20 8 / 2013
Solange’s True is still my favourite thing to come out this year
19 8 / 2013
For a while when I was seven years old, I stopped speaking.
This is when we first moved to a remote town in Wales. I would quarrel with my sister and answer my mother at home, but when I got to school, nobody talked to me at all. There were two hour Welsh lessons every week, when not even the teacher would engage me with a question. I didn’t wonder why or try and make friends. I accommodated myself, as small children do, by reading in the playground and making up stories for myself. I had no reason to use my voice, so I didn’t. After three months a teacher called home.
I ‘d almost forgotten about it until 13 years later, at university, when I living alone and had gotten into a routine: wake up, tea, walk to uni, walk back, make dinner, tea, laptop, sleep. I hadn’t been on the phone or seen anybody in a while, and I used the self-checkout lines to buy food. I only recalled the memory as I was called on to speak in class, and I felt the familiar sensation of my voice being hoarse, because I hadn’t used it in days. And the familiar sensation of eyes preying on me, waiting to hear me croak.