Silence as bestfriend: On Sufjan Stevens' Death with Dignity
In the end, silence will welcome me with a warm embrace.
The silence I used to abhor as a young child is now my bestfriend. I long for it while inside a busy room, staring at its white walls and blinding lights that seem to dance with the sound of beeping machines. The constant questions from people in their white coats, like an interrogation of a life I lived not knowing it would lead to this, are like phantoms I want to run away from.
In elementary school, my name often ended up in the list of noisy students. The punishment varied. Sometimes teachers would let us off with a warning, but the stricter ones would ask us to stay after class and just stare at the blackboard. We were not allowed to move nor talk. It was a nightmare for people with energy that could power up an entire province.
"Spirit of my silence, I can hear you, but I'm afraid to be near you," Sufjan Stevens confesses at the beginning of his song Death with Dignity from the 2015 album Carrie & Lowell. "And I don't know where to begin."
I'm someone who people often mistook for an extrovert. I don't blame them. Up until my mid-20s, I probably was known for being the loudest of any group. I can talk and talk and talk for days. Back then I thought it was because I was full of things to say. But now I realized it's due to my fear of silence.
In my house, silence meant either of my parents in a bad mood and one wrong move could place you at the receiving end of yelling. Silence always preceded something unpleasant. A bad news, or a severe punishment. Silence trained me to walk on eggshells. Silence made me conscious of my every move. Silence meant I was not loved.
I thought that if I continue talking, I could keep the attention of the people I hold dear. It was my desperate attempt to keep them close, to make them realize that hey, Jodie is an interesting person. But then it was always not enough. Being a talker perhaps was the only good thing about me, and it’s not enough.
"I see the signal searchlight strike me, in the window of my room," Sufjan sings. "Well, I got nothing to prove."
As I grow older silence transformed itself in front of my very eyes. It found me in my darkest moments. I clung to it like a failed swimmer desperate to be away from the waters. Silence became my refuge when things became too overwhelming. It cradled me to sleep.
A few months ago, I was confronted by the reality of life, of how unlucky I was in terms of the genetic pool. I was mad. I was devastated. I wanted to yell. I wanted to shout profanities at everyone who hurt me.
But it was in silence where I found comfort. Like an old friend, it embraced me when I wanted to escape. Silence was the cement that built my walls. It made me feel at peace.
"I long to be near you but every road leads to an end," Sufjan ends his song.
When the time comes, silence will be there for me.