Empty faces, blank stares, despondence aching in eyes that look through you into the unknown. Immobile people operating in the sphere of their own lives, the ear buds of their iPods plugging out all hope for communication. You see these people everyday, yet you too huddle in your group, silently playing your part. We plug in our headphones and drown out the sounds of life, eliminating even the potential of interaction. Where does such solidarity and isolation live, you may ask? Only lift your head and focus your eyes and you will find a communion of fragile silence stacked in front of you.
Last month offered a respite from the normally dull sounds in the Quad. I was shocked to hear shrill shouts and laughter mixed in the echo of Gasson's bells. The noise of UGBC elections was radically different from the everyday quiet bustle of students intersecting paths, like the tremor of an earthquake registered on a seismograph. After this, however, the Quad is back to silence as we rush to class avoiding eyes and any other intimacy.
In the very epicenter of activity between some of the most intelligent students in the country, the space is devoid of conversation, character, and even the kindness of a smile aimed at an unknown face.
The phenomenon of isolation is not concentrated at Boston College alone. The epidemic of silence may be the only concept that is shared these days in Boston. Board the Green Line and you will immediately see the symptoms. Every T ride is filled with ambivalent faces; eyes meet yours accidentally, yet hold nothing in their depths. In a group of 30 to 40 people crammed on a subway car, all that is heard is the chatter of a cell phone and the stiff voice of the announcer. This is an intersection of hundreds of lives and lifestyles, ideas and cultures. Yet here too, silence prevails. Why does such a sheer barrier exist, and why do we let it? Are we so caught up in our lives that we cannot tentatively step out of our bubble and encounter one another? Or is that we are simply unwilling to break the norm?
Consider the people with whom you come in contact during the course of a normal day. A student struggling to put herself through school, a busy lawyer rushing home to watch his daughter's soccer game, a retired man bringing flowers to his house-bound wife, a somber homeless woman riding the subway lines just to stay warm. Each person has his or her own story, yet as you stand among them or hurry by, all you can see is the superficial: a man clutching a parcel to his chest, a woman dressed in rags. Stay in your isolated sphere and you will never discover what lies behind the façade.
As you walk through crowded city streets or stand huddled inches away from people you will never see again, your face is just another anonymous silhouette in a jumble of masks. Sitting on that crowded T, you have an option. You can turn up your music, stare out the smeared glass at sights you aren't really seeing, immerse yourself in self-imposed isolation. Or you can smile at that person who slides in next to you, wave at that child who looks at you with imploring eyes, and when that curious traveler begins to chat, roll up your headphones and listen.
For a moment, however brief, your life is intersecting with another. Characterizing that intersection is up to you. Will you be just another plugged-in student, or will your space be filled with your own unique actions? This is your opportunity, your chance to unsheathe your individuality and distinguish yourself from the masses. You may never see these people again, so make the most of your opportunity.
Hayley Trahan-Liptak is a freshman in the College of Arts and Sciences.
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