THERE IS NOTHING GOLDEN ABOUT SILENCE

Maybe, at the beginning, when looking into each other’s eyes still elicits silly giggles. You don’t notice you’re spending time, but not really getting to know each other. Evenings together, but not really together; half the time you’re sitting in two separate seats, staring at a cinema screen; the other half you’re kissing or thinking about it. Not much meaningful conversation going on. But your feelings cast halos above each others’ heads. So, you think you’re compatible.

Till you get home from work. You are living together now. The TV is on and there’s enough space on the couch to sit without touching. You can eat dinner quietly too. And if there’s anything to say it has to be necessary­­; about house bills, can you pass me the remote, something needs fixing in the kitchen, and (when they finally come) the children. If you’re not talking about them, you’re not talking. Not even when you really can’t understand why he’s never noticed that you hate flowers, especially on anniversaries. It makes you angry; that he can’t read your thoughts and take you out instead; his inability to eat anything outside yam, rice and plantain is driving you crazy. But he’s frustrated too, because there are things he wants you to do in bed, but it’s all in his head. And he wishes you would just wait till half time before asking him about work.

But you’re not really asking him about work. You’re actually asking him to ask you about work, about your day, about anything. You just want to talk; talk about the girl in your office who thinks nobody knows she’s wearing body magic; it rained through the night and you lay awake listening to the clattering on the roof, it reminded you of childhood, how you would snuggle between both parents and how, sometimes, you would fight with your brother over who got the front seat. Nothing serious enough to warrant conversation. So, you keep quiet and watch football with him, again. Then, one day, he changes the channel without asking and you tell him coldly that he’s a selfish bastard. He looks shocked. Then, his eyes narrow. You’re not sure if calls you a witch or a bitch (because it’s muttered). Either way, you take off the gloves. But it’s inevitable; all your arguments end exactly where they started - in silence.

It doesn’t really matter how deep, pure, true or sincere your feelings towards each other are, neither of you is a mind-reader. And there are many things about each other you will not easily know or understand unless you talk. It’s like dancing together, no matter how good you are at it on your own, you still have to put in the effort to be good at it together. But it’s worth the trouble. If you can talk, you won’t have to hold things in until you explode. If you can talk, your house won’t be cluttered with pockets of tense silences. It’s small talk, more than anything else, that freshens the corners and airs out the house; that every day, meaningless banter of true friends. Maybe, what they should really say (at least when it comes to relationships) is that silence is golden, but only after a good conversation.

Image culled from
http://dangerousintersection.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/arguing-people-dreamstime-Darrenw.jpg