Speaking in Absolutes

This is how I’ve made myself to be.
This is my own doing.
I wonder how many of us there are —
The ones who are truly alone.
It’s easy to think of the mountain dwellers
And the homeless —
Ones who chose a life of solitude,
Intentional or not.
But just how many of us loners are there
Living amidst the bustling society?

I could do it now —
Take off for the mountains.
Fear, apprehension, and cowardice
Hold me back.
There are many risks involved:
A meek excuse I hide behind.
It’s not as simple a solution,
But it’s always an option.

How many different ways can I say the same thing?
How many renditions can I make of the same thoughts?
How many times can I recite the same old words?
There’s little substance to my words —
Just mere repetition,
Just mere redundancy.
Why do I even bother?
I keep walking myself round in circles,
The loops getting tighter and tighter each time.
It’s a spiral leading to dead center.
     I just want it all to cease.
     I want relief.
     I want to escape.
     I want to be set free.
Things won’t change —
Not for me, not for the better.
Downhill is all I see.
So what’s the point?
It all hurts too much.
Everything is laced with anxiety.
Everything is shrouded in sadness.

I’ve come to realise just how
Passive-aggressive the INFJs can be.
Amongst the NFs,
I’ve always associated it only with the INFPs.
How wrong I’ve been.
It brews a storm of bad feelings underneath,
Deep in my core.
Perhaps it’s just their Fe way of handling things.
Perhaps it’s just me.

It really is a double-edged sword.
It hurts when I try to reach out;
It hurts when I shut myself in.
But, of course,
It isn’t as simplistic as that.
A multitude of factors are at play.
Perhaps it’s the people whom I’m reaching out to.
Perhaps it’s how I’m going about it.
Decades of going through the motions,
Trying different avenues,
But always arriving at the same starting position.
It all comes back to me, doesn’t it?
This is where all the paths lead to.
I am the problem,
The common denominator.
The issue is with me,
And me alone.


Choose Your Own Adventures

I’ve always been drawn to choose-your-own-adventure type of games.  It’s the idea of choosing my own path and playing an integral part of the story that lure me in.  However, only a few have resonated deeply with me.  I found most to be too superficial or just not my style, though still fun and interesting to play (or watch).

Although video games appeal to me, I almost never play them myself as I often find it too scary to do so.  I feel immensely for the character that I play – I become that character; I’m transported into that world.  So when the character dies, I truly feel as though I’ve died too.  It gets too overwhelming for me, especially when they’re being chased and running for their lives, or fighting monsters, or struggling to survive – it seems all too real to me.  I’d rather watch playthroughs of video games (and I search for players who’d select similar choices as I would).  This way, it’s a little easier for me to dissociate from the intense moments by looking away or shutting my eyes, as though reminding myself that there’s a barrier between me and the screen, that I’m not there experiencing the same things.

Beyond: Two Souls is by far the best video game I’ve come across.  To me, it’s an allegory of Ni (introverted intuition).  I’ve watched the entire 9-hour playthrough/movie a number of times in the past (back when there were no ads yet).

Video games aside, I’m also drawn to text-based games – or interactive novels, as they’re often called:

Depression Quest really speaks to me.  I see myself in the text, spiralling downwards into the darkness.  The background music and ambient sounds help set the mood and tone as well.  It can get painfully sad (depending on your choices, of course).

Choice of Romance: Affairs of the Court was a surprising find.  I’m not one who goes for the romance genre per se, but this story is very well fleshed out.  It delves into court politics and the life of an aristocrat.  I’ve played/read it numerous times and I thoroughly love it.

Fallen Hero: Rebirth is the most recent and even more surprising find.  (I’ve just finished it before writing this post.)  It’s highly unusual of me to find the superhero genre interesting, and I had initially purchased this on a whim.  As an INTJ, an Ni-dominant, and a type 5, I relate so much to it.  This is my new favourite, although I wish I could just change a couple of the characters’ names.  I also felt like it ended a little prematurely and was left wanting more.  I can’t wait for the sequel, Fallen Hero: Retribution.  In the story, I chose the name Enigma for my villainous persona.  No mystery there.

A Situation at Work

A conversation I had with an INFP.

INFP: So tell me about your work situation, and I will let my Ne free rein.

INTJ: Fi also please.

INFP: Haha.

INTJ: So because I think you’d appreciate/need this, I teach, ok?


INTJ: There’s this student now who’s doing a personal one-to-one programme, and he has recently been transferred to me.  He’s been branded as “troublesome” by my colleagues and passed to me as a last resort.  Before taking him, they already gave me warnings like: he’s argumentative and will argue for the sake of arguing; he’ll wait till just 5 minutes before the end of the lesson to ask another big question and will keep at it so as to prolong the lesson and end ½ hour later; that if A is the answer, he won’t accept it and will keep asking ‘why not B, C, D’; that he thinks he already knows it all; and the worst of all, that if he continues being like that with me (which I took to mean that it insinuates if I’m unable to handle him because he’s such a bother), they’ll “get rid of him”.  Similar situations have happened before, and I already knew that it’s not so much the fault of the student.  Do you know what I mean?

INFP: Well, behaviour management is down to the skill of the teacher as well as the problems of the student… if that’s what you mean.  There’d be students who can’t be managed but there’d also be teachers who aren’t good at managing.

INTJ: But there isn’t any behavioural problem.  He isn’t argumentative; he’s asking because he would like to understand.  The others (my colleagues) get surprised when I say that I like teaching that way — that I like explaining why A is the answer and why not B, C, D.  That is what the students are here for, to learn and understand.  It’s really sad that they’re being treated this way and branded as a trouble due to the incompetencies of the teachers, and I can’t do much about it (which is what I wanted to discuss with you about).  The part where he was described as a know-it-all is most likely with the portions where it’s too pedantic and simplistic.  He’s smart.  I took him for one lesson so far and there were no issues with him whatsoever.

INFP: That sounds really good!  I know what you mean.  “Inquisitive” minds don’t fit well with lazy teachers.  So what’s the problematic part?

INTJ: They aren’t lazy.

INFP: Okay, other possibilities are just different mindsets or thinking styles or teaching styles.

INTJ: Yes.

INFP: Like an SJ teacher might struggle with an N.

INTJ: Yes, wasn’t really sure if I could say that to you.

INFP: No, it’s fine.  Say anything.

INTJ: It’s just so sad.  I feel for the students, I feel the injustice on their part, and I feel powerless as to how to help them (other than just having them be assigned to me).  But I understand my colleagues as well.  It’s just a snowball effect: the students come here to learn, the teachers are not giving them what they seek, the students get frustrated and act out, the teachers brand them as troublesome, and because they act out, they really do become a bother for the faculty.  All of this can be cut out if they had been assigned to me first, you know?  It’d save everyone a headache.

INFP: That’s true.  I guess you could try to present it as a learning styles issue, and see if there’s a way to promote an awareness of that?  (In terms of student allocation.)  I understand your frustration!

INTJ: Maybe because of my current unhealthy state of mind, the frustration bleeds everywhere and into everything.  It affects me a lot — I don’t know how else to emphasise that.  It doesn’t just stay at the level of frustration, not that it escalates to anger, but it manifests in sadness.  (Maybe I do know how to phrase it after all.)  Handling this sort of situation is another tricky part.  Remember when I said I don’t (can’t) work full-time?

INFP: Ah, so do you feel like the solution to your problem would depend on you working more hours… so you feel trapped or something?  Like you want to demand a better solution, but logically you should be part of the solution?

INTJ: For the sake of the students, I don’t mind putting in the hours.  I’d even do it pro bono because I really do want to help them and will put my all in it (and I can’t be bothered with money, just need a little for survival and books and classes).  It’s — I’m not sure what the right term is — it’s principle, it’s the right of the student; I have to do something for the students and not stand by and watch them combust.  My being part of the solution, yes, and it gets tricky because I work freelance, and it’d seem as though I’m stepping on others’ toes and scheming to get more benefits for myself.  In reality, if I speak out, there’d be no benefit for me, and in fact would be more detrimental to me.

INFP: I think you’re right; it’s more of an Fi problem than an Ne question.

INTJ: I’m approaching you for a reason, INFP.

INFP: How many actual students like this would there be?

INTJ: Hard to say, it’ll be ongoing.

INFP: Thinking as an Fi-dom, this experience of frustration with sub-ideal systems and institutions is very familiar.  Usually my experience is either that the system is “just the way it is” and there’s nothing I can do, or it’s a situation where I can exhaust myself trying to help everyone.

INTJ: Between these two options, I’d choose the latter, INFP.  Like the starfish story.

INFP: So I guess my question is what you want to do?  Feel better about it?

INTJ: Doubt that would happen.  I’ve set up a casual meeting with the manager tomorrow — did it before I even met the student, because N.  It’s just going to be a couple of minutes of me trying to express myself and her (and, later, the rest of the faculty) taking it the wrong way.  I plan to say that I experienced no issues at all with the current student and to make a suggestion that, in future (which will fall on deaf ears), should there be other “challenging/difficult” students, to assign them to me.  There, misunderstandings would snowball.  It’d be seen as me trying to get more money, insinuating that I’m a better educator than the rest, especially when I don’t have credentials (big issue here).  Oh, and trying to climb up the ladder (which I have no intention of).  I don’t know what else to do, for the students.

INFP: I think that is all you can do.

INTJ: It isn’t enough.  There’d be no step forward for the students, while I take two steps back myself.

INFP: If you make known your willingness to take on students like this, in an ideal world, management and other teachers will be happy to “dump” them on you.

INTJ: Although I’d be phrasing it that way, there’d be no way to tell if they’re going to be challenging in the beginning.  Plus, I seem to be low down on the list of getting assignments.  I’m like a vulture swooping in to peck at the remnants.

INFP: One thing I’ve noticed is that you do have some very negative expectations about how things will unfold.  One of the characteristics of an Fi-dom is that I’m usually forced to do my best according to what feels right, and be agnostic about the outcome.  But here it sounds like you’re doing that, yet telling yourself the outcome will be bad.  I think that’s guaranteed to exacerbate bad Fi feelings.

INTJ: Yes, but then, pessimism or realism, which I think we’ve discussed before.

INFP: So your sadness is a response not only to this sub-optimal situation but to your broader pessimistic read on it.

INTJ: Yes, and for the future, that it’d keep going on like this, never changing for the better, and likely to get worse.  Inferior Se.

INFP: Your Fi wants you to be more optimistic, because that will feel better.

INTJ: To lie to myself?  Don’t think so.  Me feeling better isn’t the objective either.

INFP: So what is the objective?

INTJ: In this situation, to help students.  On the broader scale, to help improve the world.  Though, we can ignore the second part.

INFP: Then you need a longer term path to having the necessary power to effect the improvements you desire.

INTJ: By climbing the ladder?

INFP: You could start your own school, seek higher qualifications, climb the ladder… What would you require to be in a position where you can make the desired changes?

INTJ: Which makes me stuck, and it’s sad.  But thank you, that is realistically one of the ways to go about it.  Just, it’s a little too late for me, and it’s unfortunate, not for me, but for others, that I’m letting them down and not helping them.  (My issue though.)

INFP: Fi also desires authenticity… Would it be an improvement if you were part of a smaller operation that championed a better approach, even if your current school remained unchanged in its practices?  That’s part of why people go independent.

INTJ: Yes, that would be an improvement.  It’d be an effort to try to better things, as long as I try to keep the starfish mentality at bay.

INFP: As an Fi-dom, I would rather be an authentic private tutor doing things the right way than being part of a bigger organisation doing things less ideally. But for you numbers may matter too?

INTJ: I’m not sure what you mean by numbers?

INFP: I’m just trying to take into account other factors. Like, you might be committed to helping these particular students, or in particular quantities. For me the quality of my efforts would be more important, but I’m not an NT.

INTJ: I still don’t really get it.

INFP: Don’t worry about it.  I was just being extra open-minded in case I said “go independent and do things your way” and you replied “but that’s not going to help enough people” or something.

INTJ: Ohh, yes, like the starfish mentality I mentioned.  But quality still trumps quantity.  The best would be quality with quantity, but never quantity on its own.  Going independent is too much for me as a less-than-healthy 5.  I don’t have the resources (internal and external), the network or networking skills, and I’m not one to boast about and sell myself.  I don’t mean to keep shutting your ideas down — I hope I’m not coming across that way.  I appreciate your insights.

INFP: Nah, you don’t come across badly.  I just disagree with your pessimistic outlook.

INTJ: I disagree with your outlook that it’s pessimism. (joke)

INFP: Feeling better doesn’t have to come only from things that feel untrue.  It can also be a choice of what to focus on.  E.g. The system might be sub-ideal, but how great is it that this “difficult” student found his way to you?!

INTJ: Kind of like the starfish story, right?  It doesn’t work for me, but that doesn’t detract the positive outcomes from that one starfish.

INFP: I guess so.  Like, I’m roasting coffee beans and it feels like a chore.  But I can choose to focus on how much I love coffee and actually it’s quite satisfying.  There’s no objective reason to focus on the bad-feeling thought that it’s a chore rather than the good-feeling thought about the enjoyable aspects.

INTJ: That I agree with and understand and can do, but not when there are lives involved, for me.  Is it like talking to a wall with me?

INFP: Nah, I’m definitely learning.  For me, pessimism meant my life.  I couldn’t continue being that unhappy.

INTJ: That’s the road I’m on.

INFP: I just finished proofing a book on philosophy.  It reinforced for me the subjective nature of all knowledge.  There are levels of truth and no agreement among experts, in philosophy at least.  So I guess I decided my life was more important than my prior choices of what to focus on in life, because even the wisest make choices on which truths to emphasise.

INTJ: Yeah, as a 5, I don’t believe in objective truth (which the INTJ 1s do, and it’s intriguing).  I view my life as minuscule and not as important.

INFP: Subjectively, it’s your whole world.

Drawing Parallels

I typically shrink away from physical contact, but hugs from children are different, I’ve come to find.   It’s borne out of such innocence, which makes it trustworthy.

Some time ago, I told a pretty, little ENFP child that she’s smart.  “I’m not smart,” she responded softly.  In that moment, it was as though my ceramic heart cracked.  “You are smart,” I emphasised, but she shook her head.  She told me that I’m friendly.  « Je ne suis pas gentille.  Tu es gentille, plus gentille. »  I said to her, and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder.  She held my arm, and I knew it was a moment so I held onto hers as well, and she said, “You are good at your work, you are a good person, and you are a good friend.”  I looked at this sweet, little ENFP, thinking about how she’ll learn to intuitively tell what truly matters to others as she grows, and gave a smile and nod.

There was this other time when another bright, little child stopped slurping her spaghetti, looked up at me and said, “You have something here,” while tapping the side of her lips.  I looked at her, saw her chin and cheeks covered in a beard of pasta sauce, and burst out laughing.

When talking to two adult INFJs on separate occasions about my experiences with children, they each said, “You’re a good person, you know?”  Ah, the NFs and being a good person.  “You’re just like Katniss,” one of them commented, which is amazing — that they see the resemblance, that they understand.

As I retreat further into myself, my world becomes smaller and I feel more alone. As I retreat further into myself, I then truly become more alone. The connections I make through work fuels me, yet the sadness persists. I’m caught in the land in-between, sinking further down into the soil. Some have come to me with their problems, some while crying. I feel sad for them, but I also wonder why they feel comfortable enough with me. Shouldn’t I, a stone-cold INTJ, be the last person others would want to approach with emotional issues? Perhaps it’s the environment we’re in — the conducive atmosphere. From an outsider’s perspective, it must seem like such a bizarre setting. I feel like a fraud helping them. I am in no way qualified to do so, and I’m much more troubled and unhealthy than they are. It’s strange, isn’t it?


I dislike the days when the restlessness seeps in. Days such as these. I toss about wanting to do several things, flitting from one thing to another, never finding the satisfaction nor the concentration for whatever I engage in, even with mindless tasks. (i.e. In Enneagram terms: The 5’s disintegration to a scattered 7.)

The need for social interaction intensifies and takes over, but I refuse to give in because it isn’t fulfilling either way. So I push it aside, minimise the need, and wait agonisingly for it to pass.

In moments like these, the contemplation sinks deeper, but the risks are great. To quote the duchess in a rendition I’ve watched countless of times over the years, there is “a death worse than fate”.

Then there’s the battle with sleep. I doze off for short periods of time when I don’t want to, yet I’m unable to fall asleep when I’d like to. It takes hours for sleep to come, but then I rouse a couple hours or so later. The tiredness weighs on me like I’ve been dipped in glue, and I’m never able to shrug it off.


Writing on this blog provides some comfort. Some faux socialisation. Who exactly am I talking to? I don’t know. Who am I reaching out to? I’m not sure. It’s when I stop permanently that I’ll know it’s the end. This is all I have.

It’s funny how others perceive me as being overly secretive about myself when I would open up everything about myself, provided there’s trust in the relationship. I am selective, not secretive. I once discussed this with an ENFP, who said that they would never open up entirely to someone else, that it’d be too vulnerable. We talked about how strange that was, about how it’s the exact opposite that others would perceive us to be.

When I talk about relationships, people automatically associate it with the romantic sort. What exactly it means, I do not know. The physical nature of things scares me. I’m averse to it. I prefer staying in the cerebral realm.

I’m unlikeable and unloveable. It’s awkward admitting it out loud since it’s a somewhat taboo thing to say and it can come across as though it’s fishing for compliments. I’ve always said, since I was little, that if I were someone else, I wouldn’t want to be friends with myself. And I understand. I am obnoxious and annoying. It just hurts to be on this end of the pole sometimes.

Like a can that’s been left on an empty shelf, the longer it remains on the shelf, the more people would pass over it. Who would want an old, dusty can that’s near its expiration date? I wouldn’t want that. I see other solo cans on faraway shelves as well. Like damaged goods. Forgotten, left behind, and passed by. I wish I could reach out to them. I wish I could help them. But I’m not strong enough. I’m dented and rusting, just like they are. And together, we continue rusting, until we rust no longer.

Hospital Roommates

I must have been 13 or 14 when I was first admitted to hospital.  In juxtaposition with my rather traumatic second hospitalisation, it was quite a pleasant experience overall.

I was first roomed with a girl about my age, just a few years older.  It was odd sharing a room with someone else.  I’d always had a room of my own.  She described me as “cheerful”, “always smiling”, and “happy-go-lucky”.  Upon her discharge, she invited me to hang out with her and her group of friends sometime, but I knew that what she saw and liked was only my mask.  I must have declined when she texted me some time after that.

After having the room to myself for a couple of days, a new roommate was admitted.  She was an adult, probably in her 20s or 30s, though at my age then, the adults were just adults and I didn’t/couldn’t really discern the differences.  She spoke different languages so we couldn’t really communicate fluidly, but even so, we somehow managed to bond with each other.  Some of the other adults commented that she shared the same name with John Lennon’s wife, which wasn’t something I understood at that time as I didn’t know much about and wasn’t fond of The Beatles yet.  She chuckled and said that I was too young to know this and that it was before my time (and probably hers, in retrospect).

One day, she was wheeled back to our room unconscious from her procedure (a procedure that she was nervous about), then strapped in with restraints on her waist and wrists, and left to recuperate on her own.  A while later, I heard her panic and struggle, and I rushed to her bedside.  She looked freaked out and confused, and was straining to break loose from her restraints.  I tried to comfort and soothe her, and explained that she was in a hospital.  I tried to tell her the things I knew about her to help her remember.  She remembered my name partially, which calmed her down slightly as she felt that she could trust me, that I was a pillar she could grasp onto.  I glanced at her bedside table, remembered what was in her drawer, and took out a photo of her baby.  I showed it to her and talked to her about her son.  Slowly, her memories started trickling in.  During that whole time, I felt out of place and at a total loss of what to do.  (In hindsight, I was just a child back then.)  Since I didn’t know what else I could do, I proceeded to take my leave after she had calmed down sufficiently, but she grabbed onto me in a panic and asked if I could stay with her for a while longer.  So I agreed and stayed by her side.

After that ordeal, she had frequent fainting spells and nausea.  One day, when her husband was visiting her with their baby, she ran into the bathroom while her husband stood by the doorway watching, with the baby in his arms.  I went in to check on her and found her kneeling on the bathroom floor retching into the toilet bowl.  Again, at a loss of what to do, I knelt down beside her, saw that her hair was getting in the way, so I held her hair back.  I don’t remember what I said in an effort to comfort her, but she stiffened all at once and then fell across my lap.  My reaction hadn’t been quick enough to catch her, so when she roused later with the nurses’ help, I felt bad when, touching the swollen lump on her temple, she asked me if she had bumped her head on something when she blacked out.

When the time came for me to be discharged, she held on to me and asked if I could stay with her longer.  So we came up with a plan to ask the doctor if I could extend my stay for a little while when he made his rounds.  The response we got was that my funds were running low and that it was better that I leave.  Disappointed, we exchanged phone numbers and promised to keep in contact.  I gave her a burger plushie as a parting gift and told her that I had a larger version at home.  Hearing that made her happy and she said that we could always remember each other when we looked at them.

Time passed and we lost contact after a while.  I still think of her from time to time over the years and wonder how she’s doing.  I have no way of finding her as all I have is her first name, aside from the shared memories and connection.  I hope she’s well.