It was happening again. The Japanese restaurant's fluorescent bathed the four of us. I just started dating Ann, and the other two were strangers. With a ratio like that, I was bound to shrink into my own little bubble.
If I wasn't on medication, I'd be two pints in, and much more fun to be around. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of those days, and sober socialising would have to do. Sometimes, I think the prohibition came about because people were having fun--which was not encouraged in the twenties--and got legalised again when everybody realised they'd rather tolerate social ills than a boring night with an introvert.
"So..." Petrina said, trying to break the silence. "What did you say your job was again?"
I lifted my eyes off my cup of green tea. "I'm a writer."
"Oh wow. A writer! That sells," she looked at Ann and gave a nod of approval.
"Thanks. How about you?"
As a socially awkward person, these three words are as clutch as they come. What's your name? I'm Stuart, how about you? Did you enjoy the movie? Yeah. How about you? What do you think the meaning of life is, and where are we headed as a collective species? ... How about you?
"Ah, I work as a consultant. Boring job."
"Oh."
Another moment of silence. I looked over at Jon. "How about you?"
"I guess I got the boringest job here. I'm an engineer."
"Yeah," my friend Ann said. "We sure do have the worst jobs."
Silence. I lowered my gaze and nurtured a sudden interest in green tea. It's not that I'm always like this. I have my moments as well, but sometimes (read: most of the time), all I want to do is curl at home with a book, and not have to talk, or show emotion at seemingly incredible feats. You could tell me that you won a gold medal in the Olympics and the most I'd be able to muster up is an upward nod and an exaggerated ahhh.
Ann must have sensed my discomfort, because she took the over the podium, recalling the fun times they had in diving class, and the common friends they shared. She had to; they were her friends. In some ways, I felt like I was just along for the ride. I slowly rotated my cup. Objects that remain stationary in my drink while I spin the container has always been an enchanting phenomenon, to me at least.
While my fingers worked the cup, I was reminded on how much I hated mingling. What comes as a natural skill to some is something that will forever remain out of my grasp. As my brain jogged through cringe-worthy memories, it hooked onto one particularly outstanding reel, in a not so distant past.
"Why don't you say something?" my date asked. This was years back.
"I? Er..."
"You're so quiet you know that? That's so rude."
"Me? Why?"
"You really are terrible you know that?"
I remembered that date like it was yesterday. It was an awkward date, equally due to her confrontational whispers, as it was to my quietness. We spent the drive home in silence. Back then, I was convinced that something was wrong with me, and being quiet in front of her friends was my fault. I reasoned that introverts had no place in this world.
"You need to change, you know that?" she finally said.
"I guess."
"You really do. You need to talk more, and not be so boring."
"Okay."
It was not okay. First of all, it hurt. Second, it made me deny who I was as a person. I'd spend the following years forcing myself to talk to cashiers, cab drivers, and strangers just to chase this elusive trait that was sociability. I hated every moment of going to the clubs or accepting my friends' invitations when all I wanted to do was have a quiet night alone. I thought that maybe it was something I could work off, like a bad habit. I didn't. Needless to say, that relationship didn't last.
No big deal. I was getting used to it. It wasn't the first time it's happened. I had the opportunity to meet a few great souls with big hearts, but besides those special few, the rest always seemed to want to change me.
I was certain that the dinner with Ann, Petrina, and Jon wouldn't be much different. I didn't mean to be rude, I'm just not the type that captivates groups of people with wit and humour. I might have a fighting chance on paper, but not in real time.
After dinner, we traded goodbyes, and I walked Ann to her car. We walked in silence, and it felt like déjà vu once again. I figured a pre-emptive disclaimer was necessary.
"I know I was quiet," I said. "I'm sorry if I seemed anti-social."
"Quiet?" she said. "Just a little maybe. But what's wrong with that?"
"I don't know... people always take it personally when I don't talk."
"That's just silly. You silly boy." She smiled, and took my hand. "You're a good listener, and that's what I like about you."
"Oh."
All this while, I've been trying to conform to everybody else's expectations. I never thought people who'd appreciate me actually existed. Because of this, I learned that the reverse is also true, that I shouldn't be so quick to judge, and not try to change anybody.
"You are who you are. I probably would have hated you if you talked more. We'd be fighting for talk time." She pulled me away from the parking lot. "You know what? Forget the car. Let's get some ice cream! What's your favourite?"
"McDonalds sundae, how about you?"
She laughed as she gave me a kiss, and with that, restored my belief that introverts do indeed have a place in this world.
