How God Changed This INFP’s Life


I think, over the years, I’ve certainly changed and evolved as an INFP. Starting this post, I debated whether I should title it “God’s Influence On My Life” or “Let God Change Your INFP Life” or “How God Changed This INFP’s Life”. As you can tell from the title of this post, I settled on the third option, and thus, in this post, I’m going to talk to you about what traits or attributes a mature INFP might possess, after going through much internal turmoil and strife.

This time two years ago, I’m pretty sure I was as depressed as it was possible for anyone to be, housebound because I was too socially anxious and afraid of large spaces to leave the house, and traumatised by, well, traumatic events of my life, some of which left me so scarred I was actually experiencing agoraphobia because of PTSD. My life was such a mess, it couldn’t have been cleaned by…the cleaning angels. I was lost. Every single minute and second that passed was awful. I clutched on tightly to my concept that I was a special little snowflake, and would one day shine, my books on shelves, gleaming bright and new. I was jealous, sad, ill, twisted, unhappy, strange, weird and uncomfortable.

Then it all changed. God entered my life. I felt a presence around me, inside my heart, comforting and immense. He cleansed my sorrows and pains, my sickness, everything. I stepped out into the world, with renewed confidence and love for life. It wasn’t easy. At first, I shied away from the light and the busyness of the streets, but, slowly, I grew accustomed to it, and now, two years later, I walk down the streets as confidently as any other person. I began to write again, just as furiously as I’d previously had, only this time, because I felt God nudging me in this particular direction, I began to turn off my inner critic when I wrote, letting the words seep out from my heart. If this blog is a testament to my writing, since it’s views have increased exponentially over the years, then writing from my heart has certainly been the right path to walk on.

Everything in my life is bright now. Instead of being greedily fixated on the idea of making a name for myself and publishing a book, I’m writing because I want to tell a good story and make a book good enough to get published for people to read and enjoy. Music lilts its way into my ears, lovely and delightful. I dance around to tunes when they burble out of my phone. While my dream, of getting a book or more published, still lingers tantalisingly out of reach, I’ve come to realise that there’s no point in sweating and crying over it, because even if I do get published, however many years into the future, the journey would have been sad and awful, and I’d rather, as Miley Cyrus wrote in her song, enjoy the “climb”.

With God in my heart, I don’t even yearn for a boyfriend anymore. I used to do that a lot. Without a father figure in my life, the house felt slightly barren, and I yearned for a male presence in my life, yearning for it, basking in it on public transport whenever I sat next to a handsome young man, my soul leaning towards the confidence of my male friends. I don’t do that anymore. There is no hole inside of me anymore. That’s the thing. INFPs, and perhaps most people, as they grow older, realise there is a hole inside of themselves, not able to be filled by anything in the world, except (at least, that is what I believe) God. God is holy, beautiful, perfect. He is behind everything in this world, and He loves us for who we are, although that doesn’t give us the license to do whatever we want. Like any relationship, we have to show up as the best versions of ourselves in order to maintain a good bond with our Creator. Sins, like greed and selfishness, have no place in our union with Christ.

I do apologise if it sounds like I am preaching, but it’s just that, as INFP, I feel as in God, I have found the perfect friend in life, because He loves me utterly and understands me completely and since INFPs often find it hard to find people who love us for our quirky selves, let alone understand us, this is unreal and amazing. You’re not a lone, special snowflake, as I once believed I was: instead, all of us special snowflakes, created by God, and we are here on this Earth to live, laugh, love, dream and create. We are also here for reasons beyond our ken.

Listen. I used to be a jealous, horrible person sometimes, yearning after other people’s lives, jealous of this woman or that woman, twisted up and ugly on the inside. Now, I radiate beauty and kindness. No longer do I think I am ugly; I know I am beautiful, as beautiful as the stars. So are you. You are God’s beloved child. Our creations, the things we do, our lives, everything is important to our Heavenly Father. Every tear shed, every sorrow curled up like a dark, worm-like shadow in our hearts, is known, acknowledged, and God, when he sees you sad, wraps you close to Him, in his Heavenly arms. When you are with God, when you welcome him into your life, there is nothing you fear anymore; instead, you are just abundantly filled with joy and happiness.

These days, I’m working happily on my book, which is a 60,000 word novel that I’ve been working on for about two years, going through a final edit, and studying a librarian course. I spend my days enjoying television shows like 6teen, listening to songs, singing my heart out and dancing to music, spending time with friends and family, going to church, and waking up each day with a smile in my heart and excitement bubbling through my veins. This is a cruel world (I recently became vegetarian, just because I couldn’t stand animal suffering a moment longer—don’t even get my started on the subject) and that is because evil exists, strong and powerful, but you must remember it is never stronger than good, never stronger than God. Even when we die, or when animals are slaughtered, I believe our and their souls are cradled in the palm of God, and carried off to the afterlife. I believe this wholeheartedly, because I have felt His presence.


An Odd Ramble


Sometimes, I wish I was someone else. Like, some kind of magical, powerful creature with one red eye, one green, who can wield plants, make them magically appear and charge towards people, wrapping around people and saving them from certain death—

Ahem. I’ve been writing. Writing is a curious thing. It really is. On the one hand, it’s blissful and amazing; on the other hand, it’s horrible and hard, difficult and annoying; and one never seems able to write anything that is satisfactory; I always seem to fall short of what I want my writing to be. I’m in the process of looking over a piece of writing, of 60,000 words, a YA novel, that I’ve been working on for a while, and which I’m putting through its final edit. While editing is fun, and I enjoy, very much, reading my own book, I can’t help but feel fear that, once again, this book will get rejected by publishers and I’ll be pushed back to square one.

I don’t want the fame or money that comes with writing—those things are temporary and alluring, like will o’ the wisps that lure you to your death in some swampy river water. What I want is to have something I created to be read and enjoyed by other people. Obviously, on some level, I’ve accomplished this through this blog, but there are so many words and stories inside of me yearning to be seen and known, and enjoyed, that it’s nearly impossible for me not to write. To not write, for me, is to not live.

As for life itself, I still haven’t got it figured out. I wish the trees and the roads felt less…empty. The world feels so empty sometimes, like it’s the loneliest and saddest place that could possibly ever exist. This feeling tends to fade when I am surrounded by people, but when I spend long stretches of time by myself, it grows and grows, like taffy when it is pulled apart, until I can barely bear it. Why do we exist? Why do we live? I believe in God—I am Christian, after all—and Jesus, and I believe God gives me meaning in life, and has put me on this planet to share my writing and the words inside of me. I don’t know where my path in life will lead me, but I do hope it meanders towards something bright and beautiful.

I ended up deleting a post about some students who bullied me in school, because, lo and behold, they managed to get onto my blog, and one of their friends started to harass me on Instagram, telling me to take down the post. While I felt it was somewhat giving in, I had do it, because harassment is not cool and I needed to put a stop to it. Sometimes, I wonder how people live their lives, and how they find pleasure in the shallow world of trips to nice countries and physical pleasures and pretty clothes, because those things, lovely as they might be, don’t bring me lasting happiness. Words do. Magic does. Kindness does. Giving to those who needed, helping people, doing God’s work—all those things bring meaning to my life. Books. Music. Pets.

If any of you would like me to do more posts about INFPs, I’d be happy to do it. This blog sort of evolved into a blog about INFPs, even though I changed the blog’s name to my own name (the reason is present in the previous post) and I’m still always wracking my brain, trying to think of more INFP posts I could write. It feels as though I’ve exhausted many of the avenues of blog ideas already.

Loneliness still hits me, every now and then, but instead of filling it with something that doesn’t actually fill the hole, like a boyfriend or food, or fantasies of magical worlds and whatnot, I fill it with God’s love, which surrounds me every second of every day. Some people might think this is pathetic, and just a way of dealing with loneliness and singledom, and, for those who don’t believe in God, even delusional, but God does exist, He is real, and He is there for me, every single second of everyday, deep inside my heart. I wish everyone a brilliant, beautiful start to the new year, and hope you live happily.

What This INFP Has Been Doing


Nothing much, except quite a bit of writing. I’ve also been learning a good deal about people and the world. That is what happens when you overcome your urge to stay on your own little island of comfort and security, and venture out to speak to and talk to people you wouldn’t normally talk to. I even managed to, recently, confess my feelings, although they soon disappeared, towards a man I quite fancied, and even though it didn’t work out between us (he wanted to remain friends), it was still a good experience for me, as I was able to step out of my shell and confront something I was afraid of.

I’m learning a lot about fear as I grow older, and something I’ve realised is, even though it’s scary to begin doing things, to take the first step, once you do, the sense of relief and accomplishment is very great indeed. All my life, I’ve been afraid of doing things, of looking silly, making a fool out of myself—but the truth it, most people admire brave individuals, and those who aren’t afraid to do something that frightens them. Before I confessed my feelings, I had hot and cold flashes, and it was awful, but I managed to do it, nevertheless, which makes me one gutsy, young woman.

As for why I’ve finally decided to do a face reveal, both on my Instagram account (@dreamerrambling) and on my blog, as well as use my real name instead of a pseudonym, was because I got a bit tired of hiding behind a façade online and always “pretending” to be Anne Lee, and never having pictures of my face online. I realised it was a scary thing that was holding me back from living life to the truest and the fullest, because when I hid behind my screen, I was, in truth, afraid of people seeing the real me, and of various other, highly unlikely things, like stalkers and whatnot. But if I’m going to be a writer, which I do want to be, I think it’s better to be open and honest and free in your online interactions, because once I become a proper, published writer, there’ll be nowhere to hide.

At the moment, the only thing that could make my life happier is if I had a cat, or a kitten. Right now, I am in a place where God fills my life with joy and happiness, and I spend my days studying, and writing my books. Only the addition of a cute, furry animal, impossible due to the fact that I live in a unit, would make my life that little bit happier. I do apologise for not posting as regularly—I kind of hoped the face reveal would be enough for the meantime, as I’ve been very busy getting my own life sorted out and getting out there and meeting people. Libraries, I’ve found, are not good places to meet people; those people are often there because they don’t want to be disturbed; but writer’s groups, and other places, are suitable places to meet people oftentimes, and the friends you make along the way, if you’re open and honest and be yourself, are often the most lasting. While I certainly don’t have everything figured out, life is getting along quite swimmingly for this INFP, and I wish you the same. Until next time.



Where Annie Disappeared To During December


Down the rabbit hole of creativity, that’s what.

So, it’s been a while since I’ve last posted anything on this blog, and a lot has happened since then. I managed to finish a novel I’d been working on my months, and now all that’s left to do is collate it all together by turning about fifty or more scraps of paper into a full-fledged novel. What’s more, I’ve also met a couple of guys I quite liked, although none of them were the right person for me. Even though this was the case, they still taught me lots about love and kindness and what it means to love another human being. And how easily a person can hide away parts of themselves from the outside world.

It’s not like I dated them or anything, I just loved them, and then fell out of love with them. Anyway. Back to the topic at hand, which his well, how I’ve been doing. Rather self-centred, I know, but I do believe, as a person who writes for a living (well, sort of), I do have the right to let my readers know how I’ve been doing what I’ve been up to. And truth is, nothing much. I’ve been writing, and working on an online course, planning to work at a library sort of thing. At 21 years old, I barely have any savings to my name and still live with my parents. But, that, however, does not mean I’m a “bum” who deserves to be kicked out onto the streets and taught a lesson. I write and work on my online course intensively for at least 6-8 hours a day, and the rest of my time is spent on this blog, which I try to maintain at the best of times, although recently I did fall down the rabbit hole of writing.

Life, as I’m beginning to find out, is not about the things people always think they want, like love, beauty and success, but more about your relationship with God and how that affects your daily life. God, above all, is the most important thing in one’s life. He speaks to me on a very deep level, in my heart, and I constantly feel his presence. He is everything to me, and without Him, I would be nothing.

You see, there are so many things we do that make us feel “happy”, but it’s only momentary, like material possessions, or sexual intercourse, or buying a house or getting famous. None of those things are lasting. At the end of the day, the relationship between yourself and our Creator is the most important, because it allows you to rise above the muck of human life and see the stars.

I’ve also been mingling and making new friends. It’s a wonderful world out there, filled with people good and bad, and sometimes, in life, you meet people who make everything look bright and shiny again. That’s how I feel, with the friends I’ve made, and I hope to continue getting to know you, my readers, and some of my dearest and closest friends, well into the future and beyond.

God bless.

How To Be Good In A Bad World


Bad Blood Stock 14.jpg

What does it mean to be a good person? I think it’s to love other people more than you love yourself, in that, when given the choice between getting something for yourself or for someone else, you choose the latter, always, no matter what. I think it’s about realising we’re all God’s children and deserve to be loved and cared for, in the right way, the true way. There are so many ways we love people for the wrong reasons: their looks, their status, whether we’re sexually attracted to them or not, whether we find them useful or not, whether their lives are interesting and fascinating and makes them look like interesting and fascinating individuals, their fame, money and wealth: these are all WRONG reasons. But what are the right reasons? None. Because love, when it is unconditional (someone once completely tainted this word for me, by trying to make it into something it was not, turning it into a way to manipulate me and make me think they were being true and fair when they were not) and true, is not dependent on any conditions or criteria. It just is, the way the world just is, the way water is wet and solid when it is frozen into ice.

So, be a good person. But it’s hard, in this competitive world, to stay good and true. You want the best for yourself—at least, that’s what society teaches us, that we need to fight to win and get to the top, be the alpha male or female or whatever gender you are, the best, the richest, the most successful, the prettiest. People envy you for your talents. People envy your for your boyfriend, girlfriend, who they believe is “hotter” than you, and therefore a good “catch” that you managed to obtain through wiles and other trickery. They’ll hate you, for no other reason that than you reflect what they lack. Those people are not bad. They are not bad people. This is very important to understand. These people, in fact, are the greatest and best, because they’re in pain because of the way this world is set-up, and that shows they still have a heart, because it means they still care about themselves and getting the best “toys” for themselves. They still want to win, which means they’re not all gone, not completely. If only that “winning” streak were used for a good instead, to help everyone win and succeed, then things would be different.

The only way to be truly selfless, in a selfish world, is to transcend yourself. You have to see everyone as a part of yourself, going through the same struggles, needing the same love and affection and hope and desire and love. I repeat the word “love” because it’s the most important emotion a human needs to grow: without it, we wither and die, like plants in the sun without any moisture to heal their roots. So how do we get love? From God. I know it sounds cheesy and strange, and lots of you scientifically-minded people out there will be more than sceptical about this, but it’s true. Without God, we would be nothing. We would be animals, fighting and scrabbling for scraps, for mates, for territory, for prestige, for the brightest feathers and the prettiest beak, the best nest, everything, disgusting, low and boring. With God, we become the heavenly beings we were supposed to be, full of love and kindness, and all things pure and good.

Everyone is special. Not everyone is kind. That’s a problem. Because if everyone has their unique strengths and talents, it means the world can benefit from them; but if they’re not kind, then the fruits of their effort will not be shared with everyone else. There was something I learned a couple of days ago, that when you fight with monsters, you become a monster yourself. That is true. That is how scary true monsters are—they are strong enough even to turn you into one. But that is unnecessary, turning into a monster to fight a monster; all you have to do is be the beautiful being of pure light you are, and fight the monster that way, with love and kindness so bright it blinds them to everything else and turns them inside out. You destroyed them, not through darkness, but with light, and that’s the only way to chase away darkness, in the end, truly, completely.

More. We’re destined for a life where we will one day ascend to Heaven and reach the heights of goodness and purity. We’re all on a journey towards this light, all of us. Each and everyone of us. Some of us are closer to the light than others, still more are still in the dark, faraway, and still more never realise there is a light to be reached at all and scrabble in the darkness forever. They are to be pitied. For the longest time, I struggled with how to deal with people less fortunate than I am, who hate me. They hate me because I had the love, good fortune, talent and time to think about myself and discover myself that they didn’t. They were unlucky, I was lucky; how do you solve something like that? I don’t know yet. All I do know is, the right thing to do is to keep following your own light. You can’t stop following it, just because someone takes offense to your glow and is envious of your inner light. You have to keep going, even if it kills you. You have to help yourself, even when no-one else wants to. That’s how you win: not to beat other people, but to overcome the darkness that lives in this universe.

What This INFP Thinks Of Consumption This Christmas


I was watching a British TV show yesterday (Britain has some of the snazziest and most fascinating documentaries about life in England), called something along the lines of “The Most Luxurious Christmas” or something, basically a documentary about how rich people in London spend their money at Christmas time (I found it on Youtube; here’s the link: Rich People’s Christmas), and I just stared at the screen for about an hour with my jaw open and my belief completely suspended. I couldn’t believe the amount of money these people were spending on things like Christmas ornaments and decorations, enough to feed at least entire suburbs of families for Christmas, and it got me thinking about privilege and money and class and greed and, well, idiocy.

This sense of there being too much extravagance, wealth and privilege in certain parts of the world, amongst certain people, struck home even further when I went shopping for a new pair of shoes. I’m broke, in case you’re wondering, but I’m not jealous or envious of the rich, nor do I aspire to be wealthy and live a life of luxury. My shoes, my flats, had been worn through: you could see, through the black faux-velvet, the pale, inner lining of the shoes; and what’s more, they were a size too big for my feet, so they felt like slippers more than anything else (my mistake, when I bought it). So I went shopping for a new pair of shoes, an inexpensive pair, of course, because while shoes are a necessity, I don’t have any spending money at the moment to spare for things other than food, rent and utilities, so I settled for an $8 pair of flats from Kmart, and called it a day.

However, as I traipsed through the large shopping centre, I couldn’t help but notice how much luxury existed around me. The fruit juice bar, with its window display filled with fruits of every colour of the rainbow; the jewellery stores, glimmering with diamonds and gold; the high-fashion clothing shops, their display windows amassed with mannequins dressed in the most wondrous flowery gowns under the sun, each one with a price tag of around $200; the children’s toy shop, brimming with miniature kitchen sets complete with tiny foods, and make-your-own-perfume kits; the make-up shops; the bath-and-body-works store; the menswear, with pants going up into hundreds; crystalline soaps on one shelf in a store, and miniature silver beads in the shapes of Christmas trees and presents inside the display case of another; and I thought to myself, well, this is the Capitol.

In case you haven’t read the Hunger Games series, in which case I suggest you do so right away because it’s a fantastic series, even if there are no Asian characters at all in it, the Capitol is the wealthy district in a post-apocalyptic world the book is set in, whereby the surrounding districts, all 12 of them, supply them with all their resources, items and products, while being (most of them, at least) quite poor and hard-done-by themselves, to the point where they’re own citizens are dying of starvation. Katniss Everdeen is enlisted for the Hunger Games, and so begins a revolution against a totalitarian state, and so on and so forth—read the books if you want to know more—but what struck me was how similar this model is to our world.

Think. The sweatshops in China and India, the underprivileged and low-income people slaving away in factories making, I don’t know, Disney-themed soft toys and high heels and high-end fashion pieces: all of them are just like the people Panem’s poorer districts, whose labour goes on to enhance the lives of the wealthy instead of themselves. And we’re the Capitol. You, me. I mean, if you’re rich enough to have a roof over your head, food in the fridge, clean water to drink, and an internet connection in this world, then you’re pretty well off, mate. I can just take a bus from my apartment and enter a world of luxury and high-end goods, like some kind of capitalist wonderland, where snow globes the size of heads exist and advent calenders with a different, exquisite but pointless beauty product behind each little cardboard door (retails for $50). It’s alarming.

It makes me wonder why such consumption, wealth and greed exists in the first place. Are we that hollow on the inside, that we have to fill the void inside of ourselves with objects? Do we really need sparkly, pink flower gel that smells of nasty chemicals in a plastic package in the shape of a heart dangling on the end of a key ring instead of a cheap, solid bar of soap, or, if we’re going on the extreme end of the spectrum, a Christmas tree star worth over half a million dollars to adorn a Christmas tree you’re only going to take down the next month, instead of a pretty, but plastic star dusted with glitter? I mean, at the shopping centre, I even found a tiny, plastic claw machine, the kind you find at arcades, for around 30 bucks and big enough to fill with lollies. It’s like we’ve gone a little mad with our manufacturing and production, like our creativity has nowhere to go but into pieces of plastic and tubes of chemicals, instead of something a little longer-lasting and important, like trees or animals.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not materialistic enough to appreciate the “finer” things in life. In fact, I’d much prefer a home cooked meal made out of ingredients straight from the ground than some fancy gourmet dinner in a restaurant whose prices go for about $500 a head. And the funny thing is, whenever I buy something, by which I mean, an object, I never feel particularly happy or satisfied about it. Sure, I might like it when it’s in the shop window, and feel a little exhilaration at having it in my shopping bag as I walk home, but afterwards, it’s just a dumb, unfeeling item, with no life or love or magic in it. Just an object. You can’t—it can’t satisfy you. No amount of luxury goods or cars or money will ever satisfy a person, or fine foods or wines or chocolates made out of gold dust and rare cocoa beans mined from the very bowels of Willy Wonka’s factory. There’s more magic in a single, real leaf than a million gold imitations of it.

This Christmas, I might get a present or two, if I’m lucky, and cook a meal for my family out of whatever ingredients we can afford on the day or the week of Christmas. We might not have much, but I’m happy, probably because I don’t go seeking it in the walkways of shopping centres, but in the lanes and avenues of nature, the imagination and art.

An INFP’s Character Development

girl on a lake

In every book and story—or at least every good one—a character develops and changes over time, and this is good because it’s realistic: in real life, everyone changes from day to day; who I am on Monday might not be the same person you greet on Tuesday, because I’ve learned things and grown a little, and that means my worldview and how I interact with myself, other people and society has changed. However, in books, the character development is usually more marked, because the point of the book is for the character to learn about something as she or he goes about his journey, and without this development, the story would seem a little strange and pointless, as if it shouldn’t have occurred at all.

This got me thinking about an INFP’s “character development” over time; in other words, how a person of the INFP personality might change over the course of their life, in accordance with their personal traits and characteristics. It would be different for every type: but since there are unique traits, like introversion and a mind prone to daydreaming, which all INFPs share, our character developments should, I think, sometimes follow the same trajectory.

First, let’s go all the way back to our infanthood. I think INFPs would be quite intelligent babies, because we end up growing up into rather intelligent people, and be prone to sleeping less than other babies and being more engaged and explorative of the world around them. Once childhood hits, and walking and talking enter the picture, in the home sphere, we’re likely to be quite chatty and active, because we’re comfortable with our family members, while outside the home, we’d be prone to stranger-aversion and quite touchy about being with people we don’t know.

Childcare would be another kettle of fish. That’s where our introversion would truly come out to shine, because we’d definitely be the kid that sits quietly playing with puzzles by ourselves or dress-ups with that one other friend, completely absorbed in our tasks, in an almost autistic fashion, because we’re good at concentration, creative, bright and love having the ability to let our imaginations run wild. Socialisation with other kids who aren’t quiet and strange like us will be non-existent, if there at all. We just don’t get along with other people at this point, and are closest to our own fantasy worlds and the odd friend, imaginary or not.

Primary school, or middle school, if you live in America, would be another playing field. Here, we finally begin to learn the ropes of socialisation and our character undergoes a metamorphosis, where we don’t just isolate ourselves and learn to interact with people for the sake of following social norms and because being an outcast is a hard, lonely life to lead. However, we’re still at the stage where we’re not capable of making genuine, real human relationships, because everything we do or say is “copied” or “learnt” from others: we haven’t got the hang of socialisation and have decided the best way to make friends and get along with other people is to put on a mask, talk a lot, and pretend you’re happy. Thus begins the unhappy stage of an INFP’s character development, where we feel stifled in a society that doesn’t accept us for the daydreaming introverts we are, and while we read and borrow books at a frenetic pace, expressing our individuality through our imagination and creativity in private, in public, we still go along with the crowd and do what everyone else does, for fear of rocking the boat.

Then there’s high school. Oh boy. Here’s where problems really start t to begin: puberty plus a cocktail of social anxiety means the INFP is bound to run into trouble, and plenty of it, either in the form of bullying, depression or feeling like an outcast. Because they’re intelligent, they’ll often do well in school and be considered a “nerd”, and much of their time, when not pretending to be happy and fit in—a continuation of their primary school years—is spent reading by themselves in the library or bathroom cubicles, where they can escape from the world and other people. More likely than not, they’ll not see certain boys or girls as real people but princesses and princes on pedestals and fantasise about them from afar, while believing themselves to be ugly, socially awkward and wretched. At this point in an INFP’s character development, they’ve most likely reached their ultimate “low”, where they feel like the worst possible version of themselves, both inside and on the outside, and are painfully awkward and cringe every day at their own awkwardness, and feel like life is an endless, dark tunnel they can’t seem to get out of.

Then comes adulthood. Free from the constraints of high school gossip and bullying, with the Internet at their fingertips and several hundred books of knowledge at the back of their mind, INFPs begin to come into their own, slowly at first, but gradually faster, as they realise the world outside the education system isn’t a bad place for dreamers—in fact, it’s the dreamers, creators and creative types of the world who are often the most successful and happy. Of course, the INFP goes through ups and downs, but eventually, they find an inner confidence as the progress through adulthood they didn’t possess before, mainly due to understanding themselves and learning more about life and the world, and realise who they are, someone who delights in the strange and magical, who loves Christmas like children and fawns over sparkles and glitter, and would never hesitate to help someone who is suffering, is a beautiful person, through and through. It is to be expected that INFPs still carry a backlog of pain from their early years, but this soon fades, as they discover their passions and grow into themselves, ready to sally forth into the world full of imagination and creativity, and being the best possible version of themselves they can be, each and every day.

God Exists? Yes.


God is someone very close to me. I think of him more as a father than someone else, a Heavenly Father in the sky who watches over us, critiques what we do, punishes us accordingly, whether in this life or the next, and believes in the best of us, supports us, loves us, and carries over whatever rocky shores and boulders we come across in the waters of life.

So why I sometimes doubt him?

The answer is simple: I doubt him, because he doesn’t “exist” in the way other things do. In other words, my faith is based on shaky ground: I can neither touch, nor feel, not hear or speak or even “feel” his presence sometimes, so what makes me believe and so certain he exists in the first place?

Good question. It’s a good I’ve been meaning to ask and find the answer to for a long time, and the closest I’ve come to a proper answer is an analogy a friend once told me, about a watch found on a beach. To a bystander who picks it up, turns it over, and stares at its inner mechanism, the complex little hands on its front and the little notches denoting numbers, it is a thing of wonder, since they have never seen anything like it before, or ever since; and their first instinct is to believe the sea washed it up onto the shore and created it. This is what evolution and science dictates we should think: that, in this analogy, over time, somehow the watch was actually created by someone putting the gears together—I mean, forgive me, I’m typing this really fast at the moment because I need to leave the house soon—I mean, that it was created by accident, by the waves and shores and little sea creatures over time, accidentally and miraculously. Impossible.

The truth is, the machine was created by someone, and that someone, in this scenario, is a human being; but if you look at the complexity of the world around us, it is exactly like that of a watch being washed ashore and then picked up by an unwilling bystander: it’s too miraculous, wonderful and perfect to have been just created by “accident” over “millions of years of evolution”. The eye itself is too complex to have been created by accident over time, out of a puddle of proteins and other fluids zapped with electricity, as supposedly life was created first on land back in the old, old, old ages.

Our world is a place of wonder. The natural world, and the man-made world. But the natural world is where the raw materials are at, and where the most wonder exists: no matter how far science advances, it will always be reliant on nature and it’s resources: without matter, without plants, without flesh and DNA and energy, nothing would be able to be created or formed on this planet by human hands. And the wonder of nature is miraculous indeed: just one drop of water contains hundreds of millions of tiny particles and amoeba and living creatures; just the human eye is more complex than the most complicated machine on the planet. We can never catch up to nature because there’s just something fundamentally mysterious and magical about it.

And that’s where God comes in. He’s the creator. He’s beyond our wildest imaginings, and also very, very good. He’s a benevolent creator, in that he has created food and water, and everything we need to live, he has created happiness and talent and joy and sunlight and birds and trees and everything: and we need only trust him to leave good lives. Sure, bad things happen on this planet, but that’s because evil still exists, and may still exist until the Second Coming, when Jesus returns and restores the balance of all. I know this might sound like religious mumbo-jumbo to you but I promise it’s true and I believe in it wholeheartedly, no matter what people say or how shaky my foundations of faith are that day, because I picked up a watch from the beach, and it told me the time, and I believed the sea spat it onto the shore for a reason, and was created by a long-lost, faraway watchmaker, in love with beauty and me.

What To Do When People Hurt You



In this world, I am of the firm belief that we can sense, and even absorb, the negative energy of other people, such as hatred, disgust or animosity, the way we might ingest poison or breathe in polluted or toxic gases. Just being near someone who feels “evil”, or extremely unkind, is like standing to close to a burning fire: you cringe and wince a little, knowing you are near something dangerous and bad; and if someone is cruel towards you, or wishes you ill-will, this cruelty and ugliness translates into energy as well, which you absorb, oftentimes just as damaging as a physical punch or kick might have been: that’s why people say words feel like “a slap in the face” or like being on the receiver end of emotional or verbal abuse feels like they’d been “punched in the stomach”.

I’ve been on the receiving end of a lot of bad energy in my time, despite the fact that I’ve only lived on this Earth for about two decades, and I’m sure there are many of you who have experienced a great deal of pain and suffering at the hands of other people. In my younger and less experienced years, some of this negative energy came in the form of racial discrimination, or microaggressions (I copied this from Wikipedia; a microaggression is “a term used for brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioural, or environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative prejudicial slights and insults toward any group”), where I would be treated badly in a subtle way, that would leave me hurt and unhappy, and feeling unworthy about myself; it came in the form of a young lady in high school who enjoyed bullying me; a man who hurt me the most effective way any man can hurt a woman, which is to repeatedly sexually harass her to the point where she becomes too frightened and afraid and disgusted to go near any man for months; in the form of cousins who bullied me, taunted me; a father who didn’t realise girls need to be treated tenderly and carefully; a mother whose sharp words, to this day, pierce my skin like barbs; and from living in a world where just stepping out the door is enough to have someone attack you, verbally or emotionally (or, heck, even physically, depending on where you live), because they’re unhappy or having a bad day.

It’s not a good world, because people are not good. That’s plain and simple. I used to think, wrongly, that people were just hurt, lost, lonely and suffering—that’s why they hurt other people. I pitied them, felt compassion for them, because I’m just like that, silly and melodramatic and too-kind sometimes. But then I realised that wasn’t the case, because I’ve been in so much pain before, to the point where I wanted to (I’m quoting myself here—apologies) “paint out the world with my own blood”. And yet, no matter how much pain I was in, no matter how dark my inner world became, I never, never hurt another living person because of it. Just because I had a thorn in my side didn’t mean I felt the need to start poking other people with sticks. That’s when I realised those people that you hurt you? Yeah, they’re not good people. There’s something wrong with their hearts, and there’s no fixing them. I would like to say they’re evil, but decorum dictates that I refer to them as being “ignorant” or “cold-hearted”. Scrap that, they’re just—hideous.

So what do we do when these people hurt us, hm?

It’s a tricky thing. It actually all depends on the situation. For instance, in some situations, people are just bad-tempered for that one day, when generally they’re a nice and caring person, and you just happened to receive the brunt of it. Then there are the others. The ones who want to see you suffer, who want to take from you what is yours, who are jealous of you and hate you because they don’t like themselves or the world. They’re unhappy, supremely unhappy, and they want you to feel the same way they do. These people, and I know I’m going to get called out for being callous here, need a dose of their own medicine. You have to take matters into your own hands and stand up for yourself. If someone holds a gun to your head, occasionally, you have to hold a gun to their heart. It’s tough, but that’s what I’ve learnt, after years of being trodden on and abused. Those people will never stop abusing you if you never stand up for yourself. Trust me on this. They won’t listen to reason, they don’t care about your tears, they won’t even stop if you show them why what they’re doing is wrong. Trust me on this.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, but there are just bad people in this world.

So, sometimes—not all of the time—you need to stand up for yourself and fight back, rather than take the hits like a champion. Let me give you an example. The man who sexually harassed me in my teen years and left me with a long-lasting fear of being raped and creepy men? Yeah. I told his wife everything that had happened. I did. It was harsh, but I did. I didn’t go to the authorities, or even tell a teacher or a mentor: I just quietly went up to his wife one day, when we were alone, and told her exactly what was happening and what he had done to me. Then I left. The rest was up to her. Not only did I never see that man again, I hear his marriage isn’t going so well and there’s hell for him to pay at home. Do I regret it? No. Because if I hadn’t done that, he might have never left me alone. And I would have had to undergo seismic-levels of suffering as a result.

You might think this is cruel, that I’m fighting fire with fire, that two wrongs don’t make a right. I say: you’re wrong. I’m sorry, but you are: only someone who has never been at the receiving end of severe mental, sexual, emotional or physical abuse can possibly say they’re too “kind” to fight back. When you reach a point where someone is literally suffocating you with their toxic energy, their hate, or, in the aforementioned case, their greedy hunger for your body, you’re not afraid to pull out the knife and slash them in the leg. That’s the truth. So while such a method of dealing with “people who hurt you” might seem vindictive, cold and calculating to some, to me, and I know to many people in this world, it’s the only way to fight against demons. Niceness gets you nowhere, except broken and hurt.

You stand up for yourself. Sure, if you believe in God, and I suggest you do, you know that justice will ultimately prevail and that those people will get their comeuppance. But there’s something to be said about fighting back in the real world, in this lifetime. One time, this man actually ignored me for fifteen minutes at the bookshop. I kid you not. It was like he’d decided that someone of Asian descent didn’t deserve to read or something. I was so hurt, I actually left without buying any of his books (which, in retrospect, was a good thing). A week later, I phoned up the company that owns his bookstore—it was a franchise—and complained about my experience, as well as giving them a description of the man who had refused to process my books for purchase. While I don’t know exactly what happened, at least I fought back and stood up for myself. Standing up for yourself builds your confidence and makes you a stronger human being (I feel like this should be a tweet).

Once again, I want to stress that there are actually bad people in this world. I keep droning on about this because it took so long for this to get into my own head. I had this preconceived notion that all people were good, they’d just lost themselves somewhere along the way due to bad experiences. That’s usually not true. If someone has the capability to hurt you just because they want to, because they hate you for being better than them, or some other stupid reason, then they’re not good people. They have darkness inside of them. A little part of them is poisoned. And you don’t deserve to inhale a single breath of their toxic cloud.

That’s what it comes down to: good people fighting against bad people. In the process, do we become bad, in some way? I know, when I finally fought back against the man who harassed me, I felt a sense of triumph, a satisfaction that he was finally getting what he deserved. I was wary of this feeling. Was I getting a little drunk on the fulfilment of revenge? That’s still something I’m trying to figure out. While I’m certain I have nothing evil or dark in me, I’m afraid that sometimes my own pain and suffering can muddy how I should actually feel when fighting back against people who hurt you: not triumphant, not glad, not content, but sorry, sad but determined. That’s the key. It’s not a dog-eat-dog world, because there are nice people, but it is a fight-back-or-suffer world, and I intend to stand up for myself, as I would stand up for anyone else in the world who was in pain or suffering. Because me, you and we deserve it.

An INFP’s Latest Discoveries & Reflection On Jealous People


I’ve discovered quite a few things lately, all of them the kind that would very much appeal to INFPs, so I thought I’d share them with you.

One of them is a search engine called “Ecosia”, which turns your searches into trees! Literally! Every time you search for something using this search engine, you help to plant trees in places like Africa and the plains of Asia, with 45 searches equivalent to one tree planted. It’s very easy to download, it acts just like Google or Bing or any other search engine, the only difference being your searches end up helping the environment and rebuilding the world’s forests! It’s so amazing, I’ve been using it for a while now, and I’ve racked up, on my phone and on my desktop, about 1500 searches so far, and as the years go by, I’m sure I’ll “earn” more trees and help the environment by doing my bit! So can you! And so far, Ecosia has already planted 41, 132, 323 trees at the time of my writing this piece, so go ahead and add to that number, which is growing everyday, for a brighter and better future for Earth, our beloved planet.

Another discovery I’ve made is an orchestral musician named Michael Ghelfi. Here is a link to his work: you can find him easily enough on Youtube, and it’s a shame he doesn’t have more views and subscribers, because his music, much of which is “steampunk-themed” is absolutely gorgeous, stunning, amazing and fantastic. It’s whimsical and pretty, sweet and complex, and evokes emotions, scenes and worlds through its notes and tunes and accompaniments. If I ever wrote a Steampunk book, and it had the good fortune of being turned into an actual film, I would seek him out right away to ask him to write the score for the film. Just, check him out: you won’t regret it.

One more discovery: the song “Wanderer’s Lullaby” by the Youtube singer Adrisaurus, which is almost a kind of motivational song wrapped up in melancholy and sweetness, is about believing in yourself in spite of the world and other people. I think that’s something everyone, on some level, can relate to, because we’ve all had our dreams doubted by someone, we’ve all encountered jealous people, no matter how fortunate their lives might be compared to ours in the first place, and we’ve all, deep down, doubted ourselves and our ability to achieve our dreams. This song is absolutely perfect for all of us who are striving towards a castle in the sky, out of reach, only accessible if we somehow build a jeweled floating sleigh or capture a pegasus; and it gives you strength and hope to fight another day.

I’ve been burned many times. This is no understatement. I’ve been burned, again and again, by other people in my life, people who I believed wanted the best for me or liked me, when in reality, they harboured secret jealousies and hatreds. When I was younger, I was too confused and naive to fight back. As I’ve grown older, I’ve also become a little tougher, and it’s a little harder to cross my path these days, because I’m not afraid to speak my mind, speak back, and tell you if you’re not treating me right or are a toxic influence in my life. I’m not afraid to get out the knife, and cut the gangrenous limb right off, with or without anaethesia, with my teeth gritted and sweat on my brow. I only wish I had that kind of courage in my younger years, that I hadn’t been brainwashed into being a meek, cowardly creature by the people who raised me.

There are people in this world who do not want to see you succeed. In fact, their idea of their dreams coming true is to see you fall, stumble, fall flat on your face and never get back up again. They want to see you in the dirt, and to put a foot on your head, and laugh like a maniacal, evil villain in some story. Let’s get this straight: they would be happy if you died, or were even murdered, and your dreams died with you. Make no mistake as to how evil or bad some humans can be, because I have lifted the rocks of humanity and seen the bugs and creepy-crawlies that writhe on its underbelly. I have met them, talked with them, laughed with them, been in their company and their homes and eaten their food. They are like monsters in angels’ garbs. They have different faces, and come in all shapes and sizes: friends, family, loved ones, teachers, mentors; you name it, they can hate you and dislike your ambition and desire for success, because it highlights their own failure and lack of success. Darkness doesn’t just resent light: it loathes it, with all of its being. That’s because it knows light is something pure and wonderful that it can never be, and so it hates it with all its heart.

You need to shine in spite of the darkness. I know it’s hard. These people, these influences, can be brutal. They can even come in the form of someone you love romantically—you’d be surprised—which makes it doubly difficult to brush them off. In some people’s eyes, life is a competition, and they want to be the one on top. What they don’t realise is that the true queens and kings of this world don’t murder, scheme and kill to get to the throne, but are chosen by the people, and because they have something special inside of them which makes them shine a little brighter than most. Kindness. Love. Courage. Faith. Belief. Heart.

“Wanderer’s Lullaby” reminds you that who you are is worthy. You and I, we are worthy; and anyone who tells you you aren’t worthy can go (insert expletive starting with “f”) themselves, because they’re not worth bothering about. Light is useless if it doesn’t learn to increase its brightness around darkness, otherwise the darkness will swallow it whole and be very satisfied, like a cat that has eaten the canary. No, you must shine brighter and brighter, bright enough to blind them; and then, they’ll leave you alone, because if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that those who put you down are the most cowardly and disconnected from life and themselves, or otherwise they’d be chasing their own dreams, and living their own lives, instead of spending all their time hating you and your bright, sparkling eyes, and trying to bring you down to their level.