CHAPTER 16: THE WEIGHT OF WORDS
1052 Words
Monday came dressed in the familiar. A grey sky. A soft breeze that made the curtains sway like whispers. I had already completed my morning workout before the twins were even awake. My hands felt steady. My breath even. But deep inside me, something buzzed.
The debate was today.
I had told myself it was just another assignment. Just another stage. But as I pulled on my black shirt and tucked it neatly into my uniform trousers, I knew it was more than that. It wasn’t just about standing in front of people. It was about speaking. Out loud. In full sentences. About being seen.
And that was something I rarely allowed.
Zainab bounced into my room halfway through my final review of the points I had written down. She had a glittery headband on and wore confidence like perfume.
"Are you ready? The whole school is going to be there. SS3 versus SS2. People are betting chocolate bars on who’ll win. You better not embarrass us, Ayoola."
I gave her a long look.
"Joking," she said quickly. "You're going to kill it. Just don’t be too emotionless. People like drama."
I didn’t reply. The only drama I had ever known lived in the silence between one breath and the next.
---
The school assembly hall was packed. Teachers in front. Students spread out like a restless tide. The stage stood bare, just two podiums and a long table where the judges sat, red pens at the ready. Lights buzzed faintly above us, making the air feel thick.
Our topic: *"Is social media a force for good or a weapon of destruction?"*
I was speaking *against*.
Our opponent, a smart girl from SS2 named Naomi, went first. She was quick, charming, and knew how to work the crowd. She gestured, smiled, even cracked a joke that made the judges laugh. Her voice moved with ease, weaving examples and facts into a flowing argument. She was good. The kind of good that made people cheer.
And then, it was my turn.
The host called my name, and the hall quieted just enough to hear the creak of the floor as I walked up to the podium. My black shoes hit the stage like a metronome—each step deliberate.
I adjusted the microphone. It hissed slightly.
There were eyes on me—dozens, maybe hundreds. Some curious. Some amused. Some already whispering. I caught one of the boys from my class smirking. One girl whispered something behind her palm, and another giggled. I recognized the cheer captain. She rolled her eyes.
I opened my notebook slowly.
"My name is Ayoola Davis," I began. "And I do not believe social media is a force for good."
The room quieted further. My voice was calm, but my words landed like steady drumbeats.
"It is a mirror we have smashed and handed to children, expecting them to see clearly through its cracks. It is a platform that promises validation but delivers emptiness. It connects us, yes, but often at the cost of real connection."
There were murmurs. I kept going.
"We measure worth in likes. We confuse engagement for closeness. We trade real-life joy for curated moments. We have weaponized attention."
I paused, glancing at the judges.
"Social media is not inherently evil. But it thrives on our addiction to visibility. It manipulates algorithms and emotions. It creates false standards and rewards shallow perfection."
A few students in the middle rows shifted in their seats. One of the teachers leaned forward, her pen frozen mid-sentence. I noticed Naomi glance toward me with surprise. I wasn’t pacing. I wasn’t smiling. I wasn’t performing.
But they were listening.
"For every community it builds, it breaks another in silence. For every act of kindness shared, there are ten more cruel ones whispered in DMs and comment sections. It feeds on our need to be seen but starves our need to be understood."
Someone in the back clapped. It was a single clap, cut short—probably from Eli, I later guessed. The principal turned slightly toward the source.
I ignored it.
"I am not saying all of it is evil," I finished. "But I am saying that we cannot pretend it is harmless. Because anything that powerful, that addictive, never comes without a cost."
I stepped back from the podium.
The silence was sharp. Clean. Like breath held by an entire room.
Then came the polite applause, cautious but real. Not loud, not wild, but present.
The judges scribbled.
Naomi smiled politely. We shook hands. She held my fingers tightly for a second longer than necessary, then let go.
The rest of the event blurred past me. Other speakers. Other opinions. But none of it mattered anymore. I had said what I came to say.
---
After the event, a few students approached me.
"You don’t talk much, but that was... intense."
"You kind of scared me. In a good way."
"Are you joining Literary Club? You should."
I nodded and shrugged and slipped away.
At lunch, Zainab practically dragged me to her table.
"That was fire! Honestly, even the teachers looked impressed. One said you reminded her of someone from her university days. And Eli—he didn’t stop talking about your speech."
I blinked. "Eli?"
"Yes, Eli! The basketball guy you pretend not to notice. He even quoted something you said. The thing about validation and emptiness."
I almost smiled. Almost.
---
When I got home, I placed the notebook from my speech on my desk. Folded my uniform. Tied up my locs for the night.
That evening, I sat at the dinner table with Mom. The twins were watching cartoons somewhere in the living room. Zainab was upstairs, humming to music.
"I heard from your principal," Mom said between sips of tea. "He said you were brilliant."
I gave a quiet nod.
She leaned forward. "You know, you don’t have to always carry everything alone."
I didn’t answer.
"I’m proud of you," she added.
And that—that almost undid me.
The debate had taken something from me. But it had given me something too.
Voice.
And that was something I hadn’t known I was still searching for.
Grandpa would've said, *Words weigh more when carried in silence first.*
And today, they had landed just right.
- Writer
