This semester I’m taking an Intro to Public Speaking communications class and… I hate it. Well, I hate the times I’m up in front giving a speech. I’ve actually made a couple friends in the class already and I like hearing other people’s speeches that give me an insight into what kind of people they are, what their interests are, etc. I knew when it came to me though, I would be terrified. And I am. My palms get severely sweaty and my stomach twists in knots, not only the morning/time before and during the speech but also a couple days beforehand too.
Surprisingly though, I’ve gotten full points for both of the speeches we’ve had to give so far. I guess all my fervent prepping does some good for me after all. The most recent speech I had to give was called the Dramatic Reading, in which we picked a topic and found supporting literature, lyrics–any type of media–to read ~dramatically~ to the class. This meant gesturing, using vocal variety, and keeping eye contact with the class. There also needed to be a good “hook” to draw the audience in, and an introduction that would relate the topic to the class as well as introduce the works used in the reading. It was definitely more prep work than the first speech. I was a lot more nervous for this one too, and I felt like it showed.
However, I got my grade back yesterday and my professor was very impressed with my speech, mostly because I used my original writing for most of the speech. Honestly, I was struggling to find a topic that would fit with literature and works, so I found a piece of writing that I felt I could use and based everything around that. I guess it worked!? He kept using the words “effective” and “impressive”.
I thought I could share that writing with you here, and maybe this will encourage me to do more writing in my free time. Who knows.
He’s so engulfed by everyone and everything around him that he loses all sense of himself.
The character in the movie he last watched; she’s affecting the way he is talking to those around him right now. He’s processing information similarly, as he’s speaking in the tone and demeanor she does. It fades throughout the day, but never truly dissipates until the next film.
That song stuck in his head. It creates a lens with which he views the world around him. This time it’s pastel and brings out the softness in all he views. He sighs, lost in a daydream he’ll never truly experience.
The offhanded comment that classmate made. He wonders if it was meant for him, even though they were clearly in a deep conversation with someone else. He thinks on it much longer than he knows is normal. His view shifts, but only ever so slightly. He wonders what brought them so say that; he wonders how their story has unfolded until this point in time.
That photography account on Instagram he follows both inspires and defeats him. He’s motivated, but just as much, he’s stuck. He wants to do what they do, but better. He wants success and the tinge of fame that comes with it, but deeply he knows he’ll never reach that kind of potential.
The professor asks the class for a response but is met by silence. The professor waits; clearly no one wants to speak up. He feels the pressure. It gets to where the guilt of not speaking up since no one else outweighs the grip of anxiety that clings to him during the lectures. He speaks up; he is misheard. He responds with the correct answer again, and decides to stare at his notes for the rest of class.
He’s lonely. He’s lost. He wants to talk to somebody but fears of being burdensome. He can’t help but think everyone else has much more difficulty than him. He can’t help but think that everyone else has it worse than him. He deletes the text he was about to send.
The world he creates for himself is beautiful yet tragic. It’s a symphony only he can hear. His mind is his sanctuary, but just as much it’s his prison, where thoughts bounce off walls and swirl around him without escape.