Yes it is a bit lengthy, but it actually is quite an interesting story if I say so myself.
PROMPT: Susan Sontag, AB'51, wrote that "ilence remains, inescapably, a form of speech." Write about an issue or a situation when you remained silent, and explain how silence may speak in ways that you did or did not intend. The Aesthetics of Silence, 1967.
From a recent personal experience, I can fully appreciate Susan Sontag's opinion that silence is a form of speech. Silence, like talking, sends a message. A message deciphered differently from person to person, intentionally or unintentionally. In my case I chose to be silent on an issue which allowed others to interpret my actions incorrectly.
What others interpreted about my situation placed me in a bad light. I chose to remain silent when I was not performing my best in soccer. I hadn't twisted my ankle, or tore my ACL; it was something more disclosed. I had an injury that couldn't have been seen physically, but it definitely could have been noticed if I had chosen not to ignore the silent complaints from my mind and body.
Unbeknownst to me, I was suffering from Mononucleosis. A fairly common young-adult sickness that you rarely acquire more than once, so the symptoms are often confused with general fatigue. Constant drowsiness filled my days. Falling asleep in classes I began to jeopardize my grades, along with coming home from school and not wanting to do anything but lay on the couch and sleep. My parents and I thought nothing of it because I had been training for soccer six days a week, staying up late studying every night, and always working on college essays and applications. There were many occasions where I would wake up in the morning and find my Calculus book on my lap and my unfinished homework next to me.
In soccer, I noticed that I was not playing up to my usual standards of play. I hadn't twisted my ankle or tore a ligament which would have been easy to understand and discuss with my coaches. It was something less obvious and simply felt like a lack of energy and enthusiasm for soccer.
Both my parents and coaches continued to ask me about my health. I chose to remain silent, and to simply train harder. I would go on runs around my neighborhood every day after school and would try to finish first in conditioning drills and give it my all during training. What I didn't recognize is that the harder I trained the more fatigued I became. During practices, games, and crucial showcases, I looked as if I was playing on just a few hours of sleep. I was giving it one hundred percent, but I saw my game film, and agreed with my coach and college coaches' opinions that it appeared as if I was unmotivated and unwilling to play at game speed. All my hard work and effort still wasn't showcasing itself in my games and so, once again, I fell back on blaming myself for not being in better shape instead of listening to my mind and body telling me it was too much.
I was confused about my situation, and that too contributed to my choice of staying silent. The thought even crossed my mind that, "What if I am not meant to play soccer anymore?" or "What if I have reached my potential, and there is no room for improvement?" For months, I continued to question my commitment towards a game that I had sacrificed so much for. A game that I had played for 13 years, spent numerous weekends in different cities and hotels, and I cannot even count how many times I have skipped out on making high school memories by saying, "I can't, I have soccer."
My intentions, though, were to make me stronger, and I thought that if I fought through the fatigue and headaches, I was proving to myself that I was strong. I was afraid that if I complained about the constant illness-like symptoms that I would be forced to have to take a break from the sport I loved, and with a college showcase in the near future, there was no way I was going to miss it. All I could do was keep silent and act like everything was perfectly okay.
The inadvertent message I was sending others was that my performance mirrored my love for the game. All anyone could make of my bad performances was that my enjoyment for soccer was diminishing. That was the last message I wanted to send, and with all my extra effort in trainings I thought I was sending the opposite message.
Keeping quiet was a big mistake. The silence put on a facade that I was healthy and in control of the way I performed. I should have seen the doctor a month or two before I did, when I first started showing symptoms. When I finally saw the doctor, he requested a few simple tests and said I should know by tomorrow. I remember it clearly; I was sitting in my fifth period class the next day when I received a short text from my mom saying "YOU HAVE MONO!!!" A million things crossed my mind; from shock and regret, all the way to relief. All that time I was blaming myself for something that I couldn't control.
The consequence I paid for remaining silent was one that I was trying to avoid in the first place; I was told to take a break from soccer until I was healthy again. It took weeks, and the urge to get back out on the field was overwhelming. I vividly remember the first practice I went back to. It was such a wonderful and unrepeatable feeling. I was healthy again and, although I was drastically out of soccer shape, I could feel my body overflowing with the energy that it had been searching for during the past few months. I was back, and had learned a valuable lesson on the way. Resembling Sontag's point: silence is most definitely a form of speech but does not accurately convey the message you were trying to send.
PROMPT: Susan Sontag, AB'51, wrote that "ilence remains, inescapably, a form of speech." Write about an issue or a situation when you remained silent, and explain how silence may speak in ways that you did or did not intend. The Aesthetics of Silence, 1967.
From a recent personal experience, I can fully appreciate Susan Sontag's opinion that silence is a form of speech. Silence, like talking, sends a message. A message deciphered differently from person to person, intentionally or unintentionally. In my case I chose to be silent on an issue which allowed others to interpret my actions incorrectly.
What others interpreted about my situation placed me in a bad light. I chose to remain silent when I was not performing my best in soccer. I hadn't twisted my ankle, or tore my ACL; it was something more disclosed. I had an injury that couldn't have been seen physically, but it definitely could have been noticed if I had chosen not to ignore the silent complaints from my mind and body.
Unbeknownst to me, I was suffering from Mononucleosis. A fairly common young-adult sickness that you rarely acquire more than once, so the symptoms are often confused with general fatigue. Constant drowsiness filled my days. Falling asleep in classes I began to jeopardize my grades, along with coming home from school and not wanting to do anything but lay on the couch and sleep. My parents and I thought nothing of it because I had been training for soccer six days a week, staying up late studying every night, and always working on college essays and applications. There were many occasions where I would wake up in the morning and find my Calculus book on my lap and my unfinished homework next to me.
In soccer, I noticed that I was not playing up to my usual standards of play. I hadn't twisted my ankle or tore a ligament which would have been easy to understand and discuss with my coaches. It was something less obvious and simply felt like a lack of energy and enthusiasm for soccer.
Both my parents and coaches continued to ask me about my health. I chose to remain silent, and to simply train harder. I would go on runs around my neighborhood every day after school and would try to finish first in conditioning drills and give it my all during training. What I didn't recognize is that the harder I trained the more fatigued I became. During practices, games, and crucial showcases, I looked as if I was playing on just a few hours of sleep. I was giving it one hundred percent, but I saw my game film, and agreed with my coach and college coaches' opinions that it appeared as if I was unmotivated and unwilling to play at game speed. All my hard work and effort still wasn't showcasing itself in my games and so, once again, I fell back on blaming myself for not being in better shape instead of listening to my mind and body telling me it was too much.
I was confused about my situation, and that too contributed to my choice of staying silent. The thought even crossed my mind that, "What if I am not meant to play soccer anymore?" or "What if I have reached my potential, and there is no room for improvement?" For months, I continued to question my commitment towards a game that I had sacrificed so much for. A game that I had played for 13 years, spent numerous weekends in different cities and hotels, and I cannot even count how many times I have skipped out on making high school memories by saying, "I can't, I have soccer."
My intentions, though, were to make me stronger, and I thought that if I fought through the fatigue and headaches, I was proving to myself that I was strong. I was afraid that if I complained about the constant illness-like symptoms that I would be forced to have to take a break from the sport I loved, and with a college showcase in the near future, there was no way I was going to miss it. All I could do was keep silent and act like everything was perfectly okay.
The inadvertent message I was sending others was that my performance mirrored my love for the game. All anyone could make of my bad performances was that my enjoyment for soccer was diminishing. That was the last message I wanted to send, and with all my extra effort in trainings I thought I was sending the opposite message.
Keeping quiet was a big mistake. The silence put on a facade that I was healthy and in control of the way I performed. I should have seen the doctor a month or two before I did, when I first started showing symptoms. When I finally saw the doctor, he requested a few simple tests and said I should know by tomorrow. I remember it clearly; I was sitting in my fifth period class the next day when I received a short text from my mom saying "YOU HAVE MONO!!!" A million things crossed my mind; from shock and regret, all the way to relief. All that time I was blaming myself for something that I couldn't control.
The consequence I paid for remaining silent was one that I was trying to avoid in the first place; I was told to take a break from soccer until I was healthy again. It took weeks, and the urge to get back out on the field was overwhelming. I vividly remember the first practice I went back to. It was such a wonderful and unrepeatable feeling. I was healthy again and, although I was drastically out of soccer shape, I could feel my body overflowing with the energy that it had been searching for during the past few months. I was back, and had learned a valuable lesson on the way. Resembling Sontag's point: silence is most definitely a form of speech but does not accurately convey the message you were trying to send.
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