After sharing insights with me on the similarities of his current favorite game with real life (which was quite insightful, I tell you), my boyfriend asked me if I had anything to share. I paused. My mind went blank for a few seconds. I stammered, letting the words I hear from my mouth give me something worthwhile to share. It’s been a slow and forgettable week, making it more difficult.
I turned to the closest memory I can reach out from my cluttered mind and remembered being stirred awake by my brother, telling me that it was 9:55 am already. I slightly panicked, because we should have gone early. Minutes after fidgeting in the living room, I noticed that it was only 9:00 am. Oh. He added an extra digit to the 8:55 am. Haha! Nice one, bro. Guess he went for a cleverer tactic when he couldn’t get me out of bed around 7. (And I asked him to wake me up around that time.)
I stumbled (as usual) in my words as I shared my morning and more. I cut myself short at a plausible end, afraid of bleeding if I try to push myself any further. I was content in knowing that he listened and oftentimes, that’s what I needed.
Good conversations are hard to come by. Good conversations where I give equal amount of insights with whoever I’m talking with are even harder to find. With the rest, I often listen most of the time. I am not complaining- I learned a lot of things because of that. Sometimes I do want to speak out a thought, but I hold myself back. Holding back is easier when my other end of the conversation is pouring out beautiful notions which easily throw my meager thoughts into oblivion.
Oh, the struggle when it’s my turn to do the talking in a conversation. I’m too conscious with my words, my thoughts, my tone, my pace, etc. As I talk, my mind would ask infinite questions; was what I was saying interesting, engaging, clever, not boring, comprehensive, alright, too fast, too slow, too wavey-wobbly, all over the place, wrong words, rambling, nope shouldn’t have said that, yes I should shut up now, yes, you do all the talking please what I say isn’t relevant really.
It feels like I might break something as I pour out words. Maybe I’m too conscious with what I say because I’m scared.
Not being heard or being misunderstood are two nightmares in a conversation. They hurt.
Maybe I often choose to be the receiving end because I know how it feels to have a bad receiving end. I try to be a good one. Maybe I’m more inclined to being the receiving end because I know how it could hurt to speak only to be unheard and/or misunderstood.
Maybe I befriended solitude to avoid circumstances like those.
I’m just a coward.