I’m not sharing; I’m just overthinking.

I've been unpacking the reasons as to why I appear, believe or simply am, shy. Not being able to speak in certain situations, muted to my thoughts and being so conscious of the effects of this behavior around and on others. Reserved, perhaps. Scared, likely. Perceptive, most definitely. 

__________

Shyness has a strange element of narcissism, a belief that how we look, how we perform, is truly important to other people. (Quote by - Andre Dubus)

The bashful are always aggressive at heart. (Quote by - Charles Horton Cooley)

Everyone is shy -- it is the inborn modesty that makes us able to live in harmony with other creatures and our fellows. Achievement comes not by denying shyness but, occasionally, by setting it aside and letting pride and perspiration come first. (Quote by - Kirkpatrick Sale)

“Deep rivers run quiet.”  ― Haruki Murakami, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World

“Because there are hundreds of different ways to say one thing, I, being a writer, songwriter, and poet, speak childishly and incoherently. In speech there is so much to decide in so little time.”

― Criss Jami, Killosophy

__________

Sheena Sharma on Just The Way You Are Aug 12, 2015

I’ve always loved to sing. In high school, I enrolled myself in the Masquers Guild, my high school’s drama club. But even though I was a bonafide drama nerd, high school was rough for me.

The drama club was filled with singing, dancing divas whose outspokenness echoed through the auditorium.

They cracked jokes, laughed, practiced their lines in silly voices — even when they knew people were watching them — and didn’t have a care in the world.

But the quiet kids were there, too. They were the shy members — the wallflowers who would curl up in the corner, turn their iPods on full blast and recite their lines under their breath while they made shifty eyes to check that no one was watching.

I was one of these people.

We weren’t any less committed or excited. We just didn’t make a show (hehe) about it, and so people considered us outsiders.

The divas and wallflowers had an ongoing battle. I’d lock myself in the locker room’s bathroom stall and overhear the divas’ late-afternoon gossip:

“She thinks she’s better than us.”

“If she can sing, why the hell can’t she talk?”

The divas made a good case. I had the plight of the performer: I knew I could sing, and I knew I did a decent job doing it. But talking was hard for me.

I just couldn’t bring myself to keep up with off-stage conversation. When the curtain closed and all was said and done, I’d take off my figurative mask, breathe a little, turn myself “off” and crawl back into my shell.

I envied the drama divas; I wished I could be more like them. They were expressive, fearless and unstoppable.

They had the uncanny ability to externalize their happiness and their pain at the exact moment it hit them — instead of holding it in and remaining impassive.

Life forces us to open up. It breaks down our walls. But shyness doesn’t disappear with a snap of the fingers. Socializing helps — momentarily.

No matter what I do, I can’t deny the facts: The “shy drama girl” will always be at my core. She doesn’t define me, but she still influences my identity. I suppose that’s why I hide behind words now.

People often say, “Watch out for the quiet ones.” We have to watch out for the quiet ones: They twiddle their thumbs, sit and ruminate. Lord knows what they may be plotting.

But maybe they aren’t plotting. Maybe they’re just… being. It’s human nature to jump to conclusions, and we do exactly that, deeming the quiet ones “dumb” or “bitchy” because they keep everything inside. We have to stop assuming the worst in people based on motivations we can’t guess.

If something bad happens, I don’t yell and scream about it and let other people know. I stay quiet. I internalize the incident and process it in my own head.

I’m not a big talker; I’m just an avid listener.

We underestimate the value of a good listener. Listening, unlike hearing, is an acquired skill; the more we practice it, the better we get.

I’m not just hearing what you have to say; I’m listening intently and making informed conclusions.

Just because I’m not mouthy doesn’t mean I’m not contributing.

I’m not fearful; I’m just careful.

I don’t second-guess my thoughts because I don’t believe in them; I second-guess them to decide which ones I want to contribute to the conversation. If my thoughts are going to serve as mere placeholders, I’ll keep them in my head — which is where they should stay.

If you really want, I’ll lend you my stream of consciousness. But I’m telling you now that it won’t get us anywhere.

I’m not being mean; I’m just staying mum.

I’m not silently judging you; I’m just taking in everything around me. Many environments can overwhelm shy people. Keeping ourselves “on mute” is the only way we know how to settle in comfortably and adapt.

I’d rather nod and smile than throw in a meaningless “mhm.”

I’m not sharing; I’m just overthinking.

Despite what you may think, I do have thoughts; I’m just not vocalizing them. I’m like a sponge, and I’m not soaking in only sounds.

I ride on the rainbows of tangential thoughts, too. I could be thinking about the president, My Little Pony, Nicki Minaj and what I’m going to wear tomorrow — all in 30 seconds’ time.

I’m not delirious; I’m just curious.

I’m not high. I repeat: I absolutely did not smoke a bowl before attending our meeting. I may look “out of it,” but the opposite is true: I’m really into it.

Some people are more computer than human: They’ll process information and spit out feedback only when absolutely necessary.

I’m no longer ashamed of my shyness. I’ve accepted that it will always be part of what makes me me. The thing about shy girls is that once you really — and I mean really — get to know them, they aren’t so shy anymore.

Elite Daily/Sheena Sharma. 2015. I’m Not Dumb, I’m Not A B*tch, And I Don’t Hate You: I’m Just Shy. [ONLINE] Available at: http://elitedaily.com/life/dont-hate-just-shy/1174775/. [Accessed 13 August 15].

Connected

The Hand of Fatimah
- The one that is kept away from evil and bad character (Fatimah/Hazrat Fatima)
- The daughter of a Prophet and most like him
- Loved and venerated by all Muslims
- Truthful
- Humble
- Blessed
- Healing
- Lady of the Light
- The leader of the woman of the World's
- Saw the people attack her father and would be the first to defend, tend and together they believed in Allah
- The mother of her father at a young age
- Married Ali, poor, gave his little food to the poor before him and her, but their house was full of laughter and love.

Hamsa Hand  
- Protects from destructive energies that arise from negative emotions (like jealousy, hatred, envy)
- Judaism = the hand of Prophet Moses' sister Miriam
- Brings goodness, abundance, fertility, luck and good health
- To feel the existence of God in everything and in every new formation.
- Symbol of holiness, healing and miracles.
- Neutralizes the negative energies of envy and the forces of evil
- Bracelets = worn by people who have faith in a "Supreme Power" and find themselves at a crossroad in life. Regardless of religious beliefs, they would find themselves in a common ground as far as having faith in a Higher Power.  They would want to depend on this energy source to keep themselves protected from negative influences that are otherwise outside their control. 
- Gods Hand
- Cybele, Artemis, Virgin Mary, Hazrat Fatima

Letters to myself

It's a Friday night, seven minutes away from the next day.  3 months away from the feelings, but tonight, tomorrow, I'm feeling them, the same, yet again.  Again.  Will they ever cease?  No matter the time or distance.  We are endlessly distant.  If, if I was your girlfriend, your love, would you not have called me tonight, tomorrow?  Pursued me.  Hugged me.  Told me to tell you how I feel.  What it is I am feeling?  What is it I'm feeling?  Instead, it's seven minutes away from tomorrow and time and time again it feels like inconsequential eternity with you.  Would you not have wanted to know?  To listen openly without judging, without fear.  Of rejection, of confusion.  From the blood I'm bleeding in my veins I want you to.  Because that, and so much more, would mean I am loved.  Wholly. Holy are those that listen.  But how can you listen when your heart doesn't want to hear?  I am here, breaking my walls but you're not there, here, standing to push the debris away to get to the truth.  If you haven't yet or ever will walk to be here, I beg you tell me.  I'll listen, with heart, to every meaning to your words and every distance that won't be covered.  When we are together it doesn't show how much, I don't show how much, I have grown, I retreat within the last of my shielded walls in your presence.  Because you are firing at me with judgement and condescension that I take guard with all I have left known from past.  How can I not?  If you are not willing to freely let me stand in front of my wall, naked, vulnerable, new... Here.  Asking.  hugging me.  Loved.  Again, more intentionally, I ask you to let me know.  If you foreseeing, can or ever will.  Or ever have.  Loved me.  Hope is not what I want to live by.  Faith rather.  But you have to crash your wall too.  Stand naked, vulnerable and new in front of me too.  To get past the ruins of us both.  Feeling safe in the ruins would be to know them.  Their forms, their figures, their colours, their depths and their ability to be historically appreciated.  There are two sites here that are excavated and how can we
see each others'
when, there, seven minutes from tomorrow,
we're cowering behind our own?

__________

When I tell you I'm chaotic in my mind tank.  I was desperately trying to get you to ask.  And not by a simple whatsapp msg hours later, you knew (or you don't know me) that its meaning was deeper than a "mind tank chaos?" response.  We both cowered.

When I said "people drink to mask, people don't smoke [ciggies] to mask." - I was hiding.  It wasn't my truth.  People DO smoke to mask.  Anxiety, stress, socially or alone.  But I was taking guard in your presence.

When Karin said that Michelle cried that night.  I cried many times that night too. But you know (or you don't know me) that I don't shed tears.  I bottle them.  I cried when you took 15minutes too long to leave so I missed yoga.  I cried when you put my hand on you, inappropriately, randomly, in the witching hours of the night.  I cried when we spoke about Michelle's mother.  I cried when you lay on the couch both cold and yet more comfortable than I.  I cried when you called the TV stupid.  I cried when your face questioned/doubted/ridiculed things I said.  I cried every time you did not embrace/hug/affectionately touch me.  I cried when I got another glass of wine.  I cried when Karin said, and believed, she was your mother.  I cried when my hands were shaking making coffee.  I cried when I wasn't able to get flowers.  I cried when I wanted to leave on Tuesday when I also wanted to stay and talk to you all night.  I cried when I arrived and didn't run and jump into your arms.  I cry when I realize you went away from me for 3months not to fix us but only you.

__________

Meet me there.  With the dust and the debris and the continuous rebuilding.  My darkness, my treasure is there for you to know.  There's a field beyond our ruins.  If it takes me longer, Sweet Soldier, I'm on my way.  Whether to you or not this is me standing in front of my wall, walking, running.  But cowering I cannot continue.  As silence is loud too and often misheard.  Falling on deaf hearts.  So tell me, I'll listen.  Standing.  Whether it's in the asking
or the telling,
                                                                  I ask,
                       meet me there
Here, seven minutes from tomorrow.

__________

Oh the moon is full.  My mug is full.  Makeup and coffee. My tummy is too full for my liking.  My skin is cold.  The air around it cold.  The blood below it cold.  The hour is cold.  Coffee and energy fill me further.  Makeup and skin hide me farther.

Moon, you illuminate the sun hidden, leaving shadows.  Ships are far on the edge of the long day.  But also the new.  Still and not at bay.  Keeping themselves in the shadows even more contrasted to the dark depths they wait upon.  Surfacing swells sway, lights laboriously lament.  There are people aboard there are things aboard, offshore furthermore contained.  

The moon pulls the ocean past them, like it does me darken the stars in my eyes.  The night is where it gets cold.  A few flickers failing to show the extent of what is actually so much larger in size and structure.  To eyes dilated searching for light.  They say your eyes do this when looking at love, however they don't say that it's only the sensitive eyes that have this ability. To see the extent of what is actually so much larger in life. 

Without the moon we blue eyed ships in this ocean would not adjust.  To cold to skin to darkness and to subsequent light.

It is the moon and the night that makes offshore oceans seem small but oh the ships are on the edge of tomorrow and that much closer to the warmth of time, and there is little distance from me to them now in the night.  

In the day it won't matter.  My eyes will be constricted, with warm skin, the ocean not dark and the moon unseen.  Shadows only man made and the edge of tomorrow will ebb and flow in the current. 

Rest well contained people and things, as I bid the moon away and close my eyelids for tomorrow.