I didn’t think I could be triggered by noise; or rather, I grew up in an environment that taught me to adjust and adapt to it. I only knew I didn’t like people talking to me in the morning, especially when I’m preparing to go out, because I love to focus on the task at hand and not forget a thing in my plan to get out and get into the hustle and bustle of daily life in my then state of residence.
One of my most treasured moments at the time was riding to work as early as 5am – 4:30am on Mondays – and the serenity of quietness offered by the city, while about half of its population was also probably awake at that time but remained quiet as it went about its tasks: either from a craving for that level of peace and quiet, or simply the unnaturalness of being awake at that unholy hour to get to what makes ends meet.
I would listen to my playlists and enjoy the absolute atmosphere of not having my brain bombarded by words emitting from members of my species. Those were beautiful moments in my life.
Then came my non-verbal autistic child. You would think I got what I wished for. The irony: non-verbal yet belting different levels of crescendo of lyrics – some familiar, others of his own making. I didn’t think this was chaotic initially, because I loved to hear him navigate some seemingly challenging lyrical tones and keep perfectly up to tune. I can’t tell when I started reaching for my headphones. I would keep the volume low, just so I could still keep up with his mastery of strengthening his vocal cords. Then came the bone-conduction earphones, and the universe won with that one. I could kill two birds with one stone.
But that is home. In public spaces, I simulate quietness for myself with my headphones.
Quietness to me is not just the state of complete absence of noise or sound. As a mother to a non-verbal child, I am very fluent in “body language.” I deliberately held back from wearing my prescription glasses for a long time because I could go deaf from seeing clearly. So, a coagulation of voices and visuals overstimulates me; thus, the headphones.
I sit in this quiet room in the university’s library to avoid overstimulation from spaces that potentially trigger it. I could manage those spaces well, but what harm comes from avoiding them sometimes? I worked in shared spaces in my previous occupation, and I remember how I had to train myself to tune out the noise.
I was initially happy working in different space, but I think the universe was mocking me, as I thought a certain work culture was synonymous with the ideal. You won the bet, universe. But thankfully, the curators of this environment have fashioned this seemingly unconventionality into their plan when they made these spaces available.
So, reflection spaces – you are on my “living in the moment” list.
–Written by Olatundun, a PhD student with a retro-gothic view of life, blending scholarship with a love for the mysterious, the timeless, and the unconventional. Drawn to depth, quiet power, and a touch of old-world romance; navigates research and life with curiosity, resilience, and a darkly elegant edge.
