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The Ghost of Silence is not an apparition that appears suddenly—he has always been there, a truth teetering at the edges of my life.
He is the shadow cast by my brother’s quietude, the echo of words unspoken, the specter lingering between his laughter, stretching endlessly. He watches as my brother’s words fade, not abruptly but like a tide receding so slowly that only in hindsight do I realize the shore is empty. He stands beside me as I press against the door that separates our worlds, my hands tracing the frame, searching for fragments of sound that dissolve like mist before I can grasp them.
The Ghost of Silence is no passive presence. He winds through our home, slipping into pauses where words should be, threading himself between my mother’s sighs and my father’s nods. He perches in the empty spaces of conversations, hovers over my shoulder when I hesitate before speaking, and curls in the corners of moments meant to be filled with sound. He is a calculative architect, constructing walls between us, shaping our lives in the language of absence.
At school, he follows me like a second shadow, pressing against my spine, and whispering doubt into my ear. In crowded hallways, he tugs at my sleeves, reminding me of all the times I spoke and was not understood, of all the words I left unsaid because I had learned, through my brother, that silence is sometimes safer than sound. He lingers in the spaces between my sentences, measuring each word before it leaves my mouth, making sure nothing disrupts the fragile equilibrium he has built around me.
At home, I have learned to translate my brother’s silence. The Ghost watches as we communicate in glances, gestures, the soft press of his hand when he needs something. It is an act I perform without thinking, a responsibility I carry even as I wrestle with its weight. And yet, I feel the Ghost’s presence in my own hesitation, in the moments where silence feels more natural than speech. He has been with me for so long that I cannot tell where he ends and I begin.
The Ghost of Silence does not leave. He is carved into the walls of our home, etched into the pauses between sentences; woven into the fabric of my family’s existence. He is not a phantom to be exorcized. He is something to be understood.
So I let him stay.
I acknowledge him as I navigate the muted moments, as I listen to the undertone of what is left unsaid. He is the unseen made tangible, the past haunting the present, the reminder that absence is never empty—it is full of everything we cannot say.
This piece was selected as one of the winners of the AAA’s AnthroDay Student Unessay Competition. This year’s competition was inspired by the Annual Meeting theme, “Ghosts.”