Celebrating Introversion

If you google the definition of introvert, you will immediately be lead to a small box of description that reads: "(1) a shy, reticent, and typically self-centered person,  and/or (2) a person predominantly concerned with their own thoughts and feelings rather than with external things. Oxford defines the term almost exactly my google friend had put it, but specifies #2 as described in psychology.
 
Back in the day, I participated in labor union rallies along with other bravehearts of a telecom company as we lobby our concerns to authorities in the mid-90's. In 2002, I joined a group of American advocates of pro-life on their campaign against abortion and women's rights in the heat of RH Bill proposal into law. We were on the road for several days; went to a few key remote areas in the Philippines to promote culture of life. Before I became a writer and a teacher, I practiced corporate training for a good 7 years in 2 fashion retailer giants. I was constantly learning and delivering new programs with expectations on ROI.
 
Having said that, you might be inclined to think that I'm this tough, hard-shelled, highly confident woman, when in reality I'm NOT. 

I've always been more reserved than others--growing up and as an adult. For the most part, I don't open up at once to a stranger or a person that I just got acquainted with, or even to those whom I have become friends or familiar with eventually. It's just not my thing. I'd rather listen than talk. I carefully think and analyze things before I speak (softly). I'd kick myself in the butt everyday if I said something foolish.   Don't get me wrong, I'm neither particularly nor acutely shy at all. I can talk to people quite easily almost anything under the sun (except for US SBA), but I won't engage in trivial matters of social small talk. I find it very uncomfortable and self-depleting--not because I don't have the wit--but simply because it's self-violating. I couldn't wait to go home and be myself again.   I remember a conversation with my husband's cousin from India last night. She told me to speak a little louder so I can be understood better--firstly because my accent is very different from them, and secondly, both our English are comparatively varied. The latter is totally understandable--and doable! Except the former. I told her if I were to speak louder than my normal voice, I would develop hernia! (Pardon the pun).   I love to read. I've been a bookworm for as long as I can remember. When I was young, since allowance was as elusive as my father, I found satisfaction in photocopying all the pages of a borrowed book from the library. I don't do that now thankfully. But, I still feel sad putting down a book once I've read it from cover to cover.   These days, writing has become my most valuable and enjoyable form of solitude. I feel more energized as I become deeply introspective as opposed to standing and drinking cocktails in a party. Writing is the by-product of the mind and emotions fused together resulting to, at times, significant articles. And that's what makes it all fulfilling to me. You see, when I want to be alone, it doesn't mean I'm depressed. I find it more rewarding to spend time with myself and my family. I'm happy in my seclusion because I'm at my most productive state when alone. I'm aware of my strengths, and I'd like to think I make better choices on who I want to be around with. I'm proud and content to be an introvert.