Don’t bang the door!

I have a theory.

A thought.

Rather, a musing. A Brainwave Musing™.

See what I did there? I introduced my blog like musicians introduce themselves at the start of their songs. “Yo, yo, yo... it’s your boy Brainwave Mus..” Kidding😄.

Anyway, my theory revolves around the different shades of embarrassment that bloom when two people from completely opposite social planets try to exist in the same orbit. Social type, I guess? Or maybe social preference? I’m still figuring out what to call it, so let’s go with “vibes.”

I like to think of myself as a calm person. I don't want to say I’m a chill person because I want to leave that honour to the soon-to-be legendary defender, Dean Huijsen. I’m just calm.

And in my serene existence, there are certain things that disturb the peace: noise, chaotic environments, shouty clothes, over-the-top fashion, and pretty much anything that screams for attention like a toddler in a supermarket. These things vex me. Not annoy. Vex. To my very core.

If I’m chatting with someone in a very bright yellow shirt paired with boot-sized shoes, my inner peace immediately starts buffering. Now we’re both under public scrutiny—and I didn’t sign up for that. I suspect, though, that the human disco ball beside me likes the attention.

And don’t even get me started on people who cause a scene in restaurants, people yelling in matatus, overly dramatic prayer warriors in church, meeting disruptors, classroom comedians. I could go on and on. I don’t like to cause or be part of a fuss. My contribution to society is mentally uninstalling myself from such scenes.

On the flip side, there are people who thrive in chaos. Silence makes them itch. A little silence, and they feel like their life is incomplete, like their life is 'boring'. They say things like, “It’s too quiet, I can’t think!” and proceed to “study” with trap music blasting through earphones that are actually speakers. These are the same folks who blare music from their phones as they walk—because obviously, everyone needs to hear your Bongo Flava playlist, Omwanda.

These folks have formed an unholy alliance with boda boda riders who mount subwoofers on their bikes, and Subaru guys who rev louder than a lion trying to assert dominance. They want to ensure that you understand that their car stereo can be as loud as their engines.

How are you supposed to think in such noise?

I truly believe that these are the people monks and therapists speak of when they say, “You need to learn to sit with yourself.” Stillness is their enemy. Tranquility exposes their inner chaos. They fear silence is like letting their guard down, and it will reveal who they really are.

In this same category are those who are personally loud. They talk a lot, even when sometimes all the world needs is a little silence. They sing unnecessarily loud. They intentionally wear heels on tiled floors to alert everyone of their approach, and have time to repent. You can hear them thunder down staircases. You’ll know everything about their co-worker’s affair by the end of their phone call. Whether you like it or not.

Among these, there are ones I actually loathe: people who bang doors! People who slam doors like they’re mad at the air. They’re also the same people, I bet, who let their phones ring aloud in meetings. Multiple times. I cannot stand such people whatsoever!

So here’s the core of my theory: that these two species of humans embarrass each other in public.

Take me, for example. I enjoy being in a room where people know I’m present, but can’t quite pin down where. It’s like being Batman, but socially anxious. I don’t know if my social anxiety has peaked off the charts over recent years, but choosing invisibility has saved me from many socially cringe situations. It makes me enjoy the occasion, and most importantly, leave at will.

Now, place me next to someone who laughs like a hyena with a megaphone, or yells people’s names across the room, or wears the fashion equivalent of an attention-seeker—and suddenly I feel secondhand shame. Like I’m complicit in their crimes against social norms. I find myself dodging eye contact, awkwardly repositioning myself, trying to vanish into the furniture. Who likes to be put in an awkward situation?

Flip it, and loud people don’t want us quiet types around either. We’re the buzzkills to their party. To them, we’re the wet socks in their dance shoes. It will always be a case of:

“Omwanda, your boy over there doesn’t talk much, eh?”

“Your friend looks like she’s thinking about going home. You sure she’s okay?”

“Omwanda, slow down on the shots, you’re embarrassing your friend.”

And now Omwanda has a reputation: he’s that guy who brings his introverted, minimal-talking, party-pooping friend everywhere.

So the friend—me—must now fake confidence, sip the tiniest cocktail on the menu, and pray for the night to end, while Omwanda is doing backflips on top of a speaker.

You get the theory by now: loud and quiet people embarrass each other. Often unintentionally. But embarrassment knows no intent.

One solution I’ve found is to simply attend my own vibe. There’s no reason to drag a loudmouth to a book club or a meditation session, unless I’m trying to sabotage my own peace. Don’t bring a stand-up comedian to a yoga retreat. Don’t bring me to a nightclub with a bass so loud it rearranges my internal organs. Let Omwanda party with his fellow noisemakers, while I sip mojitos with my kindred calm souls. Each cow to its watering hole.

Case in point: just the other day I was in a matatu heading home and this grown woman was so adamant on having a conversation with me about the cold weather. I admit it is cold, but we don’t have to have a 20+ minutes conversation about it from town to Kabete.

See, my ideal matatu ride is spent staring out the window like a moody main character, thinking about what I’ll write for the weekend, how office work drains the soul, or the Superman movie premiere this weekend. What I don’t want is a full-volume TED Talk about Nairobi’s weather patterns while everyone in the vehicle becomes unwillingly invested in our conversation. Makes me uneasy.

By the time I alighted (two stops early), I was so embarrassed I briefly considered teleportation. If we must talk in the matatu, let our conversation stay neatly between our two seats. The person across the aisle shouldn’t even know it’s happening.

Anyway, the lady kept going. Loudly. I kept replying with disinterested “Mmmh”s and staring longingly out the window. Talk about people who can’t read the room. I will rant about that on another article. She even made me postpone what I was to write this weekend and get this off my chest first.

If you scrolled past all of that, here’s the takeaway: Embarrass yourself on your own time.

Don’t drag innocent bystanders into your noisy, chaotic orbit.

(Clicks tongue. Slams laptop. Storms off dramatically—but quietly.)

✍🏽Reagan.