1 min read

The Importance of Quiescence

Answering the call of the sofa and the teapot

I am an introvert, and I'm fully-aware of the *necessity* of time to recharge. No other person, except for an introvert, can fully understand the appeal of an empty house and a weekend of no socialization. White space, white noise. Yet the significance is truly underlined during moments when outer stimulants are blaring at their maximum levels, and one could observe the poor introvert staring blankly into the void, punctuating the cacophony with long, drawn-out sighs.

This has been the scenario since yesterday morning. It has been 2 days since I got back home from my jam-packed trip in Lisbon, yet I feel like I'm still stuck in the seat of my plane, mindlessly watching the clouds through the window. I've been staring at my terminal, watching my compiler spit out lines of code nonstop for 5 minutes. That suspense of a thick chunk of a monolithic glacier falling off and crashing into the ocean has been hounding me all afternoon.

There is something about the monotonously gray skies, sleepy winds, and endless rains that wash the life off of people. Does it have something to do with the cold sucking out the warmth from their brains? Oh, the dread of leaving the confines of a well-heated room when the morning is early and the rains are pouring. One-off, it's a slight inconvenience. But experiencing this over a longer period of time seems to cause long-term effects on one's moods, and a general grumpiness seems to spread over the populace.

As a girl from the tropics, I am only equipped to combat the heat with remedies such as iced teas, electric fans, and thrice-a-day showers. But I'm slowly building my artillery with layered clothing, hot soups, and warm baths.