The Piece That Doesn’t Fit

“Why do you look sad”?

I was asked this on a hangout with so many people from my school, I can’t even remember their faces. As always I was being quiet. Quiet doesn’t always mean sad, but for people who have never met an introvert, this can be a foreign concept. By definition, introverted individuals are those who recharge their energy through solitude and quiet, focusing more on their inner thoughts rather, and may feel overwhelmed by excessive noise or constant activity, like conversations.

I was born and raised here in the Dominican Republic; another country that fits in the “latinos are loud and extroverted people” stereotype. Dominican culture is built around loudness, sociability, extroversion; it is the definition of a living party everyday. The concept of introversion doesn’t even begin to exist in some individuals’ minds. The comments follow you everywhere: “You should stop being so quiet and speak some more!” “Are you going out this weekend?” “Maite doesn’t even talk.” “How will you study communications if you don’t like to talk?” Being quiet isn’t seen as normal, it’s read as weird, because you don’t fit in. So because of this, being introverted in a loudly extroverted society doesn’t just make you feel excluded, it makes you feel like you’re failing at something as “effortless” as socializing.

And the truth is, I’m not completely alone. I do have friends that I love and cherish, but the human heart always wants more. But all my friends have other friends — more sociable, more outgoing, more effortlessly funny. Those are the friends they hangout with. Those are the friends they go with to parties and invite them to their birthdays. And it’s hard to be someone’s priority when you’re not sure you’re anyone’s. All you can do is try, try, try.

Someone always asks: “Who did you hangout with this summer?” If I say no one, I’ll just make it awkward, make them feel pity towards me — so I just lie. I say with a few friends, or that I was focused on myself. Anything but the truth: I wasn’t invited anywhere.

Sociability isn’t just preferred in Latin — specifically Dominican — culture, it’s the norm. Being reserved is associated with arrogance, disrespect, or weirdness. For example, most Dominicans have met at least one of their grandparents. Most of them are always criticizing some aspect of your life, whether that may be your clothes or telling you, “Why are you being so quiet? You don’t love your grandparent anymore?” — as if being quiet one day suddenly determines your appreciation for them. It may sound like an unlikely scenario, but many Dominicans may have seen themselves in very similar contexts. And this may not be their fault, it is simply the way they were raised, which led them to believe everyone is extroverted and loud when expressing themselves.

No one likes to be reminded, every time they meet someone new, how quiet or awkward they seem. But here, people have no problem doing that. Even after hearing all those things, you gather the courage to show up, and someone still finds a way to remind you that it isn’t enough. Over time you’ll retreat further into your shell, because you can’t tell the difference between what they see and what you actually are — if you really are disrespectful, inconsiderate, arrogant, or just quiet in a place that doesn’t know what to do with quiet.

And still, you try. Because somewhere, deep down inside of you, there’s still hope. There’s still hope that someday people will like you as you are. Hope that someday you won’t need to worry if someone that tells you “but I do love you!” will invite you to their next party. There is a quote from one of my favorite TV shows, Bojack Horseman, said by a character, Diane Nguyen, that explains it better than I can.

“Your whole life is full of these pieces that don’t quite fit. But at some point, you start to think it’s you. You’re the piece that doesn’t quite fit. And you spend so long with that feeling that the feeling becomes your home.”