The sound of silence

Sometimes, I like to here-boy myself a treat and take a book out for dinner. Of course, the book is just a prop for potential conversations with strangers (which I hate anyway because when they actually happen, they are as fake as bubble speech) and a solid line of defence against the waiters’ pitying oh-he’s-eating-on-his-own looks.

In fact, I never get to read a sentence because as soon as my eyes settle on the page, they start drifting around the room to engage in some people watching.

Which is how I ended up following a young couple eating their way through starter, mains and dessert in the kind of complete and utter silence that follows an atomic bomb. Then, when the last shard of burnt sugar from the crème brûlée had been eaten, the male half took out his mobile and started fiddling away.

My first amuse bouche thought was that he was probably updating his Facebook status to read, “Girlfriend and I not saying a word. The pasta with calamari was nice though.” But then, as soon as the bill was settled and the tip carefully calculated, their eyes met and their faces flickered in an ice cream-melting smile.

This show of teeth caught me off guard and, too late to fake a convincing limp in my reasoning, I wanted to rush to the couple’s table and embarrass myself in shambles of apology.

Because what I had thought were two people on the brink of a breakup were in reality just watching their life’s film without feeling the need to turn to their next-seat neighbour at the cinema and ask, “What did he just say?”

Silence is misjudged in an age where the internet has made us all voyeurs and where we feel the need to capture all life’s experiences on screen. And it’s not just the precious moments either – we stick metaphorical bumper stickers on our every banal move, thought and feeling. Then we sit back and watch as the ‘likes’ burst like a clump of mushrooms.

It’s the same urge which makes people break the silence of a life-affirming sunset with the clicks of their cameras, as if tomorrow there isn’t going to be another sunset. And the day after that. As long, of course, as you don’t believe that the world actually ended on May 21 and we’re just living a dream (or a nightmare).

Yet if we had to put a pause on our play, we would realise that silence is not purposeless, and that the things we do without an audience are the most precious.

Sometimes, we just need to enjoy the silence.

techeditor@timesofmalta.com