Don’t just listen to the Silence. Listen to actual words

Rheana. For the sake of this blog, let me introduce to you: Rheana. Sixteen, short, stranger. Her real name only serves my memory with guilt that I couldn’t remember it. I could have sworn that I took her number down and that I promised her I would call. But I didn’t. There’s a very good chance she doesn’t remember me; I can never forget her. So then why am I writing about her? Let me rephrase: why am I devoting an entire blog post to her? It’s because she truly taught me the art of listening with patience and listening before judging. And so, this blog post is just an anecdote, but it’s an anecdote I hope will help you realize the art of listening to those around you.  

Rheana. Sixteen. Short. Stranger. She was one of the most intriguing people I had ever met. That day, the only day I ever saw her, we sat on the swing outside the venue. We bumped into each other at a Literary festival – the kind where it’s highly unlikely to find other teenagers. I spotted her across the room at a bookstall, with a kind of familiarity filling me up. She looked my age, she was reading a book. That was enough of a similarity for me to want to strike a conversation. 

As I started walking towards the stall, I was making mental notes of what I would say. But I got there, and I changed my mind. This girl looked weird. In the body of a sixteen-year-old, she carried herself like she was 12. Weird clothes with clashing colours, big hoop earrings with diamonds in them, a flower headband holding her hair back, and two coke bottles swinging in both her hands. Suddenly, I caught myself not wanting to talk to her, but I couldn’t just leave the stall. So, I picked up a book and started reading. A few seconds later, I heard a voice saying, “If you like that one, you should read Nightingale.” It was her. She introduced herself, and we started having a conversation.  

During the four hours we spent together, I found myself ashamed of what I first thought of her. If you look at it, I judged her without knowing her. And let’s be honest, that’s what we do today. We judge someone’s happiness based on their social media stories, and we take it for granted when they say “I’m fine”. But how often do we really take the time to listen with respect and without judging? When we indulge in such hasty behaviours, not only are we hurting others, but we’re hurting our chance of growth, and learning something different. In fact, a study by Wegner et al. showed that those who practice listening develop stronger communication skills in the workplace, and are more empathetic.  

But barring the science, meeting one girl for 4 hours taught me more than studies ever will. Rheana’s story was unusual, in the least. It was something I didn’t expect. And if I hadn’t listened, I probably wouldn’t have learnt what she had to teach.
Rheana. Sixteen. Short. Stranger. Intriguing. Battled Brain Cancer at the age of 14. She was obsessed with coke because apparently, it was fizzier than other sodas. She loved horror. It made her feel alive. She said that’s something she would die to feel every day. She had a rough family. She was bullied in school. She didn’t care about the way she looked, because she was certain she knew more than others her age. And she was right. She did. She was smart; Intellectual. She was funny. She complimented without envy, she spoke the truth without hurting anyone. She understood what “accepting her flaws” meant. She laughed it off when she was wrong. She was non-judgmental. She walked with pride and grace, because she battled a disease not most survive, and she looked at me and had said, “Life’s short. Waste it but waste it on something good.” In that moment, I was taken aback by this girl, who was my age, and so much wiser than I was. The only thing we had in common, I realized, was our love for books. Other than that, Rheana was strong. She was courageous. She was a character from a book, who had come to life and taught me how to truly listen. 

I’ve said this before, I’ll say it again. I don’t think she remembers me. It’s been about two years. A lot has happened, and we haven’t spoken. But meeting her taught me that there is so much more to a person than what we assume. Our lives are chaotic today. We have homework, and class; social gatherings and work. And in the chaos of our lives, we find it so easy to judge others around us; we find it easy to be the cognitive misers that science says we are. But if we just took a second to notice, we’d realize that we’re in a room full of a billion stories, even if it’s just 25 people. And that’s a lesson I’m glad to have learnt.