Lonely Strangers

Smiling

Only one word can describe what I am, an introvert. Well, at least, that's what others call me. When they see me, I don't know what kind of person they see in their eyes. Most of them say that I am shy, or that I'm quiet, or that I don't like being around people, or that I'm dull and serious - although, that is farther from the truth. I like people. I like to talk, debate, and do all of the things that normal people do, but maybe I'm not normal, that's because I'm an introvert, whatever that word is suppose to mean.

         The truth is, is that I probably am not ok. I don't think it's my fault though, I blame it on our culture and the judgmental society we were brought up in. After I graduated from college, I think I finally understand why it was so hard for me to make friends and battle rejection. It's because we are conditioned to believe that popularity equals success and the more success we have the more money we earn.  Kids don't want to hang out with the quiet kid in grade school, they would rather be with the class clown or all of the "normal people". The structure of education has made its very aim become skewed, if the purpose of education was to make children into positive team playing adults, then why are we socialized to accept our placement in the world? 

       In one of my classes, I learned about the theory of microaggression. Every day, as a black man, I've already lost my battle for success. It made me go crazy. In my first entry-level interview, my white employer asked me "How did you get your previous job?". For most people, this question would seem innocuous, but because I'm an "introvert" it stung my tongue as I accepted the subtle microinsult. You see, it made me upset because it could mean that he doesn't see me as qualified for the job or that I got it through a program, not through my own ability. When I tried to explain it to my other black friends, they said that I was being too "oversensitive" or that I was thinking too hard, they said it was because I was an introvert.

      I'm not normal, maybe there is something wrong with me. I can't have my hand glued onto my phone, scrolling through social media, or enjoy being around people, without thinking about how much the world is trying to make me give up. It's hard. It's hard being me. Everything in the world is revolved around money, every business is trying to turn my attention to cash or my insecurities into wealth. There never seems to be a moment where I have a chance to have true freedom, even when I think I do when I'm on vacation, I still can't resist thinking of how my life has become a rat race towards the goal of being rich or popular, and how everybody around me seems to be lost in this false hope called success. 

        When my only friend won the mega lottery a few years back, I was happy for him. He bought himself a house, he finally got married, he had kids, and quit his day job. He was a good guy. He used his money to help the community, he even gave me a couple of thousand because we were good friends. Every time I talked to him, he would tell me of his recent trips and how he traveled the world. He sounded so happy, so humble and it seemed like he met the pinnacle of success. Yet, he committed suicide.  I don't know what made him do it, but I feel like it's because at some point with wealth, no amount of money will make you happy. That realization almost drove me to the same fate.

       I know there will be some of you who say that I'm thinking too deep, maybe I am, after all, I'm an "introvert".  It's hard to talk to people or to have normal conversations, for me, anything 'normal' always seems foreign and strange. People say that I am negative, or that I am depressing, it could be right, or it could just be that they don't want to accept the truth. Life is grim, boring, and meaningless in the end. Others would argue and say that life is about exploring your purpose, keeping your faith in God, or reaching success. But why do any of those things matter in the first place? Why is my life supposedly meaningful? If the entire world is consistently against me?

       At least there are little things that I can enjoy, even when it's hard, when it's hard being me.  Nowadays, with all of this new bad news of theory and applications, at least I still can hold a smile and laugh, when it feels so fake. The short euphoria that clouds my mind from all of my anxiety, makes me feel so relieved. That I can still feel something, not pain, not regret, but short happiness. 

Writer's note: thanks for reading, vote and comment