This is apparently, an INFJ anthem, all that nonsense [?] about being true to myself. It’s something that occupies my mind a lot. When I meet childhood friends and they say ‘Oh you haven’t changed a bit’ I get really excited, coz it means I’m being true to me.

But then, am I really? Lately, I feel like I’m changing a lot, yet in most ways, I’m still exactly the same, and that makes me happy.

I’m totally into MBTI, and I read on it a lot. Some of the stuff they say about INFJs is that we are sometimes mistaken for extroverts because we have such a strong Fe, and that it confuses people on those random occasions when the introvert comes bitching out. You know, like when someone visits unannounced and you let the dogs out?

Another common thing is that INFJs are sometimes hard to diagnose, and that we even have trouble recognising INFJ-ism in others. Interesting. I guess that’s why the stats say we’re so rare, because we can’t even recognise ourselves! My new tactic is that if I can’t figure out what type someone is, I start looking for signs of INFJ-nism, and I’ve been right twice so far *grin* Not bad.

Apparently, INFJs are also known for deleting blogs. Hehehe. I know of three deleters, including me. I’m sure if I think about it long enough, I can find some type-specific reason for that. For me it’s about closure and new beginnings, and tantrums and bouts of depression. No idea if that’s linked to my nature.

INFJs are also said to withhold part of themselves. I’ve seen this in the two that I know, and I’ve done it myself. There’s also an eerie thing about INFJ-ism, when we see things that other people don’t, and we can’t say it because it sounds totally creepoid, and also a little paranoid. So when we see stuff like that, it helps to keep it in, and so it’s a lesson that I’m glad I finally learnt.

It’s weird, that most people get along perfectly with their type-mates. It’s like when you have a pal that gets you, and you realise you’re the same type and you’re like no wonder we get on so well.

I’m not like that with the INFJs that I know of. I’m actually a little in awe of them. I find them amazing, admirable, but also a little … scary. It’s like I’d like to be with them, and hang out with them, and get to know them, but somehow I don’t quite know how to approach them, how to connect with them.

I feel like I like them, but keep wondering if they like me or whether they simply tolerate me and want me to go away. It’s an odd feeling that I don’t get with anyone else. And this is BEFORE I discover they’re INFJ. This aspect is totally bugging me. Some people that I ‘admire from afar’ have ended up testing INFJ. Interesting.


I quite amuse myself watching people, seeing parts of their being that they keep hidden, and whispering ‘I see you!’ In the past, I’d voice this feeling, and it only got me into trouble because, duh, no one else can see it, and after all, I can’t prove or explain it till it comes out, years later. By which time nobody can remember that you warned them about it. It’s a function of Ni, I think.

So now I just chuckle and whisper and sometimes tell a confidante, who agrees that I’m utterly loopy but at least listens and chuckles at me. :- ) I read that somewhere as well, so I’m not sure if it’s inborn or if I’m living it coz I read it.

In my twenties I’ve been a lot more open, deliberately. See, this funky guy I met, after talking to me for a while, says that he thinks I’m looking for something, but that I’m afraid to find it, so I’m consciously warding it off. He wouldn’t tell me what I’m looking for though, and I think he was, at least partly, projecting his own idea.

At first I thought ‘What bosh’ [*grin* and if you just Lolled then I know what school you went to ;-)] But then I thought about it and I was like yenyewe … I know what it is I’m looking for. I long to meet my soulmate. Not just a guy I care for and love being with, but my actual soulmate, the source of my ribs. Apparently, this is a thing with INFJs as well. *grin*

But because I’ve been hurt, I ward him off by exposing all my warts. Anytime I meet a guy who sparks my interest, I start announcing how I’m a slob, and terribly undomestic, and hate housework and am very ungirly and etc and etc. Oh, undomesticity is said to be INFJ as well, according to the stuff I’ve read. So there *grin*

All these things are true, but I realise that’s not why I say them. The real reason is that I want to scare the guy away before he starts to ‘see’ me. That way, he won’t start to like me and then run away when he eventually spots my faults. I figure if he knows the bad things from day one, and still seems to like me, then I’m pretty much safe from there.

Of course, being the humans we are, nobody ever believes what I say. See, the average person spends so much time working on their masque, the image they show to the world, that when they see and hear me, they assume it’s a masque as well. So as they let their guard down and start showing their true colours, they get confused that I seem to be maintain my ‘masque’ and that’s a lot disorienting.

Because everybody lies, it’s hard for people to take my truth at face value, so they dig deeper and deeper and deeper to try and smoke me out. And when they realise I really am real, then they just don’t know what to do. I mean, what do you do with someone who always tells the truth? Hence the running begins.

Of course there’s alternative B where people who love digging up dirt find all the dirt on the surface and get bored coz there’s nothing to find, no intrigue, no mystery. And that’s just silly.

But generally speaking, being the Africans that we are, the second I announce, and proudly so, that I don’t cook, don’t fawn on in-laws, and barely speak my mother tongue, then interest goes from anything to zero in six seconds or less, and once again, my heart is safe. Yay…?

So anyway, with my recent trend of Code Cold  Silence, not shouting my opinion and keeping my heart-sleeves at least partly shrouded, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m being true to self.

In a sense I am – it’s typically INFJ to keep parts of me secret even as I desperately want to let them out and be accepted for them, loved even. But I don’t know if I’m just saying that because I read it somewhere. A certain twi-she mentioned, rightly, that sometimes we read our MBTI profile then start acting on what we read, sort of acquiring the traits we saw described. It’s some kind of interweb-inspired Pavlov thing.


I’m told true love comes when you’re not looking for it, so I have a little game plan. No, I’m not going to say it *grin* Though one person knows it already *cheeky grin* I don’t want to jinx it.

I’m such a sappy romantic, For me the ultimate image of love is when a boy watches his girl singing aloud to some music and dancing, and looks at her all starry eyed with this look that says ‘you’re amazing’. It’s even cooler when she doesn’t know he’s watching, and only turns suddenly to see that look in his eyes. Bliss.

[And note that I say ‘you’re amazing’ and not ‘i want to peel you like a grape’. Entirely different scenario that]

I have no idea where I got this image from, but I’ve seen it in several movies, so that’s probably it. And one of my favourite things in the world to do is sit with my headphones on, singing along to my favourite songs, bopping my head, playing air drums and sometimes dancing. I love to do that alone in my house, or in my office, it’s my little piece of heaven. Sometimes when I do that, I imagine him watching me and smiling, and it makes me all giggly inside.

I’ve got Linkin Parks ‘leave out all the rest’ on spincycle. It haunts me, beautifully, I’ve no idea why, but in this moment I am happy. Yes, I do wish you were here. Silly words from another song that always makes me smile.

I wonder if, when I find him, I will actually want him to watch me do sing-dance thing. I’ve never done it for anybody, it seems like such a private thing. My baby has seen me do it, but then, she’s seen me do everything. She’s heard me talk in silly accents when there’s no else but us, and then she laughs and says ‘Mummy, stop being silly.’ She’s seen me wear some pretty dress and heels and strut around like a model while she takes pictures. She’s heard me sing Silly Songs with Larry and Hot diggedy dog, complete with the silly Minnie Mouse jig.

A few days ago she watched me as I pretended to be a sandwich I was eating, and made my squeaky voice begging ‘pleaaasee don’t eat me!!’  It was utterly silly, and really quite fun. I do that a lot, Princess just shakes her head and says ‘Mummy, you’re crazy’. Sometimes I wonder who’s the adult and who’s the kid in our house.

I long to find that special someone who will see me do my sandwich voice and dag dances, and will smile and think it’s cute. The one with whom I will be so free that I won’t hide any bit of me, not even my most embarassing secrets, or that itty bitty teensy mini’d domina. The one that will actually want to know all that stuff about me, and want me to know as much about him.

But I also wonder if I’ll ever be as free with any man as I am with my baby girl.

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