Silence

While brainstorming what to write for this second web event, an image, similar to the way Irene’s bedroom struck me, kept popping up in my head from the mural arts tour in Philly.  It was the mural of the iron butterflies protruding and ascending up the body of an African-American man holding fire in the palm of one of his hands. If I am not mistaken, the mural was created on the back of a men’s shelter that no longer existed and the butterflies symbolized the great changes—the metamorphosis—the sheltered men made in their own lives. I, too, had written about the concept of metamorphosis and had described the role silence had played in my life as an evolution. However, as I began to think more about the nature of the word, metamorphosis, I grew dissatisfied with my word choice in describing the role of silence in my life.

“When a woman tells the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her.”

                                                                                                                ---Adrienne Rich

I live in the walled community of Haverford College but also in a second institution—the hospital.

I don’t know why I haven’t spoken of these experiences in class.  Or maybe that’s a lie because I know exactly why.  At any given moment I am either in searing pain, trying to discretely smother the flames burning down my arm, or else I am using all my mental capacity to follow discussion while my brain is hazy from pain medication.

         I started this class thinking silence was a finite task, one that I would struggle to “complete”, as if that would be even possible. I moved from shallowly thinking it was all about pulling myself out of the noise of modern technology to frustration with the rhetoric of silence as a political statement. Now I’m working more and more toward a knowledge that silence is with me daily, in those ways that I have been wary of, like taking time to be completely silent, but also in what I refrain from saying when I am speaking. Specifically, I have found myself thinking about and responding to Hummingbird’s paper on self-silencing, and our class discussions about who may presume to speak for someone else. Do they have to be of the same background racially? Do their genders (and their perceptions of what that means for their daily life) need to match up? Do they have to be from the same socio-economic class to speak to the privilege or lack thereof that accompanies varied levels of wealth? Can I, as only barely culturally Jewish, even speak to that side of myself as influencing my life? I don’t presume that there will ever be a definitive answer to any of these (although there are definite opinions that I have read and heard expressed, both in class and in readings). I do hope, though, to create a greater understanding of silence as ever-present, especially in my exploration of self-silencing personally in the context of speaking for someone else, as their story may relate to others or me.

Webpaper 2

Lately, I’ve left our class with anger nipping at my heels as I trudge back to Denbigh. Thoughts, complaints and unspoken words swirl through my already over-full mind and I just want to scream. But I don’t. Instead, I shut myself in my room and wish I had splurged for that journal I saw in the bookstore a week ago. It seems wrong, but out of desperation and lack of proper medium, I’ve turned to this essay to help me sort out my thoughts regarding my own role in our class, and also the role of silence.

I am exhausted when I leave our class. I feel the weight of my unpacked thoughts making me so heavy. My silence, I will readily admit, is self-imposed, but I won’t take all of the responsibility. I feel silenced because I just need space to think. Such heavy topics deserve a response that has been thought out. But there is no time for silence. For it seems that we would much rather talk about it than observe it.

For most of my life I was brought up in a household where my father thought he could control us. I stayed pretty quiet when I was younger and followed my mother’s lead. My mom had plenty of opportunities to speak up and say something to him but I believe she stayed silent because she didn’t want to cause any problems. After a long day of work, the last thing she needed was an argument with my father. But as my siblings and I grew older, we also grew tired and angry of having to keep our mouths shut just to make him happy. I don’t even think that I kept my mouth shut because of my dad. I think I did it to make my mom happy.

Looking back at this experience, I see silence as being equal to obedience or even fear. Even if I were walking down the stairs to get out the door to run to the bus stop, my dad would yell at me in Khmer to “keep it down” and point his finger accusingly at me. His booming voice and index finger made me feel so small and helpless. It made me feel like I couldn’t ever do anything right, like I was a disappointment. He wanted me to walk around quietly and conduct myself in an unobtrusive manner, like all the other Asian women he had come across. Even if I were quieter walking down the steps, I knew that if I did what he said then I would be reinforcing his control on the rest of the family. His controlling ways were unbearable and unhealthy for my family and I had to find a way to stop him.

To break the silence

is murder! (of sorts) and a thousand liberations- but also

I have no idea what you're talking about

Maybe if we weren't silent, we would understand?

Said the teacher to the class.

Then She looked out the window

Her words brought the class to its full attention, they wondered if they could keep going.

She did.

Hi. What?!

I love sitting in silence with you guys. Love it!

I love sitting in silence, but I did get more and more anxious as the paper moved around

She exuded privilege.

Her language spoke to wealth dating back as far as the eye could see in her lineage.

But what kind of wealth was it? She felt rich of possessions, yet lonely and empty.

I feel a kind of turmoil I cannot clearly articulate or define but the need for expression of this turmoil is so overwhelming

I just want to know what's going to happen next,

but please tell me in silence.

Hi ladies,

Soon after our fishbowl activity, I expressed my thoughts on my wordpress blog (for those who do not know, I blog for Bryn Mawr). I wanted to invite you all to read this post in hopes that you will express your own sentiments and always be reminded of the special moments we had during that activity.

360 love,

Esty

The link is also here just in case the embedded one does not work:

http://banteremaitre.blogs.brynmawr.edu/2012/09/18/reflection-on-my-stormy-day/

So obviously yesterday was an emotional class for me.  Part of me wants to do what was described in the reading- tell you all "I'm not crazy" or that it must have been a combination of stress and lack of sleep, but part of me knows that’s not it, at least not completely.  I know (and as I’m writing, my thoughts are less confident because they are permanent…I’m tempted to say I hope) that a lot of people on campus feel the same way as I do:  that they are never good enough,  that everyone is seems everyone one else was given these secret codes and you missed the memo.  What makes us feel this way? Part of me knows issues of self esteem really needed to be worked on from within. But if this a general campus feeling, than it is not just us, and what could be done to start to fix this?  How can we create an environment where we are confident in our intelligence? I don’t mind being challenged by my academics, but it’s another thing to feel beat up by them.  I’m also curious if this is the case within the Tri-Co and other institutions similar to Bryn Mawr?