I used to tell them how fast I learnt the poem my teacher taught me, how my white uniform shirt get stained, what I felt when I fell during running race, about the girl who always untie my hair ribbon and how much I struggled to tie it back during school assembly. I said everything with rolling eyes and actions, but all the stories got stuck on my wet cheeks and never reached their ears. How worst it is to realise a big secret before the age of eight, that people may act like they listen but most of the time they are either judging or not listening at all, even if they listen, they listen to talk back or talk about it to someone else, not to feel or understand.

That's how my tongue learned to lie, I came back home from school, I continued the stories, this time, it was not about me, but my classmates, about the one who made trouble in science class, one who scored four out of fifty in english test, one who tore the social science text-book, and one who punched a girl on face who always untied her ribbon. the stories came up one by one. is it pathetic? Learning another big fact before the age of ten, that people pay more attention to the things you say, when they feel like you are talking about someone else and not about you. 

They still love listening to the stories I say, but I stopped telling them after fifteen. I stopped seeking anything that's not real. love. affection. attention. Sometimes they ask me why I don't talk like I used to. I smile, for I know no better way to be kind on myself and others. 

@talesbyred 💫

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