There’s so much to say that we just say nothing

I remember when used to watch films as a kid I’d always get so frustrated when there was some disagreement or clear misunderstanding that remained unresolved and unspoken. Or worse still, instead of allowing themselves to be vulnerable and say how they really felt, the protagonists would refuse. They’d close up. They’s get mean.

As an adult I can appreciate miscommunication’s power as a plot device, but for younger me, I just couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t be honest. What was so evident to the audience is denied until the final act. It’s all missed opportunities and insinuation right up to the big reveal and reunion. There’s a fight and an embrace and then all is well once again in Hollywood.

Regretfully, despite my younger self’s objections, I seem to have grown into an adult who also struggles to express their feelings aloud. And it’s ironic, really, that for a species so entirely trapped in a consciousness of its own creation, we’re often utterly incapable of knowing how we feel.

We trudge around in our bodies feeling constantly, but when it comes to trying to define and assign meaning to these tangled emotions, we slip up. We stay quiet. And when the words do come, they come out clumsily. What was lodged in your throat pours out all at once and leaves a sticky and embarrassing mess all over the floor.