I have been told to stand up for myself and only that would bring me the truth. I have also been told to be silent because there was no harm if words or actions were not turned back to myself. The price was too high and there was more to lose if I spoke my heart than staying silent. When an opportunity was lost, the disappointment in my soul grew slowly, but the risk to get exposed with an open heart, to be vulnerable with empty hands, gave no protection. I revealed my true intentions and what followed was just silence. Not a single word was said back to understand whether I was right or wrong. From so much strength and ecstasy, the silent response felt like the dot at the end of an exciting sentence. A dot that brought silence, that didn’t encourage me to continue, as a closed door slammed into my face. I was not living my life as a full orchestra on the stage, and at the end got silent waiting for applause. How could I stay silent? Some instruments needed support to play their tunes, but I was encouraged to stand up on my own, with very little assistance. I needed a place to respite when I couldn’t stand up and be anchored in my truth, yet I had to support myself, not even a spike of rest like the cello. My heart was pounding with drumming sounds but I was encouraged to not express too many emotions, to keep the rhythm of the play, and be silent. When curtains went down, and lights switched off, I had to build my own pedestal and plead for my honesty, leave my truth to slowly grow up cancer and build up walls to hide inside. I had to be the silence between notes, the pause from the acts, and the quietness from the end of the play when inside of me was a whole concert ready to explode.

“Staying silent is like a slow growing cancer to the soul and a trait of a true coward. There is nothing intelligent about not standing up for yourself. You may not win every battle. However, everyone will at least know what you stood for—YOU.”

― Shannon L. Alder

I lived tangled in strings, and I had to either let others handle them or break free and played it by myself. I dreamed to escape from puppet strings, and I acted as if I was in control of my life, when in fact I was attached and twisted. I behaved well and kept former expectations because I had to act on the life stage as I’d been taught. I followed rules, I left behind my expectations because a rebel act was seen as misbehaving. I was attached to people that wanted me around, I was tangled in my mind and conflicted with my emotions, and I was not able to leave or get loose. All I did was to be silent and closed myself, drowning in false addictions, and creating imaginary lives. A life where everything was possible, where I was not forced to act based on others’ rules. When I was silent I often wanted to be alone and scroll back in my memories searching for reasons and the mistakes I made. I often returned to memories that made me happy, that brought me peace, and where I was not alone, trying to identify a portal to get back to myself. The silence was only made to leave the other ones speaking, to leave the day that finished to restart, to leave the rain and clouds to pass, and to see the light and sun again. My silence prepared me for new adventures and then abandoned me, pulling me back into the darkness of my soul, where there was no hope or expectation.

“For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of – to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others… and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.”

― Virginia Woolf

I moderated my own concert named “Life”, and no matter how many spectators were in the room, the show had to go on. Sometimes I acted in front of a wide audience, and other times in an empty room, and it was so amazing the strength I needed to keep on going when no one was listening, but myself. I was like string instruments, that increased their values over time, only if they continued playing and were maintained in perfect conditions. A cello, a viola, or a bass were all put together from pieces, handled with care, and appreciated for their actual value. However, I was just a mortal human that not always benefited from the best conditions in life and I had to put myself together without instructions in a form that wasn’t known that would ever be in tune. I was undervalued, broken, and pushed back into shadows to dim my light and drown in my own tears. It took so much strength to keep myself together and to play life’s song when my strings were weak and the bow was broken. Yet, with every piece left of myself, I got back on the stage, and I stretched and hold on to my strings until they cut into flesh and plucked them with my bleeding fingertips to make them sound like music. As long as I kept my soul hollowed and emptied from all the burdens I could continue playing harmonic tones, as perfectly as a tuned violin. I needed to let go if I wanted to resonate with the perfect pitch and I should learn that being empty was not a curse, but a blessing. I had to learn from the new moon how to grow fuller after getting thinner as a thread. I had to learn from an empty barrel that went down in unknown darkness and returned with refreshing water. I had to learn to let go of everything before I could play successfully on my stage, no matter how big the audience was or how much pain was left behind. No one cared how many hours were spent practicing and how many times my strings were replaced and tuned. On the stage, the audience judges based on the ongoing performance, and there was no other chance to show myself performing. One chance, one time, one play, one destiny to uncurse before the curtains fell back and I would return in silence. I had to break the spell, I had to break free from the strings and regain my life. I couldn’t remain silent.

“I said nothing for a time, just ran my fingertips along the edge of the human-shaped emptiness that had been left inside me.”

― Haruki Murakami

I screamed, cried, and pulled myself out of the imprisoned mentality that got me stuck. But I just popped a soap bubble because under the firmament I lived my life like a sinusoidal graph, where everything went ongoing from low to high and low again. Life on Earth kept me trapped in a defined period and amplitude, like a predictable rollercoaster that went up and down forever. When I went tired I had to stop and rest, when I was hungry I had to stop and eat. Whether was music, life, or just a graph, I needed the pause, and I understood that what made everything beautiful, was the silence in between. I couldn’t keep anything in tension forever, I got tired of forcing myself to stay in tune. I had to let myself fall into the unknown and overcome obstacles that made me rise from the ashes. I fell so many times but I got so many other chances to start over. I got an opportunity every time I lost another one because I wasn’t losing but gaining so much in life with every new experience that was given to me. The silence made it possible and worth having music, poetry, love, or life and was a source of great strength. I learned to appreciate it after all, and I could reborn from silence, and anyone who couldn’t appreciate my silence probably did not understand whatever I expressed.

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