麻豆

鈥淪peak Up鈥�

By Kyan Isham

A loose pen flies through the air. Paint is all over the walls. There are three dozen children, ranging from ages 7 down to month old infants rummaging around. Every single one of them are laughing and playing with each other. Well, all but one. In the corner alone, playing with Legos, was me: the one-and-only Kyan Isham. I went to a preschool/daycare hybrid called Little Rainbows. During the day, I would learn with all the other preschoolers and during the afternoon I would stay in the daycare until my parents got off work. Even though I saw dozens of kids daily, I still chose to remain pretty secluded. I had friends, I just wasn’t glued to them 24/7. If someone were to talk to me I could have a conversation with them, I just preferred to keep to myself. I don’t remember too much about my preschool life; it’s all a blur of pumpkin butter sandwiches and Phineas and Ferb episodes, but this story continues in elementary school.

Throughout those years I would rather spend my time playing on my Wii, drawing, or some other dorky hobby. A trait I did pick up at this time was a sense of social questioning. I would see my peers' actions and wonder with genuine confusion why they would do something. We would all be playing Four Square and someone would cry when they got out. “Why?” I thought to myself. “It’s just a game. It’s not that serious.” We would all be doing math flashcards and a kid just couldn’t figure out how to solve them. “How?” I thought. “We’ve been doing this all week.” I lost a small sense of relatability to my peers which secluded me even more. I became more distant. As we got older I couldn’t find common ground when I talked to someone. Kids stopped watching Phineas and Ferb and started watching more “adult” shows. In addition, school came pretty easy to me. I wouldn’t need to study or really pay attention in class. I would instead stay in the book nook reading or playing by myself. For 7 hours a day, 5 days a week, I was alone. My small friend group started slipping. I started walking laps alone at recess. During lunch I would sit at whatever table would welcome me and I would just listen. I was the definition of the “quiet” kid. Because of this, teachers loved me. “He’s obedient, smart, and kind!” They would rave at teacher conferences. “He is clearly on the right path!” All of my teachers were wrong. My path was by far the worst path I could’ve trekked on. By middle school, I became a social outcast.

I don’t remember much about middle school, but there is one specific moment I can easily recall. We were taking a test and our whole class finished early. The teacher, who expected this test to take the whole hour, didn’t have any lesson plans, so she essentially gave us a free period. “Sweet,” I thought. “More drawing time.” I started scribbling away when a kid came up to me. “Hey, you’re Kyan, right?” Not looking up from my paper, I nodded my head yes. “What does your voice sound like?” My stomach dropped and my heart started racing 100 miles an hour. My eyes became dry and dilated. I was stunned, not because I felt disrespected, but because he had a point. “What..?” I choked out. I could tell he was a little taken aback. “Oh, ok. Thanks. I was just curious.” He then walked away. I spent the rest of the day alone with my thoughts. I went home that day depressed. The kid wasn’t being mean and I could tell his heart was in the right place. I just hated the fact that I was so alienated from the people around me that they didn’t even know what my voice sounded like. The worst part? It was no one's fault but my own. I realized that day that I had to change. Being alone is like a drug. It’s easy and comforting at the time, but it will slowly kill you in the long term. And much like a drug, it is super hard to quit.

I started my socialization journey the next day. I always sat with people at lunch, I just never really talked to them. We basically had an unwritten rule where I wouldn’t bother them and they wouldn’t bother me. Today, they were talking about the game Mario Galaxy, specifically about how hard this one part of the game is. “It’s just so dumb that you can’t use all of your stars. You should be able to use as many as you want!” This one kid says. “I know right! If you’re going to make a game, I don’t know why you would punish your players by limiting the amount of stars you can use.” Another kid chimes in. My throat starts closing a little bit. “Y-Yeah鈥� I-I agree鈥� It’s stupid.” On the outside, I was frozen and probably a little pale. But on the inside, I was freaking out. I was instantly flooded with embarrassment and regret. Everyone at the table looked at me, even the people that weren’t in the original conversation. It felt like I had a million eyes staring at me. “Yeah,” one of the kids hesitantly said. The conversation died and everyone sat in silence. I felt like the biggest fool in the world. I didn’t understand why some people could talk and have a conversation while I struggled. Did I say something wrong? Why did I get so anxious before I spoke? I ended up staying quiet for a majority of that year. Occasionally, I would try to chime into other conversations, but it would all end the same way. There was one thing I did, though: study. I started to learn how people interact. I would study mannerisms, what’s appropriate to add to conversations, how to read a room, etc. I ended up making pretty good progress, but then the worst thing that possibly could have happened, happened: Covid hit.

I was governmentally mandated to be alone. All of the progress I made was lost and then some. My entire 7th grade year was spent online. The internet was meant to connect people from all around the world, yet I felt more alone than ever. There is a huge difference between being alone and being lonely. Being alone is an action. Being lonely is a state of being. You are occasionally alone, but if you are lonely, you are always lonely. Even though I hated being lonely, it was comforting. I grew a disdain towards talking to people. It was too difficult and uncomfortable. I tried to get outside of my comfort zone, I really did, but nothing seemed to work. I quit my socialization journey. A few months went by and everything remained the same. My grades started slipping because I had no one to help me. There would be weeks when I wouldn’t even leave my room. A few more months passed and my spiral continued. I passed 7th grade and was given the option to go back to school for 8th grade, but I actually chose not to. As much as I hated being by myself, it was all I was used to. I became self-sufficient. Not self- sustaining, but self-sufficient. The summer between 7th and 8th grade was one of the longest periods of my life. My days dragged and every millisecond was spent playing video games or watching TV or some other type of distraction. My birthday came towards the end of the summer, and I spent that alone, too. I realized at that point I had to change, for real this time. This wasn’t healthy. I think deep down I always knew that, but I didn’t want to confront it.

I asked to go to in-person school, but I was unfortunately too late. I was already enrolled online for the first trimester, so the earliest I could come to school in person was trimester two. In hindsight, that was probably the best outcome that could’ve happened to me. I did the bare minimum of schoolwork and spent all of my free time learning the art of the conversation. Speaking, like every other skill, was something anyone could be proficient in as long as they were willing to go outside their comfort zone and put in the work. I equated it to running. You don't run a marathon with no training. You need to run progressively more and more. Practice makes perfect. I started off small. I would walk down to the gas station and I would make it a point to say hi to at least 3 people. It was awkward at first, but it eventually became second nature. I started reading books about socialization and how to become more extroverted. I studied Dale Carnegie like he wrote the Bible and I listened to every Leil Lowndes audiobook. After small greetings became easier, I started trying to start small conversations. I would see someone walking and I would compliment their shirt. I would see someone in the store and I would ask them which of two items I should choose. Anything that could get someone to speak with me. I started improving a lot and my confidence increased ten-fold. Who knew talking could be so fun? Towards the end of the trimester I became a certified yapper. I would talk to whoever would listen. In my learning, I realized most people are actually pretty simple. They enjoy what they like and they don’t enjoy what they don’t like. The kids that would cry at Four Square did so because they liked the game and placing well meant a lot to them. The kids that would fail the flash cards failed because they didn’t like them, therefore they wouldn’t indulge in them. If you ever want someone to like you, have them talk. That’s literally it. The first trimester was slowly coming to an end, meaning I could go back to school. I was ecstatic. I went to bed that night like a kid on Christmas.

Since Covid was still going on, students would stay in the same room and the teachers would rotate classes, instead of vice versa. This meant that I was gonna be stuck with these 20 kids for the rest of the year. I sat in the front row and every time a teacher walked in I would start speaking with them. Sometimes it would be about the lecture, but other times we’d talk about football, food, and other trivial things. There was a kid next to me, Thomas, that I clicked with really well. Me and Thomas ruled that room. We would talk about everything with anyone. I made it a point to include the “quiet” people in our discussions because I knew first-hand how sucky it was to be dis-included. At the end of the year, I had multiple people from that class talk about how much I changed over quarantine. I was overjoyed. I graduated from middle school and was anxiously eager to start high school, but it ended up being great. I gathered a huge group of friends that I still talk to, to this day. I became the captain of the cross country and track team, did volunteer work, made dozens of friends, went to parties, joined clubs, and graduated with honors. I did everything elementary school Kyan would’ve hated and middle school Kyan was too afraid to try.

There is a reason that public speaking is the number one fear among adults. It is really terrifying, especially if you don’t know what to do. But I encourage every single person reading this to at least try to improve their social skills at least a little bit. My socialization journey was one of the hardest things I’ve ever overcome, but I am thankful every single day that I put in the work. I look back at the kid that would get afraid when the teacher calls on him and how he transformed to the kid present day that thrives off group discussions and other people. Life becomes so much easier when you can actually converse with the person next to you. You will become much happier, too. People forget that we're designed to be social creatures. It’s in our genetic code to talk to people. Suppressing that is unhealthy. If there is one takeaway I want you to get from this essay, it is talk to your neighbor. They might really need it. Just don’t ask them what their voice sounds like.