The Sound of Silence
I don’t know what to attribute it to, but I grew up accustomed to sitting still with crossed legs and clenched fists by each side, to praying for forgiveness rather than asking for permission. I pocketed my problems, flinched when I gave my name and hid my proudest achievements. I agreed, conceded and cooperated. Unsurprisingly then, for a person like me, there are times when I view my Exeter career as a catalogue of painful and unforgiving experiences. As a prep who gravitated towards the corners of room, feeling comfortable around a Harkness table was not an option. I was often pulled aside by my teachers and asked about the reason for my silence. Apparently, no amount of hours spent marking up the text the night before or crafting and editing papers could make up for the absence of my voice in class.
No, instead, for the first time I felt the need to completely reinvent myself. My feelings of inadequacy were further reinforced by the comments I received from my teachers at the end of prep fall. This constant radio of my apparent flaw made it clear that my constitutional shyness was a liability, something I desperately needed to find a cure for. To prep Teffanie, the devil wasn’t a pointy figure dressed in a red cape; he came as the silence fermenting in the cave of my stomach.
Until now, I have often questioned if Exeter was shaped with people like me in mind—those that would rather have words ricochet off of rather than originate from their bodies, those whose hands become jittery birds when called upon to answer a question. But of course to let how I view Exeter be purely governed by my negative experiences around the Harkness table would be unfair to this institution. In the moments between vulnerability and discomfort, between the insecurity and hardship, were instances of joy and triumph. I can neither blame Exeter nor myself for not becoming the outspoken extrovert that I once so aspired to be. Instead, I must remember that this school has taught me to refrain from apologizing so often, to care so much less, to be abrupt and spontaneous, to be fierce and most importantly, to be proud of all of it.
After four years at this school, I am certain that my shadow has grown taller (though maybe not in the most literal sense). While I still envy the confidence and courage my surrounding peers all seem to exude, I no longer feel the need to apologize for my introversion nor feel guilty for my silence. Against everything I have learnt about staying away from clichés, I must admit that the path towards self-acceptance has led me to be the happiest I have ever been. Senior year has been an act of thawing, this after so many years of freezing. This has been the year of letting go, of learning how to make small talk, of being able to say “no.” And so here is to Exeter’s insufferable winters that make me grateful for spring. Here is to those late night Stillwells runs seven minutes before check-in, to the sparrows that nest in my radiator, to sticking our heads out our windows to let the moonlight kiss our upturned faces.
Here is to forgiving myself for trying to leave my skin, to letting Exeter be the vessel for my happiness to grow and swell within. Throughout the discouraging collisions of our various struggles, we, the members of the class of 2016, kept at it to the point until we can finally say that we’ve made it. And though we may have lost a few members along the way, I have faith that we will all continue to bumble around and achieve lil’ nuggets of success through the next chapter in our lives, no matter how many question marks lie ahead of us.