Cen10 Writers Creative Writing @CHS

Knowing Yourself

It’s taken me a long time to determine whether I’m an introvert or an extrovert. I would assume I was an introvert, and then I’d remember how much I love being around my friends and family and how I hate being lonely. Any time I think I’m an extrovert, I remember how much I need my quiet time and how bad I am at reaching out to people. There can be such harsh stereotypes attached to both sides of the spectrum, so sometimes I try to pretend I’m just an ambivert, right between the two concepts. But if that was true, why did I feel outgoing at some times and reserved at others? It didn’t make sense, and I was unwilling to try and wrap my head around it for fear of getting dizzy. This year, however, has been a turning point in my life for knowing who I was. The trial of COVID-19 helped reveal my genuine personality and unveil who I could be. At first, it amplified the confusion. When the pandemic first hit, I was distressed that I’d be missing school and staying away from my friends. Did that make me an extrovert? Then, later in the pandemic, I started feeling a sense of pride in my structured, daily habits, a routine I wouldn’t have been able to develop with the presence of others. Did that make me an introvert? The concepts spun around me in chaos, but thanks to the combination of both loneliness and peace, I was okay to leave them floating for a while; to experience life for once and let those encounters reveal who I truly was. I got a job as a lifeguard at the YMCA. Though I didn’t like talking to strangers, I thought this experience would help me break out of my shell- and of course, I enjoy making friends. I began panicking any time I knew I’d have to talk to someone. I’d begin planning what I’d say in my head, I’d start tagging on qualifications. “I’ll only go over and talk to that person if they’re struggling to get into the pool.” “I’ll only discipline that little kid if he swings on the handrails one more time.” A cliché idea of how an introvert may think. As time passed, however, I could walk up to a patron and speak with them if need be. I would reach out to the other guards and try to be their friends. I was talking to people- so clearly, I was an extrovert. Again, the chaotic and opposing sides followed me through each situation. However, as I continued to work the job, the mists of confusion began to settle and allowed me to see more clearly. I learned that I could talk to people, but I didn’t have to to entertain myself. I enjoyed making friends and involving myself in conversation, yet I was okay to stay on my phone while other people chatted.

After years of chaos and cloudy judgement, I’ve finally decided: I am an introvert. I finally had a better grasp on who I was, and I felt as though my self-respect had grown stronger. The only reason this conclusion took so long to find is because the world has added so many requirements to being one or the other. I’d been told I wasn’t an introvert because I had friends that I enjoyed spending time with. I liked going to school to be with people and I loved making jokes for others to enjoy. I wasn’t the anticipated quiet, shy individual that the world claims an introvert is. The words “introvert” and “extrovert” have been tainted with society’s expectation that a personality comes with the phrase. We as a community adopted the fallacy that if you’re boisterous, love being around people, and can’t stand being alone, you’re an extrovert. If you’re quiet, love being alone, and can’t stand being around people, you’re an introvert. If you have two opposing qualities, or you’re somewhere between the two extremes, you get filed into the bland and boring “ambiverts” category. This cliché definition of each has shrouded the truth that “introvert” and “extrovert” only define how much one prefers to socialize. The words do not define your personality and they do not command any power concerning who you are.

I am an introvert. Though the world could hear that word and decide they know every little detail of my personality, it defines one aspect of the thousands that make me who I am. It doesn’t mean that I’m addicted to my phone and can’t stand the presence of human beings in my life. It doesn’t mean that I hide in my bedroom when there are guests over, afraid to let someone see me or try to start a conversation. Being an introvert means so much less about me than society claims it does. This understanding was a turning point for my sense of self. Once I was able to break through the stereotype and realize that I didn’t have to be so black and white in my personality, it encouraged me to establish who I am more strongly. I learned that I could ignore the expectations of the world and differ from the mold society demands we fit. I learned to be myself.

My name is __*. I have __* brothers and __* sisters, and I live in a wonderful home as the __* child. My parents love each other very much and have taught me and my siblings well. I have three parakeets, each of which loves to sing as loud as they can. I’m in a few AP classes. I like AP ____*, but I loathe AP ____*. I love the color pink- and not the hot pink that most people like. I have a severe sweet tooth and lack patience, but I’m learning to be okay with my flaws. I believe in virtuous living and double dates in safe environments. I’m religious, nerdy, flamboyant, creative, and incredibly naïve. I love my friends, my family, and my alone time. I try to reach out to others more frequently, and I try to spend more time reading by myself.

I am an introvert.

But that doesn’t tell you much about me.

* These words have been redacted due to the author being a minor.

Interrogation

Where are the experiences?

I sometimes mention those “that one time…” and “what ifs.”

Trying to fit in

But I barely fit the mold that I put before me

I speak out and no one responds

Because I never spoke at all

I think I’m yelling but

It’s a mere whisper

My friends carry on so casually

They shake hands with the soil we walk on

but I crumble with each step

My mouth is glued shut

And I’d pull and pull and pull

The more I’d pull the stickier it’d get

Just say something, say anything

But all I can do is cough up the glue and cluttered phrases

I’m walking on this path aligned with green trees in front of a blazing sky

Then there’s this roadblock faultlessly set in my way

So I’ll put my hands together and look down at my shoes

And just wonder who’d put this here

And the answer is in the mirror

This room I’m in feels like the walls are coming closer and closer

And the key to get out is under this mat but

My foot just won’t let up

Every birthday I’d sit at the same vanilla cake and wish for one thing

To be able to speak my mind without my mind stopping me

And the sparks on the cake fly tiredly from telling me to just stop trying

I sit and watch my life play out before me

I follow my physical body like a ghost

Just watching, just waiting

You haven’t gotten what you want

And you’re scared to

Honest poem about me

I am neither a morning person nor, a night owl so I felt like I just had to choose one.

I haven’t.

I am neither a cat person nor a dog person, and I felt like I had to choose one

I haven’t.

I am neither a girly girl nor a tom boy and I felt like I had to be one.

I am neither.

Cake or Ice cream, movies or tv shows?

Why would I choose, I like them both!

I apologize to objects I drop or put out of place.

I have almost put jam in the pantry and bread in the fridge.

There are days I only think of my flaws.

There are days where I say Dang girl who let you!

There are days that pass with nothing done within it. Whatever.

There are days when I sing the day away.

There are days that I never crack a smile.

I used to be a reading dragon and have read Harry Potter 10 times.

but I have settled down into a nice apple as a bookworm.

I listen to music while I read.

I grew up listening to show tunes but being an actor or a singer sounds like the absolute worst. To me at least.

I have no allergies

I used to have two phones.

One for texts and calls that I almost never looked at.

One for everything else.

I have been a musician for half my life, but never appreciated that time.

I only thought of the people that were better, more committed, and had more friends.

I am tall but don’t play sports

I could probably outrun a bad guy and get to free food in good time.

But with my mile time being almost thirteen minuets.

You won’t see me at the marathon.

I like to draw and am good at it but never do it.

I had bad handwriting, but just now started fixing it.

I am a napping enthusiast.

I didn’t say my first words until I was two,

While other kids say them at 12 to 18 months.

My parents tried to teach me sign language.

That didn’t work. (Do in ASL). Make a y-shape, bring it down, and fling your other fingers out= that (Make a fist at your chin, move it away from you, do a thumbs up, then shake your head= didn’t) Make fists with both of your arms, cross them, and tap them together once= work).

But despite all of this,

The good and bad,

I love myself,

As often as I can.

Now that you know me,

And some of my darker secrets I would like to say

Thanks for listening to my TED talk.

I need to hear

I need to hear the loud sound of the motor starting

Struggling to put the yellow suit on my sore limbs from the previous heat

While placing a white helmet on my head

I need to hear the boys laughing at me

“You can’t do it” they say

It fuels me

I hover above the water and it drowns out the sound

My mind floods in remembering the words of other people’s low expectations

They don’t know who I am, they don’t what I’m capable of

My heartbeat races faster than ever as I line up for the start

3…2…1…

The green flag drops

I need to hear myself scream at the boat

I let of the throttle, squeeze the steering wheel, and I rotate my arms

I come around turn two and the white flag waves so brilliantly in the wind

One more lap around and I come upon the finish line

Things are different this time

People are astonished

I win the race!

I still hate this assignment

I still hate this assignment

I still do not like this assignment.

How many times are we doing this assignment?

On a completely unrelated note, how many days of school are we allowed to miss without getting into trouble?

I do not enjoy presenting my work.

It’s similar to someone reading your diary.

But I guess that’s a stupid analogy because I’m far too lazy to keep a diary.

You have to write in them every day.

And I don’t even have the discipline to make sure I eat a vegetable every day.

Like, hey mom! I ate a baby carrot! Look at me being all healthy.

So, if I did magically acquire the ability to stay consistent

And then decided that, out of all things I could be doing with my newfound thing called. “Self-control”

That I was going to start writing in a book every day.

That would be one boring book.

Hello. Today I had pizza at lunch. And my teacher made us present another poem… and I didn’t like it…

Hello again. This week I fell down the stairs because I didn’t want to step on my dog.

Hello. Today is… Thursday… the thirteenth. Send help we have to do the public speaking again.

fancy bow