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Part 4 of MBTI – the Extroverts

ENFJ. Crystal Simeoni, you fall here. Y’all are Fe Ni Se Ti. Your Fe means you put others above all else. You always want to make sure everyone else is happy, you want to take care of them and do right by them. You’re impulsive, coz your Fe acts out decisions before you Ni gathers all the data that you need. Se makes you sensory as well, so you will occasionally seek physical thrills and adventures. And your Ti means you’re good at figuring how stuff works. Maybe that’s why you’re good at learning new languages, coz you can pick the constituent grammar, and you are careful to get them right to please the Fe part that rules you? Just a guess. Here’s some career stuff, here for relationships and some growing tips here.

ENFP… Ne Fi Te Si. Your leading Ne means you are good at ‘reading between the lines’, interpreting symbols and whatnot, so you are good at understanding body language, and often know a lot more than people are telling you. Fi makes you stubborn, you live by your own set of rules. So much as you know what is expected of you, you only do what is right for you. Te makes you a good manager, good at fixing things, organizing projects, and the extrovert in you makes you good with people. You’re an effective and popular boss. Si means you yearn for the past and try to reproduce it through physical experiences and memories – buying an old perfume, or an outfit that reminds you of a special time in your life. Career advice here, relationship data here, and here, go plant a tree.

ENTP …that’s Ne Ti Fe Si. You’re a lot like the one above, except more distant, because of the Ti. Figuring how stuff works means you spend a lot of time inside your own head, so you’re not as outgoing as ENFP. You read symbols too, which makes you good at interacting with people. The Fe promotes this, and draws you to strangers, you want to reach them and bring them out of themselves. Si means you look into the past for your peace of mind. Careers here, relationships here, and grab a shovel.

ENTJ … none that I know of, but please do the test and let me know if I know you. Te Si Ne Fi. You’re the ultimate leader, always sorting everything for everyone, guiding others hands-on and leading by example. You like things in order, on schedule and in time. Si makes you prefer the systems that are already in place, and innovation doesn’t jazz you. If it’s not broken, no need to fix it. Ne means you can read your underlings fairly well, but Fi means you focus on having your way rather than theirs, so you can be a bit of a bully. Careers here, relationships here, environmental matters here.

ESTP is for Se Ti Fe Ni. You guys are ruled by sensory pleasure, everything else comes second. If it is logical and fun, you will do it, and damn the consequences. The wilder and crazier the better, adrenalin rush is like the ultimate for you, pushing your body to its limits. Ti means you know how stuff works, so you’re probably good at stuff like driving and boating and flying and whatnot. Fe means you like to do right by people, so you’re sensitive to an extent, and Ni gives you an understanding of people’s inner conflicts. You get people, when you take the time to, and can be a good listener. Careers here, heart here, and Karura here.

ESFP is Se Fi Te Ni, and in some ways is like the above. Equally thrill seeking, more self oriented, because of the Fi. Better at planning stuff and slightly less spontaneous, because of the Te, and just as good a listener when it suits you. Generally louder than ESTP, because you’re more focused on you. Career advice here, relationship info here, and green thumbs available here.

ESFJ … Fe Si Ne Ti. Primarily people centred, you’re pretty friendly and outgoing. Si makes you a traditionalist, you prefer the old school. Ne makes you good at seeing what’s beneath people’s words and actions, while Ti helps you figure out the whys and wherefores of worldly things. The Fe that makes you put others before yourself and the Si that makes you follow set conventions is what makes you a nice, organized J. Careers here, mush here, trees here.

ESTJ… you’re Te Si Fe Ni. You’re primarily a Te, an organizer, which makes you a born leader. Being a T also means you favour logic over emotion, so you are effective and objective. Your Fe makes you concerned about others, and about doing what is right, so you have a reasonably alert conscience, and your Ni gives you instincts though they are weak and fallible. Your career advice is here, these are your flowers of choice, and here is how you handle intimacy.

Honestly, I could go on for hours, but I think this is enough for a start. If this makes no sense to you, well, you’re human. It took me six months and counting just to get this far. It’s enough to do the test, know your type, and use the green links to beat your weakneses. And then, if you like, you can make your pals take the test and read their links for leakage. Makes life so much easier when how know how to deal with whom and why they act the way they do. That’s a skill I’m still learning.

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Posted on by crystal · 17 Comments

Time for a change?

Archer honey, don’t even start. This is a reaaaally long one.

I don’t like Gregory House. I know everyone thinks he’s fab because he’s such a genius, and because he says what he wants when he wants, and flaunts his flaws, and won’t apologise for being an idiot. But frankly, I think he’s an a…a donkey. And I can’t see Sylar in Star trek without bursting into giggles, Vulcan-finger-thingie notwithstanding.

There’s a season in House where he’s actually happy. I don’t mean the one where he gets to walk, or the one where he is ‘cured’ of syphilis and gets progressively nicer [though that one was funny]. I mean the one where Stacy comes back.

Of course he eventually chases her away, and his pal [whatsiname?] tells him that he enjoys being miserable because he believes that if he lets himself be happy, he will stop being special. According to Dr the cancer specialist, House believes that his misery is what makes him unique, and that’s why he grips it so tightly. Being happy would be like being ‘normal’, and House can’t stand being normal.

I feel a bit like that today – like I’m afraid to be normal. I see myself as this serious, stone-faced, no-nonsense brainiac, and that’s the face I show to the world. Especially to the boys I love. They don’t know that when I’m alone, I turn on the radio and sing to veggietunes and do weird dag jigs, or that I like to imitate cartoon voices and talk in funny accents, or that I sometimes wish I was Mary Poppins, or that I like to let my hair down and play air guitar.

They don’t know that I sometimes talk to myself because I like the squeaky sound of my voice, and that I sometimes howl at the moon, especially when it’s not there. They don’t know that I giggle when my microwave dings, or that I tickle when no one else is there.

My baby brother knows this side of me, as does my baby, but no one else. Not my roommate in college, not my housemates at the office bunk, not my other brother who thinks I’m scary and goth, not even my three loves or my baby’s daddy. To them I am a dull, stern, serious type, all hard and rigid.

I fantasise about a soulmate that I will be so comfy with, I will show him this silly side of me. And there’s this one guy who almost saw this side, in person, bless his gorgeus hairy head. It was our first actual meeting too, after palling online for over a year. But before she came unlash, a third friend joined us and Ms Cheeky ran back inside. I don’t know why I hide her from people – I’m happiest when I’m her.

Ms Cheeky comes out best when I write. For some reason, I express her better there. So people who read my blogs, chats or tweets only know me as Ms C, and get surprised when they meet ‘the real me’. I always say that if they hang around me long enough, she’ll come out. But then some people have hung around me for weeks, months, years, and they don’t even know she exists; while one very special person saw her shadow within minutes of meeting me at Prestige Plaza.

I keep saying that my miser-side is the real me, but is she really? She’s the side I wear consciously – at work, at school, with strangers. But then a good comedy, a sudden compliment or a moving song brings Ms Cheeks blushing out, and if anyone had a cage, they could grab her before she snuck back in.

I think it’s time to let her out for good. Mtotowajirani says he is jazzed by my peppy mornings, and Maximilus can’t believe I’m a loner. I say I have no friends, but truth is I freeze them all out, I won’t let anyone near me.

A few times I’ve let my guard down, smiled a little, said hello to strangers, and always they’ve burnt my fingers. Give ’em an inch and they’ll take a mile every time. I like the mystery that comes with being deep, dark, broody, even though there’s nothing underneath. I can be – and am – warm when it suits me. It just doesn’t suit me very often. I like my space, can’t stand to have it invaded, and once you let people in, they lose sight of [and wilfully ignore] your borders.

But I want to let this little girl out. I want to sing out loud instead of whispering when I walk, to dance in the open, not just behind my computer screen, to not go silent when the office door opens in mid-chant.

I want to not be afraid that by smiling more, I will look like an ordinary girl and not have a ‘standout’ factor. I know it will draw even more unwanted attention, but even ninjas get catcalls, so hey. I will not lose my secrets if I walk around with a warm look and a curious smile, I don’t have to be crude and frowning all the time.

I don’t have to wear a mask to have my space. When I’m online, I’m so open, so free. I want to like that all the time. I know I still won’t like visiting people or being visited, except by a few **speshul** people, but it won’t kill me to be open, to let some gentry in, to allow some more special ones into my circle. I’ve met some already that I’d like to know, and I don’t want to scare them away.

This morning I was so happy, so full of pep and zazz and bubidy babbidy. Then two words took it all away. Actually it was more like 1, 2, 3…nine words. The person that said them wasn’t talking to me, he didn’t even know I was listening. Yet for the next two hours I was too drained to do anything but zoob at the monitor. Sigh.

But then I think, what the hell?! I’m bigger than this. It’s stupid to be this way. And the unplanned wisdom of a dear friend ‘Don’t you ever learn hun?’

It’s about time I learn.

In Mine Boy [I hate that book], Eliza is the gorgeous, complex Katie Perry-esque idiot that our hero loves. Everyone knows he should love Maisy, the simple, happy, bubbly girl, but as Ma Plank says, ‘You can’t hold a man and say “here is the woman for you. Love Her.’ Hence, Xuma loves Eliza, not Maisy.

For years, I’ve been Eliza, the one they all wonder about, the mystery they long to solve. And when a few cracked it open and saw I’m just like any other girl, the fascination faded. So I hid away, kept it cryptic. But…isn’t it more fun to look basic, to be playful and light-light, and to let them see the depth on their own? Not a murky, PMS-ey depth, but a wide blue pool? A wealth of emotion enclosed in a smile? Isn’t it glorious to be underestimated, and to see the jaws drop when they see you as you are?

Maisy doesn’t get her man [well, she does in the end, but then she gets stuck waiting for him as he rots in jail, so that’s not the ending I’m looking for]. But Maisy is easy. Not that kind of easy – even Xuma wonders why when she gets a chance to bed him, she sleeps on the floor instead]; she’s relaxed, polite. Even when she’s sad, there’s a spring in her step and a light in her eye. It confounds Xuma, makes him wonder if she ever did love him, or if he’d just imagined it. I want to be like that. I want to be Maisy. Eliza is overated, complexity is bad for the skin, and Maisy is a much prettier name.

I don’t know if I can decide how to be, or if my dour face is wired into my DNA. Maybe the choleric is peeking out, hunting for some Vitamin A. But I think this Gummy Bear that bursts out when I write is alive, and she’s very much a part of me. She sneaks out when I forget myself, and she’s so much happier than Little Miss Meanie.

I start out sitting at the bus stop, looking all shtun-shtun, ignoring everyone around me. I’m afraid that if I look into a face or smile at someone passing by, then they will pounce on the soft spot. After all, you greet the watchie once and he expects you to greet him everyday, even when you don’t feel like talking.

But then a baby appears and I melt and pull playful faces at it, making it giggle. Or Poopy appears all rash and barky, and I lift her in my arms and scold her and ask her to stop b****ing, then she quits barking and licks my fingers and the watchers wonder how the Ice Queen could coo at a dog.

I walk down the street with my head high and my face hard, but then I see a black cat and start to greet this Dutchess and to wish I could float like her and swish my tail just so, and anyone around would think I’ve lost it, but in that moment, I am happy.

It will take practise. My face is so used to being stern that lately, my princess keeps asking ‘Mummy, are you sad? Have I done bad?’ I will have to consciously remind myself to think easy and , to focus on things that make me smile. Even now as I try to soften my features, the muscles ache from exertion, and my brain goes ‘WTF are you doin?’ I don’t suppose I can burn calories that way…can I? Coz that would be so cool.

The thing about being serious is that on the blue moon that you do smile, people are so jazzed, it’s like a floodlight on the dark ocean. But it also stuns them so much that they got shocked s******s, and that is not cool. I suppose after a while I will learn to be sunny, just like I learned to be gloomy. I don’t want to be a grumpy old lady – I want to have a face full of warmth and light, just like…well like some old lady whose face is full of warmth and light.

So I shall be a Maisy. I shall think happy thoughts, wear sly smile, and keep singing when the boss walks in…well, maybe that last one is a little overboard. I shall shelve Ms C for a while, and let CB out and play. Not sure if this is a good idea, or even if I can pull it off, but hey, what have I got to lose?

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Part 1: Hellooooooo Nurse!

So I got stuck going to Zanzibar.

It’s not that I didn’t want to go. It’s just that, well, I’m not a very social person. Really. The so called bubbly side of CB exists only in my head. And with my loved ones. But with Joe Public and [the British equivalent of Joe Public…sth about a plumber] then I range between wallflower and ice queen. It all depends on how [or if] you say hi. So having to lead a tour group to a place I’d never visited armed with boat tickets, plane tickets, and the name of a hotel was…well…let’s just say I’d rather go home.

Boarding the boat, the cute ticket guy [I know I know, they’re all cute. It’s the .5 thing, it produces gorgeous babies! I totally advocate mixed marriages] The boat ride wasn’t what I expected. I’m a cynical romantic, like Pink M and Val. So I had all these visions of a tropical paradise and a boat swaying in the breeze and silly things like that. Of course it wasn’t like that at all. I couldn’t see the sunset coz it was like 4 p.m. and the sun was so bright bouncing off the ocean that I couldn’t see jack…or anyone else for a while.

But I did stand near the…er…bow?…and let my hair down and let the wind blow through it and let the salt spray my clothes, heehee. Note: never go sailing in a white t-shirt. Stuff happens. J] For a moment, I could swear I saw some white birds hovering and some fish jumping out of the water as the birds swooped low to catch them. Flying fish? Nah. And it faded so fast that I must have imagined it. Oceanic mirage maybe. Or Pemban Juju.

I was in a nice quiet corner by myself, enjoying the waves and all when this guy comes out of nowhere. Well, ok. I was standing near the pilot’s cabin, so he came from in there. He was actually kind of cute. Light, with curly hair, like the lead in my story. Kinda short though.

For some reason, he misread me as lost little tourist girl and pounced. I was leaning over the rail looking into the water. The boat runs on a motor, so the water foams at the sides and makes you kinda dizzy, you almost feel like you can tip over and fall in. I’m average height, so yeah, I thought I could tip in.

“Are you scared?”

“Noooo…”

“You look scared.”

“Not scared, just dizzy. When I look in like that I feel like I can fall.”

“You can’t fall, there’s a rail.”

“I’m tall. I can fall.”

“Mbona we’re the same height, you can’t fall.”

Give him the once over. We are NOT the same height. I’m 5’5.5 and you’re…not.

He’s leaning over to fake cooler – and taller. No comment.

“Where are you from?”

“Kenya.”

Blah blah blah – nonsense about me looking Kenyan, which I refute because there are 42 different tribes so I cannot possibly look ‘Kenyan’. He insists that he is well travelled and can tell, blah blah. Then come the standard questions. Am I a student? Where do I work? How long have I been in Dar? Is this my first time in Zanzibar? What am I doing this weekend? I told him I’m going to rest. And I was. I’d been working past midnight for seven days straight, all I wanted was sleep.

Oh, he asked what my name was somewhere in there, then told me his name was…heheh better not say, he may have RSS. But then again…anyway, he says his name is Jamshid [he pronounced it jemshid, and it took me a while to get it right. At first I thought he’d said Jumpsh.. that one.]

Then he asked me if I’d ever been to Mombasa. [I was born there, but I said no], and goes on to explain how his name descends from the Sultans of Mombasa, Hehehe. Pretty boy, I’m an editor, so I know my history. But of course I don’t tell him this. Instead I play along and ask if he’s descended from the princes. Fortunately [for him] he doesn’t take the bait – it’s just a name…

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