I first discovered I had a gift for public speaking in the penultimate year of high school. We had this big event where everybody was brought to a large auditorium, and my form teacher forced me to go on stage to recite a poem. I was still tragically shy back then, plus, it’s the uncomfortable age, you know. There are all these body parts that suddenly appear on your body, and there was a boy I liked in the audience who never knew I existed. Walking towards that stage was like ascending to the échafaud, whatever you call it in English.
But then, strangely, the moment I faced the audience, I became a different person. The students were going nuts, yelling and being rowdy, so I said in a loud, deep, authoritative voice I had no idea I possessed, “Everybody, shut up and listen to this poem.” There was complete silence, and I recited the poem in the same powerful voice.
Then I left the stage and resumed my life as a mousy, shy person.
People usually have to work hard to become good public speakers but I never had to work for it. Whenever I face an audience, the bigger the better, I suddenly become this very funny, extremely entertaining person. I have no problem with eye contact or engaging individual audience members. And then the moment the performance ends, I go back to being me. It’s really weird how it works. People always come up to me after my public appearances but by that time I’m already back to being me and just wanting them all to go away.
I feel no pride in my excellent public speaking skills because I never worked for them. It’s a gift that was always there. I don’t feel nervous before my talks, I don’t prepare, and often I look up the subject of the talk on my way to the venue.
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