A Man Who Couldn't Talk

The first day of my biography writing project, I carried a black briefcase bag that matched the color of my blouse. The sound of my poem shoes echoed slightly in the corridor when they touched the floor.

Inside the designated room, a young man stood in the corner with his back to the door. His eyes seemed to scrutinize every detail on the large photograph taped to the wall. His focus then shifted as I began to appear in the doorway. He turned his head, and invited me to sit down without speaking. Pointing to the blue chair near me with his right hand. He was so polite with his big smile.

I took out my laptop and microphone from my briefcase. It takes at least a few minutes to set up the device. I opened the conversation by simply saying, "Hi, are you ready?" and "It looks like it's going to be fun, right?" Instead of answering it, he only responded with a smile and a nod of his head.

Anthony Davis, a young photographer who won "The Best Nature Photographic" award this year. I went to a photo exhibition event where his work was on display. I thought he was a young and talented person who would be a good fit for the 7th edition of my mini biography series.

"You can call me Amy. Shall we start now?". I opened the interview with enthusiasm.

Again, he didn't say a word, but picked up his tablet and stylus. Then started writing something and showed it to me.

"You can ask me questions. Then I'll answer them by writing them here."

I didn't respond for a few seconds. We had met before at the photo exhibition. He had spoken briefly with his mother, though it was more like a whisper. He also responded to the words of the people around him, though without speaking at all. I didn't think he's deaf, and there were no hearing aid attached to his ear. I couldn't understand why he was doing this. But I didn't want to ask the reason too soon.

"Alright, we'll do it casually. Just relax." I responded to the request in a friendly way.

We then agreed to use an app so that his writing could be instantly connected and displayed on my monitor.

"You won the photography competition this year. That's so great! Can you tell me how you got into photography?"

"I became interested in photography when I was twelve years old. My parents bought me my first camera as a birthday present. From then on, I started to really love it."

"What was your first work that showed your existence as a photographer? Can you show me?"

He showed me his first photo that won a local photography competition. A crow was perched on a black-painted street lamp post filled with classical ornaments.

"The classic style and the slightly dark color of the sunset sky give it a strong vintage feel. This is a photo I took seven years ago, when I was eighteen."

"Wow. This is really interesting. At such a young age, you can produce such great works. Now, I want you to explain about your latest work."

"Mimosa Pudica. Its leaves will curl up when touched. Not out of shame, but as a way of self-protection. The plant is very descriptive of a person. He will smile and be happy when alone. But he will hide and shut himself down when he gets a lot of attention. Because that's the only way to make him feel safe. Safe in his own mind and world."

I looked at the photo of the Mimosa Pudica plant with its purple flower. It looked simple, but there was such a deep meaning behind it. He said it depicted someone, and I began to guess who that 'someone' was. The interview process went smoothly, even though we communicated in different ways. I enjoyed every questions I asked, and he started to feel comfortable. He told me many things, including his personal life. We created an intimate atmosphere with each other, and it was time for me to dig in about his unwillingness to talk.

"I want to apologize in advance if my questions might make you feel uncomfortable. But I had to do it as part of my job, a part of a biography writing project about you."

"You can ask about many things. I will try to answer them well."

"Why did you choose to answer the questions in writing? I'm sure you have strong reasons for that."

"That's right. I would find it difficult to answer them directly with my lips. And I've gotten used to writing them down."

"We've met before at the exhibition. I saw you talking to your mother there. And...heard a bit of your voice. When I walked into this room, you also responded immediately despite not seeing me. I don't seem to see any problem with your physical condition. I'd be very happy if you'd be willing to explain it in the biography I'm going to write." I tried to keep the atmosphere cozy. At first glance, I noticed a slight change in his expression. Before, he seemed warm and friendly, then it turned a little awkward. He was good to showing expressions.

"I just feel unable to speak. People can very easily open their mouth and say what they want. But I don't. It feels very heavy to do so. It feels like my lips are sealed."

"Are you a stutterer?"

"No, I don't. I can speak fluently."

"But I saw you talking to your mother?"

"I do talk to her. Sometimes to my brother. I still talk to my family, especially my mother."

"How did that happen?" I seemed to be asking myself a question. This was a rare case that I had only heard of. "Did you ever do some kind of psychological therapy?"

"Even now, I still do, though not as intensively. Psychologists call it 'Selective Mutism'."

"This is really a new thing I've heard of. Could it be due to some factors, like trauma for example?"

"I'm not sure. I was an introvert and didn't talk much. As I recall, I just got worse after my father's death. I became moody a lot after that. And this condition has only gotten worse."

"About the 'Mimosa Pudica' photo, you said that it depicts a person. Can I infer that it's you?"

"That's right, it's me. I have a lot of ideas and thoughts running through my mind. I want to get them all out, tell them to people, show them to the world. But I couldn't do it with my lips. So I tried to do it through pictures. And people listened to me."

"Yes. People are listening to you, paying attention to you, and understand what you're saying. Even if you never express it in words. But you are always heard. You're doing great, Davis!"

"Thank you. Maybe I'm not the right person for this biography. But you chose me and gave me a chance. That's an honor for me."

"Then what do people think about you? How do they talk about you? You must have heard about that."

"Sometimes I heard rumors that I'm deaf, stutter, suffer from anxiety disorder, or just too arrogant to talk. But I can't do anything about it." his expression showed a sadness.

"You really don't need to do anything to prevent that, and just focus on yourself."

I took a moment to rest. The whitewashed room with several framed photos displayed on the walls, as well as the lavender-scented fragrance, created a cozy atmosphere. Davis responded well to all my questions, even only through writing.

"We have reached the last session. This will definitely be a successful biography project. I will continue to support you, listen to you, and appreciate your work. But I have one advice for you."

"What is it?"

"I don't really understand about your condition. Basically, all humans have flaws, including myself. But you can't just keep succumbing. You must have the strength to overcome all your fears and doubts. It will be better if you were able to regain your ability to speak, right?"

There was silence for a while. He looked at me with a little smile. Then I saw his lips started to move. Although it was faint, I could hear it.

"Yes."