I tend to remain silent unless it’s absolutely necessary. Not out of fear, nor because I feel uncertain, but simply because many things don’t warrant verbal expression. People talk as if it’s a competition— who can speak the fastest, who can raise their voice the loudest, who can say the most without truly conveying anything at all. I choose to listen. I observe. I evaluate. I treasure my words like precious gems, only letting them out when the occasion calls for it. This often makes people uneasy. They glance at me, anticipating my response. They assume I’m either flawed, especially reserved, or lost in contemplation. At times, they inquire, "Do you ever speak?" I simply nod. That response is often sufficient. They chuckle, and make comments like, "We forgot you were around." As if being present relies on how loudly one speaks. As if being quiet equates to being absent. Yet, I am here. In every way. In totality. My silence doesn’t indicate that I don’t exist. I observe everything. The nuances in someone’s voice. The crack in their facade. The truths they attempt to conceal behind a torrent of words. I perceive it all. They remain oblivious to this. There’s strength in being still. There’s insight in refraining from speaking. I don’t need to be the loudest person in the room to be the one who comprehends it most deeply. When you hear me speak, it’s because I truly intend it. Not to fill the void. Not to seek recognition. But because the silence has ultimately allowed me to express myself. ©️ James Michael 2025