb, the sparkler that burned me as a child, just a lighter. She ignites everything around her and creates a story that had never been there before.

But soon I’ll dose out the flames and tell her it’s time to stop. Smoke will fill her lungs, her inability to speak only furthering her need to write. And she won’t understand. She’ll be confused and look at me with those eyes and I’ll look away, walk away. The story won’t be finished. Because I lost faith her, because you can’t control a firework, because sometimes she lies to me. She makes me believe in things that I can’t do, can’t have, won’t ever have. So I leave her alone until I’m brave enough for next time. Sometimes it takes years to build my strength up. Sometimes just a day.

Palmer and I

Palmer is out there fighting for justice, searching for truth but I am huddled in a corner watching, a by-stander. I watch as Palmer holds signs that read “Equality for All” or “Hey hey, ho, ho, homophobia has got to go” in the freezing cold rain or blistering hot days. I hold myself as high as can be but no higher than Palmer, for Palmer needs all the confidence and strength she can obtain. I save my voice by speaking only when needed so Palmer can scream chants like “When queer youth are under attack, what do we do? Stand up fight back!” Until her throat starts to bleed. It is Palmer that I see next to members of the legislator. I listen closely to Palmer as she tries to barging and plea with members of Congress to pass many bills on trans and gay rights. I watch Palmer stand next to hundreds of people or next to only ten people fighting for what she believes in.

I do not step in the help Palmer when the opponent is putting her down. For I know when another human is screaming “faggot” or “dyke” in her face it is not my place to step in. If I were to step in I would bring Palmer down. I would try to comfort her and make her turn away. I would cry, but Palmer does not. Palmer would educate the other human being and stand up for herself. Palmer would not show the hurt like I would. I will remain, as I am, a quiet and unseen friend of Palmer, only to show when Palmer is in the privacy and comfort of herself. I pick up the broken pieces of Palmer and attempt to attach them back on so she can continue doing what she does. Palmer never notices me, for I just watch her from a distance admiring her, striving to be at her level, always.

Jaff and I

Meet Jaff; she is a singer. Her one and only instrument: her voice. She sings in front of large audiences, soaking up the attention, the fame, the glory. I know Jaff; Jaff knows me. We are one and the same; we are two different people. Jaff opens her mouth and emits a melodious sound; one that can only occur by mixing notes and letting them gently yet forcefully roll off her vocal cords. She accepts the fact that she may not succeed every time; she lives for improvement; thrives on the stage. Jaff is the singer, the front man, the performer. Who am I?

Jaff and I harmoniously coexist; we do not know each other deeply, yet we know everything we need to know. Jaff is me when I am on the stage. When I am Jaff, I am my best self. I try to follow in Jaff’s footsteps; I let her take the lead, show me the way, shine the light on the dark, winding path. Jaff is the light side of the moon; I am the dark. I know Jaff; I recognize Jaff more than I recognize myself. Jaff is ever-knowing, over-powering, and consumes my being. I cannot liberate myself from Jaff; I belong to her. Without Jaff, I am nothing.

Harrington and I

He is the one who works without a flaw. He crafts and essay and does not blink. I do not know how he does this. I nearly died last time I set my pen to paper. To Harrington, there is merely a collection of things that need to be sorted. Numbers to be forced into shape, symbols on a paper to be re-arranged, precise words to be spoken. When I look for myself, there is a certain eloquence to making something out of nothing. This is so absorbing however, that it can overwhelm. Harrington does not see this. There is a single division between him and his work.

Harrington can walk among the people and talk with them. For others though, this act is not so easy. The ability to hide ones own desires and dislikes propels him. He has done so good a job, he once confused his greatest friend into a position of confusion. For some time that friend did not know if he was a friend, or really foe. I in turn am clear and have my path lighted with a hundred of the strongest glowing lamps. I know who he is and I know who I am. I never lie, I tell those who I dislike that they are repugnant. To those I love, I quickly announce our bond shall never die. Alas though, when I was very young, my voice was stolen.

I remember the day, it was some time in autumn when I was told I, will go There and learn to hold my tongue.

Schechter and I

Schechter and I fascinate about clothes. While I sit here in my jeans and shirt Schechter is in Paris or Milan wearing Yves Saint Laurent and Chanel. We dream the same dreams. Filled with color and beautiful people but her dreams are reality. Schechter is noted for her risk taking style and classic elegance. She wears studded Balmain dresses like normal people wear jeans. We both read Vogue. Dogearring the pages with the hottest shoes and the prettiest dresses. Schechter sometimes consumes me and I’ll be online for hours scouring online closets and blogs looking for the newest trends.

Schechter comes and goes. At a lavish affair she’ll be the life of the party. Everyone will ask her where she got her dress. She’ll tell them it’s Versace and they all nod in jealous envy. I’m sitting in the corner wishing I was her.

"What makes me visible is that I have figured out how NOT to talk."

What makes me visible is that I have figured out how NOT to talk. I enter a room in silence. My silence brings in intrigue. My refusal to share any aspect of myself, any intake I have, or any interest makes me a person very different than others. My unique silence makes me a curiosity to others. As others speak about their days, I sit in silence. They begin to wonder how and why I choose to stay silent, what are the thoughts that I refuse to share. Their interest grows, as they wonder how I have managed to not talk for so long. I sit in a room filled with the voices of others. I sit empty, but my emptiness brings such a force to the room, as the normalcy that everyone admits through their voice is slowly broken with my silence. I am visible because my ability to remain silent brings an interest to others.

-Ani Keshishian

“What makes me visible is that I have figured out how NOT to talk.”

“What makes me visible is that I have figured out how NOT to talk.”

“Actions speaks louder than words.” We always say it, but do we actually mean it? Are we capable to stand strong without speaking? What does it take to hold one’s presence? I believe in this quote because it is real. Being able not to talk gives one so much power. The facial expressions and body language demonstrates how we truly feel. Sometimes, we say certain things that are meaningful, but the way that we deliver these words can convey a completely different message. Perhaps, it could be perceived as inane, when indeed the message is significant.

Not speaking has been the key to my success. Well, not really, but it has definitely given me leadership and respect, which is difficult to gain. Lots of people go on simply saying things and not really meaning it. How can you value someone if he/she is not able to keep their word? But that is how people act and we are those people. If you are not able to speak, then you are different than everyone else. In other words, you are an outcast in society. One may think that they can be visible by having the opportunity to speak, but everyone takes that opportunity.

“Actions speaks louder than words.” We always say it, but do we actually mean it? Are we capable to stand strong without speaking? What does it take to hold one’s presence? I believe in this quote because it is real. Being able not to talk gives one so much power. The facial expressions and body language demonstrates how we truly feel. Sometimes, we say certain things that are meaningful, but the way that we deliver these words can convey a completely different message. Perhaps, it could be perceived as inane, when indeed the message is significant.

Not speaking has been the key to my success. Well, not really, but it has definitely given me leadership and respect, which is difficult to gain. Lots of people go on simply saying things and not really meaning it. How can you value someone if he/she is not able to keep their word? But that is how people act and we are those people. If you are not able to speak, then you are different than everyone else. In other words, you are an outcast in society. One may think that they can be visible by having the opportunity to speak, but everyone takes that opportunity.

“What makes me visible is that I have figured out how NOT to talk”

     The placement of “not” in this sentence is imperative to the meaning. How NOT to talk differs from how to NOT talk. The latter implies that one has learned the art of silence, while the former refers to knowing how TO talk or knowing the right thing to say. By knowing how NOT to talk you are almost visibly invisible. You may be able to gain access to a particular group of people by learning the language they speak and speaking it and knowing how not to talk depending on your environment; however, that just makes you all the more similar to them. One may be visible in that group. Visible, as in accepted. On the other hand, now that they have conformed by figuring out how NOT to talk they have almost forfeited their visibility. They take on a new visibility in the group and in turn they almost blend in which would seem more like invisibility, no? Another angle is the idea of becoming visible through more than just verbalizing-or in this case, the lack there of. Visibility comes from how you carry yourself, what you wear, how you act, and even from what you DON’T say. Sometimes, people rely too much on blatancy and loudness to become visible and often times that can lead to ostracism. This is a complex matter and I am getting more confused with every sentence I write so... the end.

What Makes Me Visible....

What makes me visible is that I have figured out how not to talk. Not talking is apart from the norm. It is socially acceptable to speak and to WANT to speak. Anything less than this makes me different from the rest, unacceptable. Many want to talk loudly and walk loudly so they can be seen. The puffing up and the loose tongues and the loud footsteps going ‘clack, clack, clack’ back and forth, from person to person, trying to be noticed. They want their importance to be validated, so they become bitchy, funny, stupid, loud, loud, loud, LOUD. And people often notice quickly. Their reactions are neither positive nor negative, but that doesn’t particularly matter. What matters is they are noticed when they put on a different face, and that is all anyone cares about.

But there is something to be said about a quieter presence. Being quiet is going AGAINST the social norm, AGAINST peoples expectations. Because I am quiet, because I am not what everyone else is, people take notice. Reactions are positive and negative. Or even both. They say that I should be louder and more friendly. I should be what they want me to be. I should be just like them. But why should I be friendly and loud and outgoing if that is not what I am? Why should I be happy and loud and social if I’m just going to get pushed aside? Why would I want to be visible if I had to change myself so drastically? If I wanted to be like you, I would act like you. I don’t want to be loud and funny and upbeat all the time. I can’t do that and I won’t do that. If I was loud like the rest of America, I would get lost in the commotion.

By trying to become visible, I would become invisible. So I’ve learned how to stop trying. I’ve learned how to accept my quiet presence, even embrace it. I’ve learned not to listen to people when they criticize how I act or how I carry myself. I’ve learned that the best way to become visible is to stop trying.

What Makes Me Visible

What makes me visible is that I let my actions do the talking, and I do not have to actually say a word. What would make me INVISIBLE is the fact that my ideas and thoughts would be shut down and overruled by other thoughts if I spoke. Instead of saying anything and risk becoming invisible, I force actions so that people are not able to black out my words; what makes me strong is my visibility, that is present, and will not fade because I do not let people take my words to either black out or weave it into their own; I just do, and not say.

What Makes me Visible

"What makes me visible is that I have figured out how NOT to talk"

What makes me visible is that I have figured out how not to talk. In a society were talking is the social norm, I feel as though I am the most visible because I am often found to be doing the opposite. I might not always scream out my opinion, but I am always listening. People understand that they can come to me with their troubles and concerns, and I will never tune them out. I seem to attract venting people. I enjoy helping people's problems vanish, I can see myself following this type of career path. Not always fitting into the social norm definitely has its advantages. I often find people who become extremely visible and know exactly how to talk get themselves into more difficult situations that they wish they wouldn't have gotten in. In a teenage world, it is extremely easy to say the wrong thing, and visible people who figure out how to talk, often times offend more people then intended. I can definitely relate to the quote "what makes me visible is that I have figured out how NOT to talk". Abiding by this quote definitely has its perks.

What Makes Me Visible

What makes me visible is that I’ve learned to internalize my feelings. No one wants to hear the thoughts that circle my brain like a washing machine, turning harshly, rapidly taunting. No one wants to cheer up a desperate soul that gets depleted everyday by the crescent shaped cells that stop me from happiness all the time. The only way I can be entrapped by people, maintain a supported structure of loved ones is by pretending to be healed from this disease. Sadly I’m trapped in my mind, and that’s what makes me visible. I can’t get out because the walls of my mind are so tall, so deliberate, that they have yet to fall. I learned this year ago. Sitting in this hospital bed, strapped down by each IV stuck in me, I watch the morphine flow into my veins. I realized I internalize this all. As 22-inch gage needles, and cold harsh sharp scalpels make new wounds, fresh cuts in my spirit and tissue I treat it as its no issue. Doctors and nurses everyday ask me to rate my pain from one to ten and everyday I want to tell them the pain has no number because it is more infinite than eternity. Then after the doctors come in to tell me there’s nothing they can do but dope me up and hope that the pain goes away, the angry shadow inside me screams, swears, cursing the cells that destruct my body and the cells that replicate at the very marrow of my soul. I want to rip out these needles, shove 11 pills down the doctors throat and dope them up to the point of sedation, to the point of living half heartedly, dreaming with one eye open on reality. But I can’t, the only way to stay visible, to stay relevant, is to do the opposite and keep the hatred and envy of anyone who doesn’t feel the same burning pain hidden. If I were to say how I’m feeling, to finally turn the grey cloud that mocks me from above into a bright ray of relief, they still won’t know, they won’t even begin to see me. They’ll see me less and less. See me as an angry Black person with a lowered concept of self-sufficiency. Something I’m not. They’ll see me as a patient that feeds off self-pity and doesn’t get that there are worse things out there. They’ll see me as a hindrance, a bother in their daily morale of being a doctor and healing people. They’ll judge me without being even close to relating. So I internalize it all to remain visible.

What makes me visible

I remember those times when I would speak but not be heard. Those weren't my words and I wasn't ever heard. I was looked at without being seen. It wasn’t until I learned not to talk that I was seen for then I did not have to be heard so for once I could be seen. It seems so clear to me now, talking gives an appearance thats not me. What makes me visible is my ability to be myself and be seen for who I am not for what someone wants me to be. What made me invisible is the fact that you could never see me but would never overlook me. Just because you could see me didn’t mean you knew me, for when you would see me I wasn’t me. Now if you happen to look at me, you will see me, for it is me. There is a greater chance I will be overlooked but there is no chance I will not be seen. This is an odd sense of reassurance one that drives me to stay silent and be seen.

What makes me visible

What makes me visible is that I have figured out how NOT to talk

There are right and wrong ways to say anything. The laws of society. A president must speak like a president and a scientist must speak like a scientist. In order to be accepted and listened to by society, one must learn to speak the way they are supposed to. Or more importantly, the way they aren’t supposed to. It isn’t a matter of choice. If a president starts speaking like a scientist, then society will stop seeing him as a president. He will lose his credibility as a politician. When people speak in a way that doesn’t line up with how they are supposed to speak, they are not listened to. Ignored. If nobody listens to you, how can they be expected to see what kind of a person you are? Doesn’t that make you invisible? I am just as invisible as the person next to me. The only times that anyone catches a glimpse of the kind of person I am are when I am speaking. Knowing how to make people listen is the only way I can ever hope to be seen. To achieve that I need to know how to talk, or more importantly, how not to talk.

What Makes Me Visible

What Makes Me Visible

What makes me visible is my tendency to make myself a presence in a room. This is not under my control, it is just who I am. I like to talk, and I like to make friends. It can be useful, and it can be my cross to bear. Sometimes I wish that I could sit with other people but not say anything at all. This is what I do when I’m mad. When I am upset or angry, I go silent. I will not talk to anybody and I shut myself out for a while until I am ready to talk to people again. I wish that I could do this when I am in a normal mood. I wouldn’t consider myself loud or obnoxious, but I definitely do like to make conversation with people. Yes, this can be a good thing because it means that I am outgoing. But being outgoing all the time is not what I aspire to be. I want to be quiet sometimes but still have fun. This is what makes me visible and I am proud of it, but only sometimes.

What Makes Me Visible Is That I Have Figured Out How Not To Talk

Isn't it obvious?

My invisibility, that is. The one that may keep me safe and be my crutch for the rest of my life. I had it taken away from me a long time ago. My voice. It's gone, along with a multitude of other things. I used to be tired of being a minority, but now I no longer have the energy to care. Or at least now I don't have any incentive to since I am shrouded in invisibility. I once was passionate, for a cause, a lot of things before I realized I could be invisible. Now I sit here, not waiting for anything in particular, outside the groove of time and society. Although I am present in body, I can assure you I am not present in mind.

Not speaking would seem like a challenge to most people. Not me--it's an art I've mastered. You see, it's not our culture, race, or religion that makes us what we are--it's our opinions. And though I have some, I figured out a way of repressing them. I can sit there in a discourse, not moved or phased by a thing anyone is saying. I know it's because of this emotionless façade that you notice me. At least you are the one who knows I'm there; you are the one who reaffirms my existence. It is through you and only you that I know I am somewhat visible, and I both love and resent you for that.

I love you because you rely on me, too. It through me that you are able exist. You thrive on me not thinking, not believing, not listening. You thrive on my deaf ears and my fallen heart. You possess something that allows you to have absolute control: my life. I can't recall when this started happening, but I can certainly fathom the irony of the situation. What makes me visible is that I have figured out how not to talk.

What Makes Me Visible

What makes me visible is that I have figured out how not to talk. What makes me visible is that I understand what true invisibility is and how to avoid it. I am free so I am visible. Being visible means not being held back by anything, you are who you are and you cannot and will not change for a cause or a person because you know who you are and will always be. But what makes me visible is that I have family surrounding my every day. I have people that care and love unconditionally. I am visible because of them I am visible because of my mother, father, brother, grandma, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I am visible because someone is always there for me in the good times and bad times so I am always visible.

"What makes me visible is that I have figured out how NOT to talk"

What makes me visible is knowing what not to do and doing it. I do things that I want to do regardless of what others say and I do things my own way. I play my instruments in my own way and I'm self taught for everything but guitar. I stopped taking lessons when I realized that I learned more during the summer than in a whole year. I type in my own way. Mavis Beacon annoyed me and I quickly grew tired of the software. I teach myself what I want to know and I do things in the order that I want to. I know how people would like me to talk but that doesn't stop me from saying anything I want to. What makes me visible is that I have figured out how not to talk.

What makes me special is that I have figured out how not to talk

What makes me special is that I have figured out how not to talk. It is a gift, yet it is also a curse. I am free from boundaries, and no longer have any restrictions. I can finally roam the earth and be myself. I can play my video games non-stop. I am finally at peace with myself, and only myself for I am isolated. However this is also my downfall. Who do I share this joy with? I am happy, but I am also lonely. I have no friends, no family. All that I am left with is my memories, which digs deep to the core and pains me very so. I remember my grandfather, o my grandpa! But now I am free of him. No more death to worry about, and no more looking back. I am finally happy and doing what I want to do and be, however how do I know that this is what I actually want? Who is going to let me know that I am doing the right thing? Who is going to tell me that I am happy? It hurts in the chest area when I think about. I collapse with pain, and try to forget. But how can you remember what you don’t have?

Visibility and Not Talking-Ikey

What makes me visible is that I have figured out how not to talk. I have figured this out by finding the means to lead silently on my field of battle. Even though my sport requires intense communication I have found that I can lead by example and I do not need to tell people how to do things. Leading by example I speak not with my mouth but with my play. No one has to listen to me to talk for a hour about the fundamentals of lacrosse all they need to do is watch how my body moves as if it were a ferrari flying down the Autobahn. I must not tell them how the motor works or each wheel rolls they only look at me to know so that they may upgrade their engine and their wheels and maybe even get built in satellite radio. I lead by example I let my body be the mouth and let my stick be my voice.

Invisible

"What makes me visible is that I have figured out how not to talk"

- What makes me visible is that I am seen in my sphere of influence. In the world everyone is invisible. On the T, the street, or the stores I walk among a sea of invisible people. I don't know them and they don't know me. In my sphere of influence; however, I am seen by all and become visible. Whether in school, at home, or in outside activities it is in my own life's journey that I find visibility. I know the people in my life and they know me. The world is too vast to be seen in comparison and aspiring to do so is a waste of time. It is through the pursuit of personal visibility, identity through your trade, that you become visible. To find that trade becomes a journey and, through that life is made.

What makes me visible is that I have figured out how not to talk. Since I have a choice my visibility is only affected by myself. Since I am only affected by myself I retain my ability to be seen. If being seen reflects my ability to talk, then I will become a talker, to retain myself and my visibility. Since if I am invisible, then others cannot see me, but if I wanted to be, I can be anything, since I retain the vaunted control over my individuality. I feel that with my invisibility and visibility in jeporady, I have more control over my life.