I was 26 when I discovered the term Highly Sensitive Person.
Whether the label fits perfectly or not doesn't really matter.
What mattered was the strange feeling of reading something that had been quietly describing me my entire life.
I've always enjoyed being alone.
Not because I disliked people.
Because silence never felt empty to me.
It felt full.
Teachers often told my parents,
"Shyam doesn't even feel like he's in the classroom."
I rarely spoke.
I rarely volunteered.
Yet I somehow finished at the top of my class.
It's funny how good grades can silence questions that personality never could.
"Why are you so shy?"
I heard it so many times that eventually I started asking myself the same question.
Am I actually shy?
Or do I simply spend more time inside my own head?
I rehearse conversations.
Sometimes arguments.
Sometimes interviews.
Sometimes conversations that will never happen.
I've probably had more discussions in my imagination than in real life.
A single song can change my entire day.
A photograph can stay with me for weeks.
A sentence from a book can keep echoing in my mind long after I've closed it.
Small things leave deep footprints.
I notice things people walk past.
Tiny changes in expressions.
Patterns.
Details.
Sometimes I become completely obsessed with understanding one idea.
People think I'm paying attention.
The truth is...
I don't know how not to.
Being left-handed never helped.
I learned to write with my right hand.
Yet I still brush my teeth with my left.
Use a knife with my left.
Kick a football with my left foot.
It's as if my brain agreed to compromise—but never surrendered.
Some people have called me a genius.
I never knew what to do with that word.
Maybe they saw creative solutions.
Maybe they believed the myths about left-handed people.
Maybe they were simply being kind.
Inside my head, I always felt like...
a left-handed fool.
Someone who thinks too much.
Feels too much.
Questions too much.
For a long time I wondered whether I should become more like everyone else.
Talk more.
Think less.
Blend in.
Now I'm not so sure.
The world doesn't need another copy.
It already has plenty.
I've also stopped believing that life is fair.
Some people find success early.
Some late.
Some never.
Talent matters.
Hard work matters.
But timing matters too.
Maybe success is simply what happens when preparation and timing finally shake hands.
I'm still figuring it all out.
Maybe I always will.
For now, I'm just a left-handed fool trying to understand the strange machine inside his own head.
And strangely...
I'm beginning to like him.