Autobiography

I am no longer 17. Now I’m a fully grown adult. And I woke up. I looked out the window: it was a cold, sunny morning. And it was silent. I got out of my room, wished my mom a good morning, had breakfast, and headed out to school. In silence. I walked up and down the town’s steep hills, enjoying the contrast of the cold and the sunshine. I thought about different things: issues of immigration, relational issues, necessity and validity of religion, and many other topics. I discussed them with myself. In silence.

I finally got to school. I took my place, and the school day started. When there was a short break when the teacher was regrouping for another activity, kids around me would hang out with each other, talk in their friend groups, laugh at silly little jokes. And I sat there to the side. In silence.

The school is done, and now I have to walk all the way up home, because I neither have the desire nor the patience to deal with some kids on the bus. And I walk again, and talk again. In silence. Again.

I got home. I check my phone, just in case my girlfriend has sent me a message. She didn’t. She’s busy with her tennis club. I do nothing. In silence.

After some time, my sleep deprivation catches up with me, and I go to sleep. A little nap, that won’t let me fall asleep at night, because I don’t want to face this silence anymore.

I wake up later in the evening. My girlfriend is done with tennis, but she has homework now, so I don’t interrupt her, and again, drown in silence. At this point, it’s not even that bad.

It’s finally night time. I can finally drift off to the beautiful and joyful world of dreams, where I am invincible, where I have loyal friends to surround me, where the love of my life is always near me, and where my parents live forever. I drift off to sleep, and lose myself to the only place where I feel like I matter. If only it was true. But it’s not so bad though. It really is not so bad at all.