Without Mouths part II: 12 hours without communication

Today, for 12 hours, I did not speak or write or type anything to communicate a message.

This was by far the most difficult thing I have ever undertaken because it meant I was a jerk for a day. I guess one positive thing I got out of it was that I noticed how polite I am on normal days: I say "hi!" or "hey!" or "how are you?" and "thanks!" pretty often, because every time I didn't I felt weird. Every time someone sneezed I had to bite my tongue to keep me from blessing their soul. I don't think I enjoyed it.

Throughout the day some friends tried to force me into saying something, and others just acted plain awkward. Still, some reactions were priceless.

ALARM-- 7:45 a.m.

The scant six hours of sleep the night before (or morning. . .) kept my eyelids shut as I half climbed half fell from my top bunk and made my way across the room to where my phone was screeching bloody murder. These are precautions I have to take to make sure I don't plop down in bed for another hour. Usually, I sing/howl in the shower for about half an hour, but this morning my shower was silent, and it felt weird. I got dressed in silence, and opened the window to the morning sounds. Then, after a quick meditation, I knew it was time for me to face the social world.

BREAKFAST-- 8:25

In the couple of hours right after I wake up I don't talk too much, so I was able to blend in the horde of silent zombies getting their breakfast. When I finally sat with some friends, I spent the first ten minutes in silence. I felt completely out of place, but tried to act as normal as possible. Finally, I should have talked and didn't, so I took out the note I wrote the night before explaining why and how long I wasn't going to speak that day. "I could never do that," some of them exclaimed. I just nodded and gargled a stupid little giggle that I have no idea where it came from.

CONCEPTS OF WELLNESS-- 9:00

Class time. Nothing out of the ordinary, except when the teacher asked us to get into groups of two. I frowned and then courteously let the lady begin the conversation. When it was my turn to talk, I took out the note. "Wow!" she said. "That's crazy!"
And that was that.
A couple of people tried talking to me but I just grunted and made otherworldly noises.

CHAPEL-- 10:00

It was a spelling bee, and I felt an itch in my tongue. I knew some of the words, and when they started giving out gift cards for spelling a word right I almost broke the vow. However, I managed to stay silent.

After chapel I went to my room for a couple of hours and noticed my mouth felt weird. It felt like it was stuck and I decided I could open my mouth from time to time. So I grabbed a pack of gum and started chewing.

LUNCH-- 12:45 p.m.

In the elevator, the most important conversation I had all day happened--not for the content, but the implications. My good friend Chappy decided to take advantage of my silence and attacked my favorite tennis player knowing that I couldn't defend myself.

The whole day went on like that. At lunch, friends made fun of me, but understood. It felt weird not talking to the cashier, saying thanks, and greeting friends.

AFTERNOON CLASSES-- 2:00- 5:00

No talking at all meant I didn't participate. In Reporting class, the root of this experiment, Mr. Mennard tried to make me talk a couple of times. But that was it.

THE LAST THREE HOURS

Dinner went by as quiet as the rest of the day, and I decided to sit alone. This gave me time to ponder the day. I went up to my room and started playing my guitar, then I printed out a homework assignment, having to grunt and laugh and take out the note a couple more times. Then I could talk again. And I didn't want to.

WHY CHAPPY'S CONVERSATION WAS IMPORTANT

When a people are forced to be quiet, especially in totalitarian states, their mouths are basically shut. They cannot defend themselves. They are vulnerable to all attacks and with no upper cut to counter it. I read in a book that most limitations of freedom for people usually start with the press, what should be the channel for the truth. When Chappy attacked me, he was taking advantage of my silence. Had I been able to talk, I could have defended myself pretty well. It is vital that people know that they DO have a mouth, even when authorities say they don't. When people talk, there might be losses but an authority cannot hold on for long. Speech is the one thing that no one can take away, for it is our conscience.

Gonzo

Any ideas?

I've got to write a Gonzo Journalism story for reporting class. Gonzo journalism is when instead of writing an article from an objective view you become part of the story. For instance, instead of interviewing a tribal chief and some experts about the lifestyle a primitive tribe in some far-off island, a Gonzo journalist will go live with the tribe for a time to understand it.

In more complex stories, like say, the drug wars on the border and further south, a story will be full of bias. The journalist that infiltrates either the drug scene or the police scene will only see that facet of the story, but it will be deeper than if interviews and such were staged. Not to mention the fact that it would be extremely dangerous. . .

Here I come to a wall. I'm still open about ideas to use, because frankly I haven't gotten one yet that convinces me 100%. Some people are being homeless for a night, others wearing a mustache for a day, others speaking Spanish and only Spanish for a day.

The idea that has the most going for it on my mind is taking a vow of silence for a day. No communication whatsoever. The one thing that is keeping me from doing it is that I want a legitimate reason for doing that, not just "I have to for class."

So. . . any ideas?

From the extraordinary mind of C.S. Lewis, II

 Eden's Courtesy

Such natural love twixt beast and man we find
That children all desire an animal book,
And all brutes, not perverted from their kind,
Woo us with whinny, tongue, tail, song, or look;
So much of Eden's courtesy yet remains.
But when a creature's dread, or mine, has built
A wall between, I think I feel the pains
That Adam earned and do confess my guilt.
For till I tame sly fox and timorous hare
And lording lion in my self, no peace
Can be without; but after, I shall dare
Uncage the shadowy zoo and war will cease;
Because the brutes within, I do not doubt,
Are archetypal of the brutes without.

C.S. Lewis
Poems (Bles, 1964)

(unabashedly plagiarized from the official blog of Oxford University's The Inklings.)

Mis Viejos

I no longer am a permanent resident of Keene, Texas.

Things change so much in the time I'm away, and every single trip back "home" reveals something different. Keene has grown: a couple of rather awkward stop lights have been added and the population sign gained more numbers since the last census. My church is no longer filled with familiar faces, and walking into Subway does not mean I'll walk out with something free or discounted, courtesy of the many friends who worked there.

But these changes are easy to take. It's when I step into my house that I see how much things really do take outlandish turns, for better or worse. My freshman year, my little sister was still little, my brother's facial hair wasn't too thick, my mom was a bit plump, and my dad did not need glasses.

This time I came back it hit me hard. My little sister is old, in the middle of her teenage years and having a blast, my mom has gotten frailer--every time I hug her I feel I can't hug her as hard as before. My brother grows a full beard and is an adult--and isn't afraid to say/show/act like one. My dad's hair has gotten thinner, and he wears his reading glasses frequently.

At dinner times, I tell them my not-so-exciting stories and then everyone goes and does their own thing. My mom reads, my dad reads and goes visiting people. My sister plugs in her earphones and does...things, in the safety of her room. My brother takes off and might not come back that night.

Everyone is so old.

I might even venture and say that "home" is not what I left behind in August of 2010: a full two years have almost gone by.
I think it's safe that my heart is lost in that once safe haven of growing up and has been replaced by a house with three apartments rather than three rooms with doors open.
I think about it and...it's nostalgic, but not sad.

My home evaporated in front of my eyes this spring break. I guess it was life's "coming of age" side telling me that it's time to find where home really is.

Where exactly that is, I have no idea. At least not yet. But I'm really excited to find it.

A good feeling

My guitar string snapped at the end of what was already a bad day.
I was jamming on my guitar and harmonicas with my friends Kerri on the ukulele and Elena on my ukulele, trying to relieve the stressful Friday. I mean, what better thing to do to relieve tension than hang out with two pretty girls and play Christian music on instruments? Then Elena wanted to play my guitar and I remembered that I keep mine tuned two steps down so I can attempt to sing along (doesn't work anyway. . .) so I decided to tune it back up. Then, the "D" string snapped. It was a sad day.

Later that night, I acquired new strings from a friend, and on my plans for Sabbath it went: "restring my guitar."

I don't know if you've ever strung an instrument, but I always enjoy it. First you have to take off the old strings, one by one. These strings are old and faded. Then, one by one, you attach the strings and start putting on tension on them. I don't know why I get such a kick out of it, but I enjoy it. The whole idea of removing the old and faded "stuff" and replacing it with brand new shiny and crisp "tools" is maybe what I take out of it. Yes, there is tension to put on the new strings, but it's done to make them sound good.

When I'm finished, I always feel good. It's an inexplicable feeling, really. It makes me feel really good inside.
Random, I know. =)

From the Pen of the most Successful and Wise Author: Arthur Unkown

A genius is just a common bloke who refused to quit.