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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 5 : Medea, A fractured halo.

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The heat was unbearable to say the least, a suffocating hand squeezing the very air from my lungs. As if eternal damnation wasn’t torture enough for the inhabitants of this cursed realm.

Tartarus wasn’t for the weak. Or at least, that’s what I gathered from the looks of it. Down here, the whispers of Asphodel and Elysieum were a cruel joke. Every instinct in my body was begging me to turn and flee, until a flicker of movement in the distance snagged my attention, making me halt in my steps. 

Someone was watching me. 

“Mermerus?” a woman’s voice echoed through the abyss, “Mermerus, is that you?”

Words died on my tongue. Though a silver of desperation lingered in her voice, everything about the approaching figure sent chills skittering down my spine. Crimson red robes, the color of spilled blood, clung to her form, a stark contrast to her pale skin. Her untamed black hair almost covered the entirety of her back. Something about her seemed disturbingly primordial. This was no benevolent spirit, no sorrowful soul. This woman was a true creature of darkness, someone who had not simply adapted to Tartarus but seemed to thrive in its haunting embrace.

As she drew closer, I could see the disappointment in her eyes slowly settle in. For I wasn’t Mermerus, nor did I know of this person she despondently wanted me to be.

Mere inches separated us now. She towered over me then reached out her hand to cup my face. Her touch wasn’t one of comfort, but far from it.

“You do look remarkably like him.” She murmured, the softness in her voice a fleeting mirage.

“Who is he?” I managed to let out as she turned around and started to make her way back.

“My child.”

“And where is he now?” I dared to ask.

The sound of her footsteps abruptly stopped. In the deafening silence, she turned, a cruel smile twisting her lips.

“Dead.”  She said, her voice devoid of emotion, “I killed him.”

A minute passed, or maybe an eternity I’m not certain. Those last three words hung in the air between us, words that felt more like a boast than a regretful confession. 

“Oh please, spare me the shock, I’m sick of it, Who are you boy? Did Aphrodite send you to further taunt me? Sending a boy who looks like my dead child is a wicked move I must admit.” 

“No, my lady.“ I gulped, “Forgive me but I don’t even know who you are.”

A notorious laugh escaped her lips. “Gods and their twisted games.“ she spat, a flicker of something akin to boredom flashing in her eyes. “Fine then, I am Medea, Grand-daughter of the sun. Daughter of the sea, Niece to supreme sorceress Circe. Witch.” She took a step closer, forcing me to crane my neck to meet her gaze. “ A mere thread separates the bumbling foolishness of mortals and the cruel whims of the gods » she hissed, the last word dripping with venom. “ And I walk that thread fueled by powers you, child, can faintly comprehend.”

Ignoring the termance in my voice, I managed to ask “How did you end up here then? amidst this…torment?”

“Why don’t I show you?” she whispered, her voice laced with dark amusement.

Before I could protest, she reached out for my hand. She muttered something in a tongue I couldn’t quite decipher, a strange incantation. The world began to wrap and twist, the great sleep, the great forgetting, darkness, then light.

The world solidified again, I was no longer in Tartarus. My body didn’t feel like mine, Stagnant powers lurked within me, Realization dawned on me.

 

I wasn’t looking at Medea anymore, I was Medea.

 

Everything was a blur, experiencing one’s memories through their eyes was nothing short of disorienting. The visions got slightly clearer; A Flash of a golden fleece, the triumphant glint in a pair of unfamiliar eyes. A love so intense it burned. Sacrifices made, yet promises shattered, betrayal, passion morphed into a cage of raging fury, lust for revenge, bloody hands. The smell of death, A chilling satisfaction, A hollow victory, Then back to darkness. 

My eyes fluttered open. I stretched my hands, relieved to feel my own body again.

“How did you do that? Doesn’t being in Tartarus stop you from casting any spells?” I breathe out, still dizzy from the lingering magic.

Medea arched an eyebrow as if I had just asked her the most nonsensical question ever.

“I am a witch, boy. Forever bound to earth. I am tied to the four elements. Tartarus is filled with one of them in all its forms, Fire. My power comes from within. Although this cursed place has tamed it, it could never quench its flames.”

The frustration in her eyes mirrored the confusion churning within me. The visions… hazy fragments that have left me reeling. “I felt them…” I stammered, meeting her gaze, “Your emotions, your rage, as if they were mine.” The weight of a story demanding to be told hung in the air. “Tell me Lady Medea, what has happened to you?”

 

A sigh followed by, then she began to unravel her past before me.

 

“Colchis was my home. Magic flowed through my veins, a birthright passed down from my ancestors. Then came Jason, a Greek hero with eyes that shimmered like the Aegean sea and a smile that promised forever. How foolish I was. For him, I defied my own blood. I won him the golden fleece, a prize named by his uncle in order to reclaim his throne. Looking back now, I realize what a waist of muscles Jason was. Without my magic and my wits, he could’ve never returned to his lands victorious AND unharmed. I vowed to protect him. I fled my home to be by his side. Bloody sacrifices on the altar of his empty ambitions. I was promised by Aphrodite an everlasting love as beautiful as dawn breaking over mount olympus if I aid him in his ‘heroic’ quest. I forgot however that while Jason was the goddess’s chosen, I was nothing but her pawn. A mere puppet that will grant her ephemeral glory once hit by Cupid’s bows. But promises made by the gods are fickle. A lesson I had yet to learn at that age.” 

Medea’s fists clenched, turning her knuckles white. She glared into the distance, as if she was reliving the past.

 

“Another woman caught Jason’s eye upon our arrival to Greece. A princess named Glauce with royal blood and a kingdom to rule over. He cast me aside, leaving me and our children within a blink of an eye . Foolish, foolish man. He had underestimated me, like the rest of them. My grief turned into rage. Revenge became the ultimate goal, a burning ember demanding to burn all it touched. Killing him was never an option. I needed him to feel an ounce of the agony I have felt while breathing still. So I did what had to be done. I took from him what he grew to value most, his new fiancé, her father’s money, and our own offspring. And if I had to, I would do it all over again.”

 

A look of serenity washed over Medea’s eyes. She unclenched her fists, her shoulders relaxed. I waited in silence for her to finish her story.

 

“Heaven and Hell became mere words to me. I fled Corinth, cloaked in the golden chariot my grand-father Helios sent me, leaving Jason a broken shell of the man I once loved. People may call me a villain, a mad woman, the devil incarnate for some, but I call myself a hero. I was the one who won the golden fleece. I have defied dragons and armies, navigated foreign waters alongside Jason’s crew and secured his throne all by myself. I deserved the recognition. I have spent my whole life diluting myself to make it easier to be loved. I have dimmed my magic, a witch masquerading as a human for an oath of eternal happiness. I was more than content with working in the shadows and letting Jason take credit for my mastery if only it meant he would be with me. And what do I get in return? Betrayal. Tragedy is a condition to existence, and I have chosen madness as my defense against it. For the dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn’t. My guilt will not purify me. And I accepted that long ago. Let them fear my wrath, let them whisper of my madness. Let them blindly pretend that all of their favorite heroes haven’t bathed their hands in blood too. But of course, blood doesn’t taint a man’s heroism. When a man seeks vengeance, it’s a mark of strength. When a woman does the same, she’s branded a monster.”

 

She tipped her chin upward, as if addressing the very gods who have betrayed her.

 

“I am no longer a pawn of fates. I am Medea, I am my own person and I shall spend my remaining days here in Tartarus, my new found home, where I truly belong.”

 

I stood there, transfixed. Words failed to decipher what I felt at that moment. Medea eyed me up and down one last time. 

“It’s truly incredible how much you look like Mermerus.” she softly whispered,  “Be careful boy. Don’t trust anyone but yourself down here.”

 

My mind grew heavy with questions left unanswered. I watched as Medea disappeared in the swirling sulfurous mist just as she had emerged from it moments prior.  As I started to make my way back towards the gates, I realized that by simply accepting her fate, this scorned woman has already defied the gods. I may not call her a hero, as she demanded to be called, but she definitely wasn’t a villain either. The very line between good and evil blurred before me. I left Tartarus with a heavy heart and a newfound perspective.

 

 

Written by : Fatma Ben Romdhane.

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