Medusa and I

It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon. It drizzled outside for quite a bit but it had since stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Normally, in the past ten months or so, I would find myself working even on drizzly Saturdays, slouched like a shackled slave in front of my radioactive workstation from the wee hours of the morning until way past noon, making outbound calls to California and suffering from all the subsequent occupational hazards of persistent telemarketing just to earn some money. But not this Saturday. I had had enough, I thought to myself, and I could no longer take the pressure that was part of my monotonous everyday work routine, so I took the day off.

Fine. I was suspended that day so it’s not like it was a willful decision I actually made on my own freedom and volition. Although I must admit lately I had been hatching diabolical schemes of absenteeism in my mind to try and save whatever’s left of me from dying of over-fatigue or sheer boredom. And somehow the universe, ever sympathetic, helped me fulfill those subconscious plans. I guess my disappointing performance of late sent a very clear message to the management that I was very near, if not already, burning out, and a short sabbatical was just what I needed to regroup and recharge myself. Let’s just say I was forced into taking a short leave of absence to give myself some time to breathe. And I happily agreed. I mean complied, as I didn’t have much of a choice, really.

And so that is how I found myself in some big mall that drizzly Saturday afternoon. Dressed to kill in my blazing red denim pants, white graphic tee shirt with Caravaggio’s Medusa’s estranged serpentine head printed on it and a trendy black and white scarf wrapped around my neck, I sipped bittersweet iced mocha frappe in one of the big mall’s coffee shops. Alone. While waiting to rendezvous with friends and spend the night out partying, singing and dancing, I found no one else to brandish the awesome big yellow bag I was toting to but strangers and passersby who couldn’t care any less about the intricate skull and heart and diamond and spade and club details on the bag. There wasn’t much sense to it, I realized then, deliberately wearing such an outfit that made me conspicuously stand out like any standard road sign from the anonymous crowd that roamed the mall and not having anyone I knew to appreciate or even just notice it. Sad, I know. Even Medusa, stuck on my shirt, seemed bored stale.

Like the sharp aftertaste that pierced my tongue with each sip of caffeine, the painful reality of the situation grew even stronger as I continued to sit there with nothing but Medusa and the cold plastic cup of coffee to keep me company in a table made for two, and my big yellow bag with intricate skull and heart and diamond and spade and club details sitting properly on the empty chair beside me. With nothing to do to pass the time but to force myself to be entertained by my cellphone’s obsolete and therefore understandably dreary features and habitually tilt my dark rimmed glasses to snugly rest on my nose bridge every now and then, I watched people hurriedly walk by, living their own lives in their own worlds, at their own time.

In hopes of breaking the silence that loomed over me like the dark clouds that hovered outside, I desperately looked on for people I knew, even in the slightest, shallowest sense of the word. I got a headache doing that, although I did find some people I knew. In the slightest, shallowest sense of the word. I found familiar faces here and there, people I must have known or met somewhere, maybe in my past life, but didn’t really personally know such that acknowledging their presence was unnecessary (and weird). Although I couldn’t prevent those rudely awkward moments when I met some of them eye to eye, and I had to therefore, out of social graces and politeness, force myself to raise my arm, wave and smile at acquaintances who didn’t even like me well enough to stop by and sit and talk awhile. After the quick hesitant hello was the even quicker goodbye, with them coming and going with the record breaking speed of light. They had their own lives, I guess, and they believed I had mine as well, two distinct pockets of time and space they obviously did not want to collide, even just momentarily. Medusa hissed as no one noticed her at all.

It’s funny how we always seem to find ourselves so lonely despite constantly being surrounded by a noisy crowd of people. On second thought, that doesn’t sound funny at all. Loneliness is a worldwide epidemic, it seems, one worse and more commonly widespread than say, obesity or stupidity. People always seem to find reasons to feel bad about themselves and the lives they lead, utterly consumed by melancholy and despair. We all seem to get depressed at some point in our lives. Some of us get depressed every now and again, while some of us are depressed all throughout.

Nevertheless, just before I had unconsciously pushed myself off the brink of sanity, I was able to snap out of all that, and realized that all that redundant thinking over a cup of iced coffee did me no good. It made me feel like I was sad because in dressing up I was merely seeking attention and social approval, the kind of emotional maturity troubled teenagers were entitled to. Technically, I’m no longer a teenager, so that doesn’t sound too good. I reminded myself that I dressed up for myself and not for anyone else. It didn’t matter if anyone else noticed what I was wearing or not. It didn’t matter if anyone else liked what I was wearing or not. At that moment of cold irony when I was so alone at the center of literally swarms of other people, I realized how dependent I had become on others to find happiness, becoming a parasite that relied on what others had to say for survival and feasted on whatever sense of social security, acceptance and belongingness the people around me could offer me. I had not realized that at all.

As if one of Medusa’s snakes suddenly came to life and bit me, I came to my senses and realized that I had failed terribly in keeping myself happy without the assistance of tools and trinkets and social appendices, and that I was now merely reliant on others to feed me with pleasure and a sense of significance, people and things I treated and regarded much the same way a crippled man would his crutches. Where would I be without those blessed crutches? Would I merely roll over and rot on one dark corner of the street, perpetually squatting like a fire hydrant and begging for alms until I died? Most probably. I could not bear to think I allowed myself to have become so weak.

I realized there was no need to be so needy. Medusa’s screaming face emblazoned on my shirt was all that I had. There was no one else to talk to. But it was enough. Somehow the poor decapitated Gorgon spoke to me, her forked tongue slithering in and out of her scaly reptilian lips as she reminded me: smile and the world smiles with you, frown and you frown alone. You’re the only person who will always be there anytime of the day to make yourself feel better. It made sense to me, I thought, and so I flipped the tail of the scarf that dangled down my neck over my shoulder so that it wouldn’t cover her mouth so much and muffle the wise words that came out of them. None of it sounded Greek to me, in fairness.

No one else but myself could make me happy, I realized, and I had found real happiness somewhere inside me, at least at that time. I was happy even if there was no one else to tell me so. My happiness did not rest on some other entity’s existence. It was mine to create, to find, to discover, and to relish in, within me. No amount of spineless dependence on others would lead me to the path I needed to take towards inner happiness. If it was to be, then it was all up to me. It all pretty much depended on how I chose to look at life, and whether I chose to be happy with it or not. I let out a sigh of relief and comfort. What a revelation.

In the end it was still just beheaded old Medusa and I who went home after the night long party, her mythical stare turning all those who looked at me into stone, devoured by the newfound glory of my presence. I walked with pride and confidence this time, with the knowledge that I did not necessarily need anyone to give me happiness, and that I could make my own healthy bowl of happiness if I needed to. I’m starting to believe that sanity and happiness really are an impossible combination.