Most people in my school community know me by my humorous, often boisterous announcements during all-school gatherings or by my noticeable presence in the halls. While that is indeed a real part of me, there is a very different Jesse lurking in this body. I like to think I balance my character; some funny, some serious; some stupid, some smart; some sweet, some… more of the tough-love. But there is a half of me that few people know, and I therefore have to sit down and explain to them: I have an introverted twin.

            After a long day of being sincerely nice to people, making jokes, and putting up with bullshit, I need one solid hour of silence—at least. Anyone who takes the PresidiGo with me knows that once I’m on that bus at the end of a school day, I’m shut tight, and I desire to speak with no one. The same holds true for my subsequent BART ride home, and the second bus ride after that. Thank God for a hefty commute; I don’t know where I’d find quiet without it.

            When I get home I am also silent. Judging by the most obvious bits of my character, one would think something was wrong if I came home and said, “I don’t really want to talk right now.” In fact, when I say that, it’s when you know I’m doing genuinely well. I’ve explained this to my parents, and they understand it.

Sometimes I disappear between the hours of three- and five-o-clock: it’s my time to be alone and take a bath in the waters of my own heart. After four periods of listening (input) and eight hours of talking (output), I need to listen to my heart, and talk to myself (put).

            One of my favorite poems I’ve written—one of the most honest ones anyway—is about how I wish I was a fish living at the bottom of some dark chasm in the depths of the deepest ocean. I proclaim that the tulip worms will be my friends, and that I want to be in a place where cretins love. This is exactly how I feel at about 3:30 every day, in a very literal sense. “There are too many people and not enough tulip worms, and there’s too many pretty people not loving.” I like it when ugly people love a lot.

The only reason I wish I could breathe underwater is so that I could be the Mariana’s first human resident. There’s something so beautiful about deep, silent, undisturbed darkness…

            This facet of my character is only half of the truth, though. I don’t mean to say that I am a quiet, antisocial, introverted hermit. Half of the time I really do love making so many jokes, talking to so many people, and listening to so many ideas. It’s just that this quieter side of me is not nearly as visible and vibrant as the other, but it carries just as much weight. I therefore feel the need to explain the trench-half to people first and foremost, and let them get to know the colorful side of me along the way.