Low Power Mode

gif by Honey Simatupang

I have this visceral memory of my eyes pouring into my phone, staring at the blinking cursor of a text message, debating which excuse to give to my friend in my head. Had I gotten behind on laundry or writing deadlines today? Maybe I need to go to the gym or catch up on straightening up my dorm. Of course, there are the more colorful (and painfully obvious) excuses. “Hey, I can’t make it. I need to organize my sock drawer” or even the treasured “sorry, I need to take my cat to the vet” — I don’t even own a cat. No matter the absurd lengths these messages reach, it never prevents that shame that radiates from my head to my fingertips as I woefully press send on a message. 

Although I may be a taciturn and cold young woman,  I wouldn’t levy these adjectives to describe my persona (although maybe in certain contexts they are fitting). Rather, I enjoy the presence of my lovely friends that I’m lucky enough to have in my life, in any capacity. From sitting and drinking coffee across from one another as we hack relentlessly on our computers to hammocking on a lazy hill in the soft sunlight. From exploring new pockets of a city that we now call our home to making absurd jokes, causing each others’ ribs to physically ache, and swaying haphazardly to stale music while holding a lukewarm red solo cup. It’s in these moments that I feel grateful for the presence of the human beings that inhabit my life.

And, of course, it’s this feeling that elicits strong feelings of guilt when I feel it begin. With no warning, I feel my eyes become  heavy within my skull, pouring hopelessly into the faces of my peers around me. My limbs become lead and it feels as though I’m dragging a wet ragdoll version of my body around. The words that limp out of my mouth are fragmented, weak, and dull. Any laughter or smiles that spill from my cheeks feel strained — as if they were painted across my face or forced out of my stomach unwillingly. This phenomenon represents the tragic death of my social battery, something that I am utterly and completely dictated by. 

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been an introvert; I’ve even fit the bill down the nitty-gritty of the stereotype. I’m perfectly content lounging around my room or a quiet park with my only company being music and a book. At least twice a day, I’m asked to repeat myself, as I’m soft-spoken. And who could forget the time I was at a party, proceeded to get bored with the environment around me, and sought out legos, and built my friend a house. However, now that I’m on the precipice of adulthood, I continually push myself into new social situations that would have once made my skin crawl and find myself enjoying them. Instead of slinking away into a library or coffee shop alone, I message a friend because I find the presence of another human so cozy. I dance on the weekend with strangers, laughing at the silly nature of the evening and ignore the negative thoughts that used to pulsate through my brain. 

And so I now find it frustrating that my life is dictated by a little battery bar that rests above my head. During COVID, my brain got used to having a plethora of recharge time, as I slept off a majority of the pandemic, justifying multiple naps and Netflix binge sessions in a day on the basis of Zoom Burnout. However, now that life is slowly lurching back into normalcy, and thank God that it is, it’s frustrating when I find myself sending a cancellation text to a friend or feel my eyes zoning out of a conversation just because my brain is fatigued from the return of social interaction. 

Yet, as we all should be attempting to practice within ourselves in wake of the pandemic, I am trying (really trying) to be patient with myself and allow my brain to run its course. Moreover, I’ve found compromises with my mind that fulfills both of our needs, whether I feel drained or not. Because I have the same sense of fulfillment lying on the grass at midnight with friends, minimal words being exchanged between us, as I do when I go out and meet strangers that are best friends by the time the early hours of the morning creep upon us. I can feel myself recharged when I sit at a table with a friend, falling in love with the passions dripping out of their mouths and the happiness it brings them. I can allow myself to decline plans to rest and rewatch Fleabag for the fifth time. At the end of the day, I know I’m not alone in this endeavor, of navigating what best fits my mental needs in the post-COVID era, and I take solace in that fact — the fact that we’re all doing our best to connect, or even reconnect, with our extroverted side and accommodate the growing pains that are intertwined with this process. Because I’m conscious of the compassionate nature of my friends and how if in the middle of a study session or kickback, I get up and lay down in the middle of the floor, just for a second to gather my bearings, they’ll be right by my side.