Solitary confinement.

I have a lot to say. This holds true not only for a cross-section of time but also if longitudinally studied over any period of time. I had a lot to say when I was 5 (Though I don't remember what I wanted to say then). I had a lot to say when I was 15. My parents got regular complaints from my school, "She does not stay silent for a minute and disturbs the class", sometimes subdued by indulgent words like, "Don't worry please, she is just so full of life, and besides she does her bit of work when it comes to studies." Jovial or not, disturbing or not, I actually talked a lot. And now when I'm already some months past 25, I still have a lot to say. It's not a problem if you don't have something concrete or meaningful to say when you're 5. Nobody expects maturity from a 15 year old even. But at 25 also, I, a 'sensible, not too fool, responsible' voter of the country, rarely have some sensible, intellectual or responsible thing to say. So I just babble. But then my babbling is absolutely necessary for me. I can't not say anything and let things or comments or views of others go without my mouthing questions or support. When I don't opine on any ongoing thing for more than three days knowing that my point is unnecessary as others don't want to know what I think, I feel restless. I may also feel like crying by the end of those hours. And sometimes, defeated by impulse, one of my best friends, I start uttering my point of view; all the while knowing that no one wants to know. Most of the time, though, I don't know what I'm talking about. I can just go on if any thread of conversation is not beyond my pitiable knowledge. If it stretches far from that, I listen very carefully and try to assimilate that new thing. Unbelievably I never run out of fillers then also, however nonintellectual they might be. I usually participate in the discussions my closed groups go on with on any social network. Not because I'm highly interested in that topic or I have a view to share, but mostly because of my age-old habit. There are times when I don't find an answer to any remark any friend has made and I rely on expressions as I don't want a conversation to end because I couldn't reciprocate. If it is the other way, I don't mind. I'm hardly silent when there are people around. Completely sociable, aren't I? But then again, there are times when I hate to be verbally active. That is essentially when I'm preoccupied with something else. Before too long, I'm sociable again. I engage myself in all kinds of conversations again - meaningful, meaningless, idiotic, too intelligent for me, goal-directed, arbitrary, funny, humourless and all kinds that I can come up with. There's a small paradox though. I love to talk and I talk. But whenever I want to talk about something with a significantly high amount of emotion attached, I find my stock of words as well as grammar terribly insufficient. I start doubting the smartness my tongue is famous for. And invariably I rely on my fingers completely. When asked to talk about, I wear laughter, coolness and indifference to cover up the palpitations I'm having. Change the topic and you will get that silly talkative me back. In a nutshell, I am an inefficient talker, but a talker above everything. Imagining a world without anyone to talk to (not even diary and blogs) is worse than dying for me. Tell me I'd never have to experience that and I'll be the happiest person.