As Seen in the Silences

By: Micah Marie F. Naadat

In Mikael De Lara Co’s 2013 poetry book, “What Passes for Answers”, there is a line in one of his poems that says, “Now I desire no more from poetry than silence, / these are just lines. / This is just a gift, not even wrapped, its silence the only thing of value to anyone.”


After more than a year in isolation, in its most literal sense, I finally appreciated the pockets of silences within and beyond myself. I have felt it in quiet mornings with my grandmother, waking up to the smell of hot cocoa brewing in the kitchen. I have seen it in my dogs, when they sleep peacefully on my bed even if I’m awake in the wee hours of the morning. I have felt it with my closest friends, in between the tension of that one last “good luck” before delving into another major exam.


In these pregnant silences, I found truth.


The truth is not as black or white, nor can it be fully held at the palm of your hands, similar to how you can find silence in the loudness of midnights and the never-ending, dizzying thoughts of your own mind.


The truth is simply it. It is void of all performativity, its rawness paving the way for vulnerability in its finest form. It takes courage and perception to see the truth in your own self, much less acknowledging, probing, and delving into the deepest and darkest secrets of your own heart.


It was this gift that was offered to me by the silences I have experienced for the past year, to which I have developed an understanding ear. It taught me how to listen to my thoughts once again and filter out which ones should not be there. In carving out the truth in my own puzzle of a mind, I gained back my power.


Now that I have “reintegrated” myself into society again, it is these easy silences that I miss. I have associated these pockets of silences with the warmth of sunlight and the gentle hush of the bamboo trees back at home. It is hard to find a good kind of quiet in this city, with all its demands and performativity.


But the point of the matter is trusting myself well enough to create my own pockets of silences. After all, it is an infinite friend, lurking in the shadowy depths of the night, striding along in the warmth of day, ready to meet me as always, whenever I am ready.