Mother used to tell me I need to say more, that conversation takes two people. Whenever I had my silent moment during when she wanted an interaction, she would bring out the ping pong analogy. That when one person serves, the other one returns the ball, and the game keeps going.
So desperate for human contact, it never occurred to her that declining a game is also an option.
To play the game, both parties must know the rules.
For the game to continue, all parties must understand the implications of how the rules apply.
For the game to begin, both parties must actually want to be there, or have an understanding why they may not.
If the goal of the game is to keep returning the ball as long as possible, instead of a table tennis tournament where the goal is to trick the other player into making an error, then those conditions must also be understood.
In the case of my mother, because she spoke so much, it didn't occur that I would prefer not to, or to think about what to say, or be overwhelmed by the magnitude of the question that I didn't know how to reply.
My limited Japanese would often result in her giving me language lessons.
Her quick judgement made me cautious of what I disclosed in the first place.
But sometimes she would interrupt my day-dreaming so she could feel like she had company. And get angry because I missed that she was talking to me.
I learned elsewhere that communication, actually, is mostly listening.
That what is returned isn't voices, but a respectable space for the other person.
And if that means sitting in silence for a while to observe the atmosphere, then it is more mindful than shouting at each other wondering why we are not heard after all that effort.
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