(Note: Sorry about the gross-new layout cum skin... something went wonky with the old one, and for quite a while I might add, thus the necessary alterations. Blogger hasn't been too user-friendly of late with 'upgraded' templates of all sorts that seem incompatible with many skins. Not to mention the taste of blog skin designers have been waning in standards... But oh well, hope this doesn't put you off too much. If it does, it's probably time for you to stop prying into my life and blog-hop somewhere else.)

Have been wanting to explore this for a little while since post-CTs but obviously the sloth life had got the better of me for quite a bit. Paralyzed in front of technology but nonetheless able and sane enough to keep the mental motors running in safe mode. What then, is introspection? Or rather more pressingly, is there ever a definite advantage for extroversion or introversion?

A fishbowl. Just an inconspicuous, sphere glass fishbowl, filled with water and fishes and the usual marine-life. The introvert and the extrovert glance curiously through the looking glass (I might add that curiosity couldn't get the better of either personality types) and yet register stunningly distinct conclusions. The graceful swirl of the fish's fin, bred for a tale of a tail, tell-tale tales with no head or tail, and in that rounded pail, the fish do all sail, and amidst the ravaging wails, a soft whisper: dinner. Chicken?!

Well of course with my own fanciful and biased dramatization, it oft seems that the thoughts which pickle the minds of extroverts come in knotted turns that lead nowhere. At least to us introverts it leads nowhere. The extroverts couldn't give two hoots about what knots they are tying, but more so about reaching the end of that rope. To frantically pull and rummage through the remains, desperate to cling onto the ends and fish out the treasure at its tail.

And one would expect the introvert to be fixated on the fish and dissecting them inside his head but in fact quite the contrary, the focus has never been on the fish. Given decent lighting and a proper reflection, the boy is staring at himself, contemplating the greater mysteries of life. The fish, albeit trapped by the glass fishbowl, seems to understand the notion of liberation and freedom far better than the eyes of the boy, captivated by his thoughts and a victim to his own slavery. It is a cruel thing to not be able to speak, but it is a piece of melancholy to choose to remain mum.

And I can never put my finger on a solid explanation into explaining the drastic distinctions between extroverts and those who refuse to put thoughts into speech. And more so when you reflect both conflicting personalities at unpredictable moments.

Sometimes, I just want to curl up into a ball and enjoy the solitude of a silent, peaceful world, free from the remains of sound and its disconcerting effects. Just the deafening silence and the music that plays in my head. And yet at other times, I wish I had a party of people to holler at, to vent my frustration and to share my sorrows. But very so often, I find myself perfectly situated right at the centre.

It is a mistake to believe that introverts always want to be alone. It is far beyond that. It is the inherent need for company but the innate nature to remain awfully silent. That is, to simply be in the rousing company of others chit-chattering away and not be obliged by social dictations to make small-talk every so often.

It does sounds so very pathetic at times but I assure you it is more than just a faux paus.

It is the cry of every men buried beneath the flood of tears,
like a scream underwater, no more than a buzz in your ears.