A Cause to Blame

I sometimes wish that something truly tragic had happened to me, that something bad were to happen to me. I’d then have a tragedy to explain why I am the way I am, why I feel the way I feel, why I think the thoughts I do. I’d have a label that I could simply utter and others could easily comprehend. A specific reason. Something to pinpoint the source of where it all started. A cause to blame. Something that’s outside of my self, that’s bigger than my self, that’s beyond my control.

I then feel bad that I think this way, that I’m diluting the terrible events others have gone through or are going through. Who am I to wish upon such? Who am I to feel the way I feel and act the way I do when I haven’t experienced any catastrophes?

The reason is essentially me. This is where it all leads right back to. It’s a simple word, but a complex answer. There is no specific moment in time when everything began to snowball and go downhill. This is just how I am.

Frankenstein’s Creature

Why do men live in herds… But then… massacre each other?

Where’s the logic in that? It’s insulting in its stupidity! What fool said prejudice can be overcome?

What is love?

Did I ask to be created? … I am different. I know I am different! I have tried to be the same but I’m different! Why can I not be who I am? Why does humanity detest me?

To kill me? Why then did you create me? … So you make sport with my life?

Yet you’d kill me if you could! … So why is your killing justified, and mine is not?

Master, what is death? What will it feel like? Can I die?

Piercing questions.
Thought-provoking and deep.
Questions that mirror mine.
Questions I’ve asked before the age of nine.

I am the one who stands outside the door. I see inside. But I daren’t go in.

(Describing the moon) Solitary… And sad like me… Because it is solitary… Because with all that I read, all that I learn, I discover how much I do not know. Ideas batter me like hailstones. Questions but no answers.

I did not ask to be born.

I should be Adam. God was proud of Adam. But Satan’s the one I sympathise with. For I was cast out, like Satan, though I did no wrong.

I am good at the art of assimilation. I have watched, and listened, and learnt. At first I knew nothing at all. But I studied the ways of men, and slowly I learnt: how to ruin, how to hate, how to debase, how to humiliate. And at the feet of my master, I learnt the highest of human skills, the skill no other creature owns: I finally learnt how to lie.

Haunting thoughts.
Question-provoking and dark.
Thoughts that echo mine.
Thoughts that reflect the creature of Frankenstein.

It’s Odd…

It’s odd how others view me as their close friend, as part of their inner-circle.  It always comes as a surprise to hear that expressed (explicitly) to me.  It always seems so sudden.  It always seems to form so quickly on their end when I see them as mere acquaintances.  How could they perceive such closeness between us when I feel so distant from them?  (Is it just Fe?)

It’s odd how others can be incomplete yet still live fulfilling lives and form close relationships.  In typical Enneagram 5 fashion, I’m still in preparation mode to live my life.  Like a simulation, role-playing, or strategy game, I prefer to level up or max out on skills first and read and understand all the rules prior to stepping into actual gameplay — the game of life, in this case.  I mention the cruciality of the acquisition of knowledge to others; they understand and agree but don’t seem as perturbed as I am about it — because they aren’t 5s.  I will never acquire sufficient knowledge nor be knowledgeable enough; I will never be ready enough to emerge.  That is my mentality.  I have to maintain some semblance of normalcy as the constant threat hangs over my head, where my privacy would be impinged on and my personal freedom revoked — these are vital factors to my sanity.

It’s odd how much energy others seem to possess.  They go to work or attend school full-time, do household chores, run errands, care for their children, cook meals, have hobbies, and yet still somehow find the time and energy to exercise and engage in social activities.  Doing any single one of those activities on a given day and I’m beat and drained for the week.  How do they cope so effortlessly and not struggle?

It’s odd how the various Enneagram types play such a large influential role on the MBTI types.  Individuals of the same MBTI type but different Enneagram types differ drastically from each other.  Add the wings, levels of development, as well as instinctual variants and such from Socionics, and an immensely intricate, albeit fascinating, web of personalities forms.

It’s odd how I’m capable of forming connections and having deep, invigorating conversations yet the relationships fade and dissipate.  The invigoration is laced with sadness as I foresee the end before it even begins — a sadness for the future loss of a potential friendship.  A defeatist attitude and self-fulfilling prophecy, perhaps.

It’s odd how the anxiety overwhelms me and takes over my thoughts and physical body.  It’s the same cycle: I lose sleep and go into mindless Se overload, finding comfort and escaping reality through sensation-seeking activities in a controlled yet out of control manner.  What should have already been completed has still not been completed yet, and it won’t be by the end of the year either.  What am I doing?  I want to get it over with, but the anxiety keeps me trapped.  Anxiety has its grip on me and my life — I’m under its control.  I wish to be free from its constraints, to escape.  I feel stupid that I keep harping on the same things.

It’s odd how hypersensitive I can be internally, especially when others tend to see only my rough edges.  Is it due to the tertiary Fi?  Is it exacerbated by social anxiety?  Could it be the Ni-Fi loop?

It’s odd how, in that brief moment, I saw it as pleasant.  I’ve always thought it looked horrendous.  Perhaps it was my blurry sight, perhaps it was the dim lighting, but though this perception might be fleeting, I have this moment to look back to and reflect on — so I encapsulate it in writing for remembrance’s sake.

The Intensity of Intensive Training

I spent the week at an intensive training program, and I learned so much — not about the course material and not about myself, but about how others perceive me. It’s so intense and startling that it hurts.

They found me insightful and intelligent. That the way I spoke was metaphorical and wise, that I had such a different and unique perspective and understanding, that my words conveyed such depth and meaning. They wowed when I spoke up, as though the measly thoughts of mine that I tried so hard to translate and push out were otherworldly.

The other INTJ there had the same impact on the room. It was amazing meeting another INTJ. The intensity; the depth; the mutual understanding. I learned so much about him and from him in that short span of time.

I made other connections too. Some sought me out and I also selected a few whom I liked and gravitated towards. With my knowledge, I helped them understand themselves better and eased their confusion. I seem to like the quiet ones. The little things we did for one another held so much more meaning and sincerity — those connections bore so much deeper. One said that consultancy work giving advice to others would suit me very well. Those words mean a lot.

An ENFP expressed his concern and asked me some cutting questions (in a good way). What are you going to do with all this insightful knowledge that you have? But I haven’t done anything out of the ordinary; I merely read the books, made the connections, and understood them. If others do the same, they’ll easily see it too. That’s where you’re wrong. It may seem obvious to you, but it isn’t so for others.

They questioned why I was so quiet and so private. I was the sole enigma in the room. In an effort to hide in the shadows, I somehow attracted their attention and piqued their interest.

At the end, the program drew to a close and so did the connections. I’m left questioning the oddity of the drastic differences in how I perceive myself and how others perceive me, as well as how I thought others perceive me. Why has it changed? What has changed? And most importantly, now what?

Left Picking Up the Shattered Pieces

Have you ever shared something so precious with another,
only to have it be attacked?

There’s something precious that I keep within me and is a part of me. It’s a small fragile sphere made of glass that glows dimly.

glass-ball

I reached into my core, carefully took it out, and presented it to him. I choose who to show it to and I decided to share it with him. He grabbed it roughly and crushed it in his hands. Shards of glass fell onto the floor.

122

I stood there stunned and motionless. His questions cut deeper than those shards. Accusations laced his words. Accusations that what I do is meaningless, that I find no meaning in what I do, that I’m merely doing it for superficialities, for material gains.

I picked up the shattered pieces and retreated deep into my shell.

The Fe-Fi Divide

Lately, two new INFJs have waltzed into my life whom I get along quite well with. I wonder what’s different about these two in comparison to the dozens of others I know presently and from the past, and I have a few guesses. I doubt, though, that our relationship will go deeper or last for long. But for now, I’m enjoying their company.

I think I come across to them as insightful, since they’re not familiar with the MBTI and I have much to say about it. I haven’t really found anything they said to me particularly insightful, so the relationships are a little one-sided.

One thing odd is that I give them relationship advice. How absurd. Aren’t INFJs the ones who are supposed to have exceptional interpersonal skills? I recently spent a couple of hours talking with one of them about their feelings and relationship troubles, and I was giving advice throughout — sound advice, if I might add. How ironic. I seem to understand so much so quickly. I even seem to understand their long-term partners more than they do, although I’ve never/barely met or interacted with them. How peculiar — not of me, but of them and how little they know about the inner-workings of their decade-long (or two) partners. Aren’t INFJs supposed to read others effortlessly? During the two-hour long conversation, the INFJ confided that they feel burdened when their partner talks about their own feelings for an extended period of time, and would stop the partner. My gosh, Fe. I later pointed out and juxtaposed the length and topic of our conversation, much to the INFJ’s astonishment.

They don’t seem aware of my overwhelming sadness. They’ve had glimpses of and expressed their sadness with a couple of things I’ve mentioned to them about myself, but I don’t think they’re aware of its omnipresence.

The way Fe consoles irks me. “괜찮아, everything will be alright” doesn’t work, at least not for me. It’s a dismissal of my feelings and makes me crawl back into my shell. As an enneagram type 5, I deal with problems by turning to knowledge and information. This hoarding of information doesn’t translate much into practical use for me, so I retreat to hoard more information. It is the way I function and deal with things, but it’s not helping, so 어떡해? I understand and read people pretty well, yet still lack the practical skills to communicate and interact with others. Isn’t it strange?

I am neither here nor there
Neither living nor dead
Neither present nor absent
Friend nor foe
Intelligent nor unintelligent

I live high up in the clouds
Peering at those down below
Wishing not to be here
Nor down below

Describing Introverted Feeling (Fi)

Imagine a jellyfish with its tentacles gliding through the waters, or the tree in Avatar with its tendrils gently swaying in the breeze. That is how introverted feeling (Fi) feels like to me.

I walk around with these tentacles — these tendrils — floating about me. One reaches out selectively to connect deeply with another, to feel what the other is feeling, to empathise and understand. It is my choice who I send a tendril out to touch and connect with, and only one entity at a time. It is intense as the emotions wash over. Sometimes, I meet others who have these vines floating around them too. They don’t always send a vine out (and neither do I), but when both vines connect, there is a deeply felt shared moment.

This connection through tendrils is not limited by time or space. It doesn’t have to happen at the same time, same place, or in-person. It travels through written words, through asynchronous communication, through others, through visuals, through music, through touch.

Emotions are immensely private and personal. Hurt cuts deep inside. Only trusted individuals are given access to a window buried deep within. Opening up is no small matter, and it’s incredibly difficult to translate into words.

I noticed a positive change in someone recently, and I exchanged some pleasantries about it. I could tell that she was very happy about it and that I had noticed. I then spent the next 20 minutes or so pondering how to clearly convey what I was feeling inside. At the end, I mustered the courage to start but then faltered midway. I frowned and looked down, trying to push out the words that I’ve rehearsed. She frowned too, perhaps mirroring my expression and/or out of confusion. I eventually managed to deliver my line and when I looked up, we both smiled at each other and there was that moment of connection and mutual understanding. These are special moments.

(Video that sparked inspiration;
Talk on Enneagram Type 5;
Documentary on ‘Finding Vivian Maier’)