Voice

I hate my voice. Of all the qualities I possess, it’s the quality I despise the most. It makes me sound stupid and childish, and I flinch every time I hear myself anywhere.

I don’t understand the drastic changes; in my head, my voice sounds fine to me, not too young and yet not too mature. When I talk, this voice disguises my actual lispy talk and lets me get on with life without me wanting to kill myself for saying “Yeth thir,” an insult my fellow scouts would bombard me with whenever I addressed a superior. And while I tried to keep face, it always hurt so much.

I always feel like when I talk, no one takes me seriously at all. Everything I say to them is some sort of joke, every observation a childish point of view, every analysis tossed aside with a laugh and a shaking of the head.

I remember distinctly in the third grade when my teacher asked the class to write about our favorite places. So write I did- like the true blue nerd I was, I storied for 3 pages all the reasons I loved the public library in the twenty minute time slot we were allotted.

And the next day, she told us she had something special to read to us. It was one of our stories. She professed that she thought it was very well written, and began to read it to the class. And as she read, I felt myself suddenly becoming aware that the story she was reading was mine.

I never heard myself once while she was reading. All I heard was the pen on the paper, singing out eloquently what I could barely putter about the library. The words were still mine, but the voice was completely different.

And I loved it.

Since then, I have always had a passion for writing. Although it took a backseat to my drawing obsession in my early years, I still found the satisfaction of hearing a new voice every time I wrote.

Today, I still love putting a pen(cil) to piece of lined paper and/or placing my fingers to keys and staring at a blank document. Today, I still love closing my eyes and listening for the perfect voice; the voice I want to speak with today. Today, I still love crafting that story in my mind and letting it flow to the paper or onto the screen, using the voice to guide my hand, writing and erasing and writing and erasing. Today, I still love opening my eyes and reading the story in my chosen voice.

But even more, I love sharing those stories, those voices with all of you. Thank you for reading.