In my room I lie. On the ground. In the dark. Listening. Each day brings something new- Happiness, Relief, Peace, Sorrow, Anger, Pain, Frustration, Stress…. In my voice and words and mind and steps, I hear them come out. I make these feelings reverberate off of the ceilings and floors and walls, bouncing off the desk and bed like a rubber ball- always smacking me back in the face and vibrating through my nerves.

This silent explosion follows me wherever I go- never letting my attention stray too far from my internal thoughts and secrets. I hide them well. At least, I try to smother the noise so as not to attract attention to myself. I don’t need any more attention.

But here in my room- I let out the noise, and I mean really let it out. I make them truly heard. See, I find it tiring to bottle up my emotions and thoughts to keep them safe all day, and this is my favorite space to make a racket. Sometimes I sing, or dance, or write. Sometimes I lie in my bed, maybe on the ground, and let the world make the noise for me. I am the orchestra, I am the conductor.

I love to hear the “click-click-click” of my fingertips gently hitting the keyboard. The sporadic and spastic rhythms both calm and release me from the confines of my head. I write about anything and everything- from hopes, dreams, and ambitions to shopping, music, and the real-life reality show that we call high school. Every possible item consuming space in my head is spilled out and put on a blank canvas- everything conveniently stored in one fairly large file on the computer.

Sometimes I sing, and sometimes I listen to music. Love is but a lyric away- I feel quite strongly about this. My favorite songs are more often than not pouring through my speakers and my mouth like honey. My parents are more often than not found pounding on my bedroom door requesting for the volume to be turned down. I think that if they believe my music is loud, then they should crawl inside me and listen to the thoughts flying through my head. After hearing the mayhem of my mind, everything else seems to be a barely audible whisper to me.

I don’t always make the noise. On occasion, usually at night- I let the sonance of my heart, mind, and soul pass through me like moonlight through glass, and they reflect back in a form measurable in decibels, though they are foreign to my body. I love to lay with the lights out, on the floor, my head resting on a particular soft, balled-up jacket that is mine but does not belong to me. The window, always open. Feel the breeze. Send the sound. I hear the boys laughing across the street, or crickets chirping their monotonous melody. I hear cars whiz by- unknowing, uncaring.

I think that my favorite sound is the rain. It can be interpreted as so many things- just like a person. Soft drizzles are my, or maybe God’s, near-silent tears. Thundering downpours are parties and explosions and uncontainable happiness. Or anger. I’m especially fond, however, of showers. They never let up or suddenly surge with power. They’re constant, predictable, something that seems to be the antithesis of life in general. Rain showers, always leaving the world and myself quenched, fresh, and somehow renewed, as if everything bad has been washed away, if only for the time being. Yes… rain is the best.

By the time I realize I have been barricaded in my room for no less than three of four hours, my mind is at ease, I’m in peace, and everything is slightly more silent than before. I’ll stay here for a while, enjoying the short-lived silence. Gradually, the thoughts creep back, the emotions latch on for a joyride. A cycle- unbreakable, unbeatable, and often underestimated. But still there- silently exploding with every blink, every step, every breath.