“The most intimate moments are those that are filled with silence,” I once said to myself. 

Others inquire about the fact that feelings of loneliness accompany silence. On holidays, while everyone is celebrating, popping their fireworks and champagne, I intend to celebrate with silence—the beauty of watching people scream their lungs out, then tuning them out. Sometimes I wonder why I tend to walk faster, keeping up with others’ paces when I could go slower to avoid fatigue. There are days that I aspire to go by the day slowly and just let the world go with their lives while I blink more slowly and breathe air in deeply–calm. 

Calm is the sea during days that go by unnoticed. Days when the sea is not observed, where it stays in the peripheral. Stillness is what the brain craves from time to time. Let the body retire and succumb to the flowing time. I aspire to let the sea surge inside my heart when chaos arrives because the sea envelops everything with a calm embrace. Lets it flow. Lets it pass. I admire it. 

The curious thing is that colors are associated with meanings. Blue is the sea, and blue is both serenity and misery. Blue is the sea with its fickle waves, sinking sand, and raging storms. Blue is the mellow beats, the start of a day, and coldness. Blue is solitude. Fascinatingly, a simple color would branch out into different insinuations. I have associated the color Blue with various things in life. I have learned once again that in life, things are not meant to be confined, such as how blue is never meant to be boxed, but like the sea – a liquid. Flowing, far-reaching, and formless. And, I dare say, Blue is forgiving. 

Some may prefer intimidating sounds, powerful statements, boisterous laughter, and incomprehensible writings. Certainly, there is beauty in complexity, from examining its details and attempting to paint a bigger picture from what is first seen. Despite that accomplishing struggle, I have come to realize how I have learned to appreciate simplicity more. Production is a process that pressures you to overcome your previous creations. When pushed to a corner, the passion that was once fuel to a comforting burning flame leads to a forest fire, one that engulfs the place you built for comfort. One that tears the confidence that was once built by the innocent. So, from time to time, it is best to go by the easy route. One that is simple and easy to comprehend. Let the brain rest and the heart be still. Let the words kept during the storm flow inside out. 

But, even though I attempt to flow it unrestrained, the habit of cautiousness emerges. Maybe it is an excuse. Maybe it’s all because of the incapability. Being unable to write freely,  not examining its strokes too deeply, and fear of not being able to produce words that fit perfectly–incompetence. Why do I always bother to overcome? What is the war inside that no one could bring to an end? Why is it that the self is extremely unforgiving when it comes to its own? 

I aspired to do many things in life. I vividly remember the clear blue sky and playful clouds when I once gained a new word – curiosity. The root of the growing tree that attempted to provide every bit of means to satisfy. To be appreciated. Shel Silverstein, an author whom I will not forget the pronunciation of its name despite it being encountered even though I was just a mere child, taught me this. If you let me indulge, I would like to drop this somehow overreaching statement: “Every act and choice that we make was made with the reason to please and be appreciated.” The giving tree gave its everything because, due to love, it wanted to please the boy; so that he would never leave. In some way, even acts that were done for the self are done to satisfy and appease something within. 

Appreciation provides gratification to a tall child like me. To be seen was a goal that I once aimed for or am still aiming for. In the past, curiosity was just a result of pure eyes desiring to know more. Now, it grew like a tumor. A mass that became so malignant it is deemed impossible to find a cure. In some parts, I thought of my soul as the opposite of blue. Something that is unforgiving and restrained; however, there are also aspects of it that I somehow relate to: solitude, cold, languid, and, somehow, formless. Because of this comparison, I aspired to be more like the sea. In trying to cease the forest fire, water would be where the individual would obviously and automatically reach out to seek refuge. Blue became salvation. 

And so, we’ve reached this point. My choice is to have, be, and cling to Blue. Blue will satisfy the chaos within by appeasing the forest fire that was once a comforting flame. Blue is silence and stillness. Its embrace will be forgiving and comforting to the tall child constrained by its own. Hopefully, as I choose to seek refuge in this flowing and formless mass of water, I will be able to learn how to swim across the tides. Let the self be languid and flow along with time. Hopefully, with silence, I could appease the remnants of what would be left in the fire as I let myself grieve. 

In the end, silence is a choice.
Silence is the choice.