What It Feels Like to Dream of Diplomacy in a Room Full of Silence | by Umme kulsum | Oct, 2025

Every night, when my house falls quiet, my dream starts to speak.
Not loudly — just in small whispers that only I can hear.
It says, “Keep going. One day, this silence will make sense.”

I’m in 9th grade, but my thoughts sometimes feel older.
When most people around me talk about fashion, phones, or marks,
I find myself reading about countries, cultures, and how people communicate beyond borders.
I don’t know why, but the idea of becoming an IFS officer feels like something that’s written in me — not just on paper, but inside my heart.

Sometimes, when I tell people about it, they smile politely, as if I said something impossible.
They ask, “Why such a big dream?”
Or they say, “It’s too early, you’re still a kid.”
But dreams don’t come with age limits.
Some dreams are born early because they need more time to grow.

At home, no one really talks about careers like that.
In my family, girls usually become teachers or doctors.
Respectable, safe, steady paths.
But diplomacy? Traveling? Representing India abroad?
That’s not part of the conversations at our dinner table.
So I keep my dream close — like a secret diary no one has read yet.

There are moments when this silence feels heavy.
When I’m studying alone, and doubt creeps in.
When I see how far the journey seems, and how quiet my surroundings are.
No guidance, no push — just me and the thought that maybe I’m aiming too high.

But then, something inside me answers softly,
“You don’t need noise to grow. You just need purpose.”

Every time I open my history book, I imagine myself learning not just for exams,
but for the day I’ll sit in a room with people from around the world,
talking about peace, culture, and cooperation.
When I read about geography, I picture those places —
not as names to memorize, but as lands I’ll one day represent my country in.

I’ve realized that dreaming big doesn’t mean shouting about it.
Sometimes, the biggest dreams grow in the quietest minds.
And maybe this silence isn’t loneliness —
maybe it’s the beginning of focus.

One day, this small room where I study will become a memory.
One day, the same silence that feels heavy now will become peace I carry into every room I enter.
And maybe then, when I stand as a diplomat,
I’ll remember this version of me — the 9th-grade girl who dreamed of diplomacy in a room full of silence.

Until that day, I’ll keep learning, keep believing, and keep listening to the quiet voice that reminds me who I’m meant to become.
Because even silence has a sound —
and mine says, “Someday, you’ll make it.”