I’m not a people person.
I say this more to myself really, as opposed to making a public statement, but honest to goodness.
I am not a people person.
It isn’t that I don’t like them, and I strongly doubt shyness is the culprit.
But when caught in a social setting, I’m completely inept at handling large crowds at one time. Unavoidable situations that involve mingling with people can make me feel so awkward that I’d be like a fidgety duck out of water with two left webbed feet. Yes. That’s how bad it can get.
The same goes for menial but necessary people interactions, like grocery shopping, or paying the cashier, or dealing with government officers. If I can find a way to avoid face-to-face transactions, I’d weasel out of it as best as I can. I feel uncomfortable, I feel judged.
This constant reluctance to make actual contact is so real a problem that every time I’m able to actually converse with someone without stuttering or smiling sheepishly, I take that with me as a small win. A conquer, if you will. A punch-in-the-air moment.
It’s funny though. Sometimes when I’m on the streets, I happen upon strangers whom I can talk to with such ease and confidence despite our stark differences in both age and backgrounds. These people set me off like a locomotive. Like the taxi drivers that I’ve mentioned before on these pages somewhere. Like the lady I met in the bank while we both waited for our turn. Like Allan.
Meet Allan.
I met him while I was taking a lone walk around this quaint harbour in South Queensferry, Scotland last year. He was fishing at the time. He said hello first, and from there, we just sat talking while he waited for the fishes to bite. Allan was an avid traveller, so most of the time we talked about the countries he’s been in. He once went to Saudi Arabia, planning to work there for about 3 months, and ended up staying on for 8 years!
I was pleasantly surprised at myself that day. Here I was in a foreign country, walking around alone in an alien town, and there I was, chatting with a complete stranger for about an hour or so! The funny part was that he thought I was a local from down England. I told him I had a knack for pulling off accents. 
It got better when I went back to the place where I was staying. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to take his picture because my battery ran out but his name was Bill, this elderly neighbour who also stayed where I took my lodgings. I was sitting on the rocks outside for a bit when he came along and asked me if I was alright because I was alone. I smiled a yes, and he took a seat on the rock next to mine. Half an hour later, I was telling him about Malaysia, and afterwards listened to his experiences as a boy in World War II. Unbelievable.
For most who read this, this is a tiny matter that really doesn’t deserve any mention. I mean, what’s the big deal right? For me though, I still have to take things one at a time. One little win at a time. Because I’m still trying to deal with myself being this way, feeling constrained in all forms of social manners. Close friends would most probably contradict me on this point, because I’m just about the loudest person they know, but that’s why they’re friends. They help bring you out. 
I just pray that this inadequacy of mine won’t last for too long. Insya Allah. I can’t keep running away forever.
We meet strangers every day, and if we’re lucky, strangers sometimes become friends.
Enough said here.
