I am a naturally talkative person. It was something I was born with, and I cannot help it. I enjoy telling stories, and since I have yet to master the art of miming, I use my loud voice to string words together. Through storytelling, I had met a friend. As a quiet, shy girl she was a natural listener. Immediately, we clicked, and we fell comfortably within our natural roles. Yet, after years of constantly babbling, I thought one day that perhaps I should let my ears do the work rather than my mouth.

Thus began a journey, a rather difficult one mind you, consisting of me learning how and when to zip my lips shut. Within the first day, I was greeted multiple times with “Olinah, are you OK? You seem down.” Teachers gave me puzzling looks, one automatically mumbling “Olinah, let others speak,” before realizing I had said nothing. During lunch, as I sat down, I was greeted with awkward silence. It was then when I realized that I had befriended all listeners.

So what does a group filled only with listeners and one silent storyteller do? It’s simple, similar to what our ancestors have done to evolve: you adapt. After minutes of hesitantly peering at everyone’s confused faces with only the sound of the chips I was munching on (note: still need to work on eating less loudly), my friend cleared her throat, and began talking about her day.

After a few clumsy falls of words and stutters, my friend fell into a natural rhythm. With each sentence, her voice grew louder, filled more and more with excitement. Her eyes sparkled when others laughed at her jokes, and I did not realize it was possible to talk with a grin so wide until I saw her tell her stories.

Once she finished, another friend would chime in, and I was once again mesmerized with watching the listener transform into a storyteller. Thus began a game of ping pong. Others began chiming in, and within my own silence, a song of laughter and excited exclamations was formed. I watched amused, and began noticing subtle characteristics of each person. I noticed when one friend would laugh, her nose would scrunch up and push her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. Another friend would clap her hands like a seal whenever she got really excited. And through these quirks, I began seeing my friends in a new light.

Once I saw how wonderfully beautiful my friends were, I began observing others. As a person naturally too focused on telling a story, my eyes would glaze over others, not truly taking in the small details and living in the present. But now, I started noticing other people’s oddities and characteristics, and slowly began seeing the beauty in everyone.

Now instead of questioning why some people are so quiet, I have a certain respect for them: maybe they’re the ones who have got the world figured out.

Granted, my silence experiment only lasted for less than a week. I am a storyteller after all. Sue me.