Escucha el silencio — habla más alto que las palabras.

She walks calmer now. She hardly goes out anymore. She stopped complaining.

She used to be seen in the streets at night, smoking, drinking, laughing loudly with friends and acquaintances.

On Sundays, she went to church.

She doesn't anymore.

She used to take her children to school. Now they go on their own.

She no longer answers the door. She stopped going to the market. Disappeared from the street fair. Stopped playing bingo on Tuesdays. Stopped visiting the neighbors.

Her vanished existence, frequently tied to her social performance, was visibly noticed.

She was, in fact, someone who was only seen for the noise she made. Seen by those who only see those who fit certain behavioral patterns.

Rumors spread that she had died.

But she was at home.

Living her new love.

She didn't die.

She detached herself from expectations and social rituals to find herself.

She just stopped living for others to remain loyal to herself—even if the price was being mistaken for dead by those who only recognize movement and noise.

Dying to the world may be the only way to be reborn to oneself.

And she was, finally, alive.

Whole.

#Fiction, #Short Story, #Psychology, #Mental Health, #Addiction, #Poverty, #Faith, #Society, #Culture, #Urban Life 

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