The personal bubbles and their importance

Regarding the process of socialization, why is it that some people find it extremely difficult whilst other look like they are like naturals, frantic machines of adulation and gossip? Jung mapped it to an innate schism between introversion and extraversion – in the former the individual seems to restore its energy being alone and places the interaction with other people in a low-level of priority, its takes on the process ranging from tiresome to downright boring; in the latter, the extravert seems energized by the whole interaction, equating a buffet of variables and possible outcomes of social interaction and are blessed with an emotional iq that far outwheighs the introvert’s, at least generally. Not that the extravert necessarily resembles the typical social butterfly, happily swinging across niches of blabbering activity, much the opossite – even though there is a relevant correlation between extraversion and social “success”, an introvert can be as outspoken as the former, the only difference being the stimulus each one derives from their experience of reality. The introvert will naturally put a much more accentuated emphasis on a certain reclusiveness, privacy, yearning to be in a peaceful environment. The extravert looks forward to interaction with other people as a means of connecting with the world at large, weaving the fabric of its experience of reality as a collateral result of other individual’s outlook and opinions – their experience ends up being somewhat influenced by the knowledge and ideas with which they contact daily.

As such, an individual’s personal bubble is exerted according to the personality – if introverted, the larger the need to stave off interaction the bigger the bubble grows. But first things first: what is a personal bubble? I would consider it an ethereal field surrounding the mind’s eye – much like an aura, a chakra if you rather, that is inherent to every conscious being, an archive of our human experience that proves impossible to emulate to another, for even if one were endowed with the most versed tongue would still fail to truly express his naturally subjective experience. It’s almost as if it’s lost in translation, remaining in the depths of our memory even if pressured to get out – the means to do such would be far inferior to the individual’s whole sensory experiences. The bubble would also encompass the thoughts, ideas, aspiring confessions that we keep to ourselves, shoved into the pits of oblivion for their lowly quality (I’ll leave those to your imagination).

More importantly, it contributes to our fulfillement in a very idiosincratic fashion – for the extravert it is much more maleable, inducing the merging of similar bubbles – they then turn to group bubbles, which would explain some sort of herd spirit during our younger days, where we are more naturally inclined to adhere to the other bubble’s demands (I might remind why the usage of such a term “bubbles”: it traces to a thin protection, a confined space which provides confort since it mantains its structure, even if for a fleeting moment). Hence, the extravert’s bubble seems more given to adapt to other people’s circumstances, who feed off of a feeling of connectedness and availability which in turn further develop the bubble’s carrier personality. In the introvert, the modular characteristic is still present, but the number it can connect to is usually much less accentuated – it’s reserved to first degree family, close friends, and perhaps one or two colleagues.

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Most disgusting-looking (and probably tasting) foods

Balut

Surströmming

Hasma

Century Eggs

Casu Marzu

Ikizukuri – Not so much disgusting as it is unnerving.

Redundant

See: Redundant

Strange loops: the paradox of self-referentiality

Melancholy, the lady in Blue

Melencolia, Albrecht Dürer

So yesterday I was reading this and thought – why don’t I post something loosely based on one of Lyn’s particular essays, Melancholy, the lady in blue? After all, there’s a hint of archetypeness in such an emotion – otherwise it wouldn’t be considered one of the four temperaments,the genesis of which dates back to the ancient Egypt, later infiltrating through the fabric of time to our modern era.

However, melancholy’s meaning and intrinsic beauty seem to have been subverted with the rise of modern society, now being almost a synonym of depression. Well, I dare to disagree and fundament that it’s one of the major culprits of good artistic production, for without it we wouldn’t have things like this to ease our depressive and possible suicidal tendencies, a byproduct of our damned society.

But what’s so special about such an emotion, such an undeniably influential element in our equation of existence? It’s the summoning of ideas of ineffability, of undeniable beauty, high expectations about what’s to come and the fear of failure that comes with it. When one’s saturnine, the world looks like a little lake, where you wander and search for the unknown in a tiny shallot, always reaching the shore with the passing of time – now the choice is given: to stay in the somewhat confortable vessel or set foot to the new world, that is, beyond the land in your backyard. The melancholic ones, those who choose to see the world through the lens of future nostalgia and long gone past, are assaulted with this simultaneously panicky and confortable sensation, wandering through their brains and creating exquisite scenarios and situations, multiplying realities and layering experiences. The result? An increase in lethargy but also in creative potential.

Melancholy… It has a nice ring to it, inviting a certain mellowness, a soft, tender lullaby that cruelly embraces us.

Why God, WHY!!?

Why indeed, did it pass through my teetering bulb of dread and dream to start writing a blog most likely doomed to ostracization?

I honestly don’t know how to answer such an impending question, however I do have an idea about what to write here in this abandoned public space – everything. Probably some humouristic rants/pictures that I find postworthy if, of course, I happen to have an audience. Perhaps some stream-of-consciousness writings would also fit in here, not really sure though. What I do know is that I’ll welcome those who dare skip around this downtrodden path with open arms, anxiously awaiting some sort of feedback (to make up for some nasty, negligent, social life).

Heart of the matter is, I’m bored. Please send drugs.