I’m an INTP. An introverted, intuitive, thinking, perceiving kind of person.
I get my energy from being alone. I thrive in small-group settings, capping at 4 people. Put me in a crowd, and my energy drains faster than your tear ducts did while watching The Vow for the first time. Please don’t feel offended if I turned down your offer to go out this evening – it’s not you; I just need to recharge.
I’m an INTP. As much as I try to, I cannot give you proper instructions to get to my place. How do you go to the main road after you’ve left my house? It’d be easier for me to hop into the passenger seat and show you the way out. Remind me to give you instructions for the next turning, though, because my mind would wander far away, even within the space of 2 seconds.
(I have a carefully written and rehearsed set of instructions on how to get to my place from the main roads, purposely made so that I’ll frustrate fewer people)
I’m an INTP. I rationalize things. We’ll probably have different opinions on what is cool or what is beautiful, but don’t worry – I appreciate either of those things as much as you do. I’m a thinker, but not exclusively so. My heartstrings are just a little rusted and too tightly wounded up – but strike them, and they will resonate with yours just the same.
I’m an INTP, a scatterbrain. I get excited about quantum physics today, and then about deep sea life tomorrow, and then about the Babylonian empire the day after that. I know everything and I know nothing, but I mostly get away with it by talking as though I know something.
I’m an INTP. My world is full of grey areas and blurred lines. I miss deadlines. I’m hardly punctual. One event bleeds into the other. I keep to my schedules for the first 3 hours and they’re already obsolete by the 4th. I try not to take sides – I can’t bring myself to take sides. All I can do is to comment that one side is greyer than the other, but I cannot decide which should be white, or which should be black.
I’m an INTP. I look at the world around me and wonder about the clockwork that makes it turn the way it does. I inspect objects and people and phenomena and mentally take them apart to see what they are made of. I read. I research. I want to get as close to the truth as I can possibly get. (This is why I’m a terrible liar.) Sometimes people come to me looking for empathy, but walk away with criticism – because I assume that people want the same things I do. I’m learning to do this less often.
(I criticize people and people’s works thoroughly because it’s my own twisted way of showing admiration for them – by believing in their potential to be so much more. To the rest, I give perfunctory statements like “good job” or “go for it”)
I’m an INTP. I’m the architect of empires built in my head, the designer of castles in the clouds. It makes for good story-writing material, but hardly useful for anything else. I loathe journalism. Why write about something that has already happened when I can write about things that have never happened? I am the sole witness to the events that play out in my head, the only pathway into the worlds that I construct.
I’m an INTP. I’m an Albert Einstein. I’m an Immanuel Kant. I’m a Marie Curie. I’m a Tina Fey. I’m a Randall Munroe.
I’m Joseph Ng.