I’ve always fallen into the category of “quiet.”
“She’s too shy. She won’t talk to you.”
“All she cares about is grades.”
“I don’t think she has any friends.”
These are the sentences that have forever dictated my life. It’s true; I really do care about my grades. With my round glasses and reserved demeanor, anyone can infer that I thrive on academic validation.
However, since my very first day of school, I have wanted to be known as Maylee, not just the quiet, smart girl.
I remember timidly stepping into my kindergarten class at Thornapple Elementary. I was extremely nervous and scared because I knew nobody in class, so I clung to my mother instead. She walked me into class and introduced me to the teacher, but I couldn’t even bother pretending that I felt comfortable. All it took was one week of crying and throwing melodramatic tantrums to convince my mom to take me out of kindergarten.
When I returned to public school in first grade, I felt somewhat confident that I could survive on my own for seven hours. I had my favorite headband on top of my head (a lime green strap adorned with a faux crystal flower) and my favorite ruffled T-shirt with polka dots. I felt as if I could conquer my first day of first grade. My mom dropped me off in the morning, and I marched my way into my classroom with my head held high.
Unfortunately, that facade didn’t last long.
After sitting alone on a swing at recess, my teacher asked me in front of the whole class who I played with on the diverting playground. I was silent for a minute before my eyes began to well up as I whispered, “No one.” The talk started almost instantaneously between my classmates. I heard them gossiping about how I was the only person in class with no friends, and the sudden urge to leave and never come back to school arose quickly within me. I was incredibly embarrassed and, therefore, I couldn’t help the hot tears that rolled down my rosy cheeks.
In that dreadful first grade year, I became known as the only person in class who had memorized their multiplication tables up to 12. Although proud of my academic achievement, I longed to be known as a girl with personality and heart rather than a random intelligent person.
Throughout my school years, my reputation as the quiet girl preceded me. When transitioning from elementary school to fifth grade and so forth, it became more challenging to get to know people because all they saw was a quiet girl. A girl who didn’t talk at all. A girl who had virtually no personality whatsoever and only dedicated her life to straight As. I attempted to make friends with new classmates, but most of them only ever talked to me out of niceties and didn’t care to get to know me genuinely.
A term such as “quiet” puts people in a box. They are expected to constantly uphold themselves to their stereotype so much so that it becomes tedious to attempt to show who they are. As for who I am, I love traveling, reading, good food, and dancing. I find enormous amounts of excitement in rom-coms and excellent films. I love sunsets, swimming, and spending time with my family and friends. Writing has become one of my new favorite hobbies. The assumptions are valid: I do care about my grades, and I am a generally introverted person. But I am so much more than just “quiet.”
The truth is that no one deserves to be overlooked and taken for granted. Everyone has a personality worth discovering and being loved for. Whether a person may be quiet, talkative, or described by any other word, under those adjectives are always people deserving of kindness and attention, not just occasional niceties and politeness.
In the English language, quiet is defined as a noun, verb, or adjective, but above all, quiet is not a personality trait.
