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The untold truth about introversion, aka why I wear my headphones too much

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Introversion is a word that’s often used to express a variety of behaviors, whether it’s social reticence or a preference towards more intimate direct conversations, relations or smaller circles, but the one that I feel is most expressive is that while extroverts get more energized by social interaction, introverts get drained by it. Like many of my fellow introverted friends and acquaintances, accepting and dealing with my introversion in a constructive way has been anything but an easy or low-labor journey. My childhood memories of being thought of as “weird” or “different” or “a loner”, are still as clear as they are muddled through the filters of nostalgia, descriptions I’ve received simply because I preferred playing Atari with my best friend over having a soccer match with the kids I’ve never met before. These descriptions persisted up to my adolescent years, descriptions which would consequently cause feelings of shame, isolation, and inferiority over these characteristics, characteristics that were as intrinsic and uncontrollable to me as was anyone’s left-handedness, right-handedness, height or depth of voice.

 

 

Being the competitive person that I am and having been fortunate to grow up in a relatively supportive and nurturing environment, I had been given the knowledge that there was a certain set of characteristics and expectations I would have to meet if I were to get ahead in life (what getting ahead exactly meant in that contexts, or what it exactly means is still a mystery to me). As a result, for the longest time I could remember, I’ve had this fixation on gaining the behaviors and simulating the attributes of my more extroverted peers, whether it’s going out for coffee when I’d rather enjoy a cup of vervain in my bed, or being the first to start the group presentation when I would quite frankly prefer to pass a paper exam.

Of course, after having gone through the great transition of coming to the university, my desire and my effort to simulate such behaviors and to find the social success and acceptance that my peers have gathered, as well as gather the famous/infamous soft skills that every employer require having only increased. And for better or worse, my efforts have been successful as far as getting more involved with clubs and NGOs, pushing me towards becoming a better public speaker, a better mediator and team player on a smaller scale ( I’ll spare you the use of the world leader because of A/ The little value of a word that’s been so used and misused and B/ Because of how cringy it has simply become).

But amid it all, I’ve failed to realize how much of a toll all these attempts and all these activities were taking on me. The “Why are you so alone all the time?” questions were replaced with the “Why are you so tired are all the time?”, “How do you remember so many of the things and information that you’ve read?” turned into “How are you so forgetful of people’s faces and names?”, and many other remarks that grossly oversimplify the situation have followed.

Having been fortunate enough to experience an exchange year in the US and being in a more introverted society, it has been a sort of personal wake up call. While I was at first annoyed at the lesser number of students at DSU, North Dakota, I must admit that it was very refreshing. Gone were the obligations and the FOMO (Fear of missing out) that were engendered by the bigger number of students and activities and clubs, gone was the necessity to try and speak louder over everyone else or even interrupt their words if I ever wanted to be heard. While my adjustment was anything but easy itself, the newly gained freedom from the competition and the self-put obligation to perform and be perceived as extroverted and sociable had been life-changing; Perhaps one of the most obvious things that I never realized I would miss as I was reintegrating back at INSAT was that. Something that I haven’t given much conscious thought to until the very moment I started typing this article.

 

So, is my point here to simply vent and move on? Partially, but an important fact, or at least personal opinion, that I would like to share is that you don’t have to be an extrovert to succeed. It is not necessary to know everyone, be known by everyone, attend every social event there is or be active in every club/organization out there and build your network (the only expression that I find as vomit-inducing as leader) to be able to succeed or prove yourself in life.

 

While one of my personal decisions after going on TJSP was to take some time off to rediscover and maybe rebuild my own personal world that I have neglected with so much focus on the external world, I had still managed to get to know some very interesting people and live some amazing experiences, whether it’s volunteering at best friends ND which has been heart-warming and perspective changing for me, or getting to know professionals and professors from all over the U.S. or in my university who specialized in a variety of fields, people whose input and opinion I value and consider, and all these opportunities were not hindered by my introversion, if anything they were encouraged by my ability to concentrate my energy on these few relationships whether they were with friends or professionals or fellow NGO workers as well as the added value I would put on such relationships.

However, INSAT being such a larger school and my ways of coming back to old habits, as well as some other personal setbacks, I’ve found myself yet again quickly burning out and trying to assume all these characteristics and attributes that were anything but first nature to me. Part of it is that I pride myself in investing in my friendships and close relationships and giving them their part of attention and energy, especially those friends who had been there for me on multiple occasions, and the other part is my desire to build new friendships and relationships which will help me continue the years I have left in INSAT as well as the years to come, and maybe it’s picking the ones to invest in, especially with such a large number of people each of which has such a distinctive story and personality to offer, becomes easier said than done.

But I’ve recently found myself reminded of some of the lessons that North Dakota has taught me about the advantages of introversion on a social level, as well as on a personal and professional level, after all the type of focus that introversion has to offer is not only qualitative focus on relationships, but it’s also a focus on other parts of life that don’t necessarily involve interaction and communication. As much as group work and group projects and collaboration, there are still many tasks to be done that don’t necessarily require or involve such collaboration or are even hindered by it. After all, the productivity of a company is inversely correlated to the number of meetings that it plans.

All this isn’t to say that an introvert shouldn’t work on their public speaking or group work or run of the mill social skills, after all, many of the experiences and skills I’ve gained by assuming extravert like characteristics are priceless, this is to say that we as introverts shouldn’t forget who we are and what we’re comfortable with. Assuming characteristics that are not inherent to us isn’t only very tiring and taxing in the long run, it can become a self-effacing practice that can distract us from taking care of our own internal worlds and wellbeing.

 

While many personal-development (the new age term for life coach) would tell you to always push yourself to the limits and get out of your comfort zone, I think your comfort zone exists for a reason, it’s good to challenge yourself and experience new things, but you owe it to yourself to be who you are and what you were meant to be and to accept characteristics and things about oneself which society may deem less than favorable, and this extends beyond the issue of introversion and extraversion in my eyes. I think all of us growing up in this culture and generation (and any culture really) can relate to the fact of negatively being different from the norm in some way, whether it’s something as insignificant as your preference towards metal music and one’s minority philosophical and religious views and beliefs, we owe it to ourselves to say f*** society ( for the lack of a more expressive term) and live our lives on our own terms.

Going back to the article’s title, the reason I’m wearing my headphones more often is that. Plus, I’m completely addicted to Frank Ocean’s Blond album and can’t stop listening to it, especially with the good sound quality that that pair of headphones offers. On a more serious note, as an introvert, I recharge through social breaks and a small way of finding that quietness and that momentary isolation has been my headphones. The idea of unlimited instant interconnectivity can be quite stressful at times, especially with the added stress of school and other obligations, and a good way I’ve found to disconnect was to wear my oversized headphones when I wasn’t communicating with people, something that has been surprisingly stress-alleviating for me.

So yes, if you see me or other introverts wearing headphones at a study hall full of people or abandoning our Facebooks and Instagrams on a trip or event, know that we simply have a different approach to things or we are just taking our time off, we’d love to talk though as long as you approach kindly, and offer us food, extraverts would appreciate that as well.

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Chapter 3 : Odysseus, The Fever of war.

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The heavy wooden door slowly opened to a vast candlelit hall. My gaze slowly adjusted to the dancing lights as they shimmered and burned on the tall onyx walls. The lack of a throne and the absence of courtsmen were the only things that shifted the thought of it being a room of royalty, yet everything else pointed to such. The hall seemed to go on for miles and nothing indicated an end to it, and what seemed to be a hundred tapestries hung down on either side of me. Their presence was mighty, as the colours of every tapestry were highlighted by the flame of the massive sconces that adorned the walls. They radiated life and I half thought they could speak, until they did.

 

All tapestries were knit with a scene of a heroic story, and as the door closed behind me, the eyes on every character of each story shifted towards me. The silence of the hall broke as they all started to whisper in unison. I must return to Ithaca, shrieked a man on every tapestry that seemed to be a part of all of them. The scene made me jolt with shock, but eventually my ears were accustomed to the murmur of the pictures and I made myself walk to see what secrets they hold.

 

The first tapestry on my right depicted a young man in his early twenties standing beneath a tall olive tree. His long auburn hair draped broad muscular shoulders that portrayed a life of labour and his beard framed a distinctive square jaw. His crimson tunic was tied to his waist with a golden belt and his black hooded cape brushed the hill he stood on as he looked down on a great field filled with cattle.On his back hung a mighty oaken bow with gilded tips and a quiver full of arrows. His eyes flamed with a sense of wits and cunning, and as locked his eyes with mine, he seemed to read into my soul. He smiled amicably as he started to speak.

“Greetings, friend. Do you require guidance?”

“Guidance is the only thing I require. But first, may I ask you who you are? I must admit your appearance is quite puzzling.” I answered, looking forward to his response.

“My apologies.” laughed the man, “I am not the shepherd you might think I am, if only that were true. I am Odysseus, Son of Laertes and Prince of Ithaca.”

“And why does someone of royalty need to tend to goats and sheep?” I asked as my intrigue grew.

“If you spoke to a prince of Mycenae in this manner, they would have your tongue in pieces before the end of your sentence.” replied Odysseus smiling, “But this is not Mycenae. My father taught me to know my land in order for me to rule it. Besides, I grew fond of these fields, the peace helps me think.”

“And what trouble do you have on your mind?” I asked.

“The war, my dear friend. A great war is coming and I am to be asked to hold a vow I took nigh on ten years ago. To be truthful, I am not keen on fighting. I am accustomed to the dull life of Ithaca and I do not wish to die only for bards to sing about me to kings I do not know. Heroic deeds are for the foolish and the mad.” sighed the prince as he answered.

 

But you are dead, I thought as I smiled sadly to the young hopeful soul of Odysseus. I decided not to broach the subject and I started walking down the hall to see the rest of the tapestries. The whispers grew louder as I slowly strolled and looked at the marvels of Odysseus’ life. One portrayed the prince wrestling with a boar that had his tusk thrusted deep into his leg. His first taste of battle, I thought bitterly. Another showed Odysseus with his great bow in his arms and an arrow piercing the eye of a wolf sixty yards away. Quite a man, I remarked and my eyes darted to a tapestry showing two men that looked like nothing but the highest of kings, puzzled at the look of Odysseus as he seemed to feign madness. What war can be so dreadful to make a prince act like a fool? I pondered, then I saw the one right next to it, with the picture of the prince ending his charade as he looked at his young children standing in front of a running carriage.

 

And so Odysseus took up arms and armour and sailed to war. My heart broke bit by bit as I saw the once Shepherd Prince of Ithaca grow wearier and warier as the years turned. His auburn hair started to whiten little by little as new scars marked his body on every new tapestry, each with its own story, and the whispers grew into screams with every step of my walk. I saw him wrestling heroes thrice his size and locked in arms with a dozen warriors. He appeared calm when other kings were in fits of rage and he looked stern when disciplining his men. As the war made other kings into heroes, it made Odysseus into a soldier.

 

I walked further down, witnessing the atrocities of a war that never seemed to end. Visions of dismembered bodies and rotten flesh made my skin crawl as I saw what the gods have inflicted upon the greek. I saw plagues turn kings into hollow corpses and bring the youth to their deathbeds before they saw the world. Dreams shattered and hopes crumbled and Odysseus stood vigil, and slowly his soul kept on fading. 

 

Then I stood staring at the mighty Trojan Horse, standing high on the ruins of Troy. the city burned and Odysseus’ eyes burned with it. The Best of the Greeks, he was named after the death of Achilles, and he wore the title like a badge of honour. The war went on for ten bitter years and what would become of the Shepherd Prince was a matter I was aching to discover.

 

My feet began to pick up pace as I made my way down the hall. I must return to Ithaca, rang like bells in my head, half driving me to madness, and the fires started to dim as Odysseus set sail and embarked on his journey home. I could see a thousand dreams in his broad smile and the laughter of his men, but his eyes betrayed a sense of sadness that I could not understand. Unease pushed me closer to the tapestry and words I did not think to say slipped through my lips.

“Congratulations on a war well fought, Prince Odysseus.” I initiated. 

“I haven’t been a prince for ten years.” he replied, smiling, as his eyes locked with mine. “A decade listening to the barking of Menelaus and Agamemnon and you forget you are royalty. But now all is done and soon, if the gods are good, I once again will be the prince of goats and rocks.”

“May the winds be fair to you and your own.” I sincerely wished, as the thrill of his story made me forget my death and his.

“If they are not, my dear wife Penelope would fight Zeus himself for a fast voyage. God I miss her, and little Telemachus would be a grown man by now.” He daydreamed, and as I saw that the tapestries did not end, sadness pushed me from answering and I walked away from the tapestry. 

 

The whispers started to ebb as I watched his journey through seas that did not seem to end. The tapestries put forth a story that was a harsher hell for Odysseus than the underworld could ever be. His men kept on dying one by one as they fought with cannibals and Cyclopes. Hunger withered their strength and the storms of the Mediterranean Sea sealed their fate. They landed on a hundred islands and none of them Ithaca, as the winds disoriented them like they were toys for the gods. They found kindness in witches and slavery in Nymphs. Sleep was scarce, for Odysseus no longer trusted his own soldiers. A soldier who never left the war, I thought sourly. 

 

As I watched Odysseus turn grey with age and hardship, the black walls of the cave seemed to shake with the sound of pounding heartbeats. I felt like the hall almost came to an end, for the fires almost turned to cinders. Near the end, I was met with a tapestry that would have broken my heart to pieces if I had one. The fates made it so Odysseus was to see the Underworld before his own demise. I saw the Prince of Ithaca on the edge of this hideous realm, surrounded by the souls of all the soldiers that fought beside him. He saw Ajax, Achilles, Patroclus and every warrior lost in the battles of Troy, and all looked more alive than Odysseus. The pounding heart thundered mightily and I knew that the Best of the Greeks carried their memory on his shoulders every way he went.

 

The fires died out on my long march down the hall and I knew he reached the end. Feelings of both grief and thrill rose through me, for I desperately wanted to know if the poor soldier returned to his home. The last tapestry hanging down the walls of Odysseus’ shrine was the biggest, and with it the heartbeats sounded like drums of war. The prince that dreamed of being a shepherd was once again standing on the hills of Ithaca. His hair was bleached with the horrors he endured and his back was bent with decades of loss and sorrow. His battle scars were covered in armour and he could not keep still as he paced around with his rusty sword in hand. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I reluctantly approached the King of Ithaca.

I must return to Ithaca!” yelled Odysseus with the harshest of voices.

“But you made it, King Odysseus, you made it to your home.” I replied gravely.

“No, no, no, not this barren island. This is not my home. The hills, they do not feel the same. I cannot find peace beneath these trees and so this must not be Ithaca. Wherever I run, I hear them. A thousand hearts beating like hammers in my head and I cannot stop them. I cannot stay in these lands any longer. Athena has not called upon me in years and I long for her callings. I prayed and I prayed for peace, yet no god has blessed me, why didn’t they? I was the Best of the Greeks and I must return to Ithaca, Ithaca, Ithaca…” there was madness in his words as he spoke, and I knew Odysseus was no longer.

I jumped away from the tapestry, as my mind can no longer handle the cruel stream of thought that haunts Odysseus through every moment of his death. The war ended in Troy but it lived on in Odysseus, and who were unlucky enough to survive it. He was shaped by battle and broken by grief, and I closed my eyes and prayed long for this soldier to finally find his peace.

 

 

Written by : Hachem Saihi.

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