In a span of seven days, two people told me that I was secretive. There’s actually a third one, a classmate of mine in Geog 1. But he said that to me after knowing each other for merely two months, so I won’t include it in the head count.

It’s partially true. My extroversion only goes as far as the expression of my euphoria. It doesn’t include the transparency of the other wavelengths in the spectrum of my emotions.

Society’s cruel to extroverts. Once we convey the desolate aspect of our entirety, we’re likely to be condemned as emotional or dramatic. This could mean either two things. One, there’s a problem in our choice of words, timing, or any other dimension there is in the dynamics of communication. Two, people are too damn narrow-minded to take melodramatic thoughts in a serious manner, without being judgmental. I even saw an entry in Thought Catalog that listed a bunch of the pet peeves of introverts against extroverts.

Well why are you always rolling around yapping your pie hole and acting like gorilla all the time?

(Moore, 2013)


That’s why I avoid any physical manifestation of my misery. That’s why I leave my grim stuff here in this intangible space (read: blog). I don’t want to stand out by appearing withdrawn in the crowd, feeling dismissive, and at times, being compared to gorillas.

There are, however, extreme perils in this kind of duality.

I also read another story about an elderly couple in retirement. The husband was henpecked, subjected to daily badgering by his wife. To pass away the time, he bought a chessboard. But he couldn’t find anybody to play with and he wasn’t even allowed by his wife to go out of the house. So he played with himself, assuming both the white and black pieces. After a time, he got so good with it that he could split his mind into two distinct players, the passive, defensive white side and the aggressive, belligerent black. One day, his wife nagged him more than the usual. Finally, he got so fed up, his black side surfaced and assumed control, and strangled her to death.

(Chua, 2004)

I know it’s a development that’s far-flung from reality. But I do dream of living without having to deny my ugly extras; to find an intersection (or two, or infinitely many) between those polar opposites would be one of life’s greatest consolation.

But for now, I say this would suffice. For now, I say blogging is sacred.


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