20 NOV 2017
What’s it like to be antisocial still in your late 30s? It’s annoying and satisfying at the same time, which is what makes it confusing. I don’t like “confusing”, I’d prefer it if I could on a whim come up to anyone at a function and offer my hand and say “Hi, I am Marina, whacha doing here and how are you finding it?”. Like, I’ve seen people do it but I have NEVER, not once in my life, struck up a convo with a stranger trapped in the same physical space. I friendly-chit-chat with cashiers and ask randoms for directions in the street – so it’s not that, I am not always tongue-tied. It’s that I am beyond relieved when a person, any person, please, happens to be in physical proximity during, for example, pretend-admiring a work of art at a gallery opening, and they are the ones to break the ice. Oh, to hear a voice directed at me in the sea of voices for hours directed at anyone but me – it’s almost like I know Beyonce the Saviour is watching over at that moment. Hallelujah. I hope only good things happen to those who have initiated pretentious conversations with me.
That, though, is a rare occurrence. The number of times when I would either be moving around a space, at slug speed, in perspiration and prayer to be noticed or simply shifting from one foot to another in the corner (it doesn’t have to be a corner, the effect is the exactly same independent of vantage points) is infinite. It rarely, if ever, stops me from attending anything I want to go see by myself, but it sure as f-ck dampens the mood. I try though. There have been instances when I would walk up to a group of duders deep in conversation (everyone always appears to be having the greatest time deep in conversation, don’t they?) and physically plonk myself so close to their circles I feel our chakras intertwine. I “accidentally” brush someone’s shoulder with my gently, fleetingly moving hand and follow that with the most seductive, irresistible “I’m sorry”. I have once moved super close to a couple of people and attempted a sheepish smile while pretending to be part of their dialogue to receive no acknowledgment. First of all, f-ck you two. Secondly, I am dying to go back to my corner where I can be the creepy kid character who observes but is mute.
It’s physical. I can’t even call this “fear”, although I am aware that that’s what it is, it is a physical stupor that chains my body and my voice and my dignity. You know how Arial the Mermaid gave up her voice to have a vagina so the personality-free Prince could f-ck her? She didn’t know (I hope!) that her gain would not be worth the loss, bless her. Take my vagina and give me a voice any day – I won’t use it for singing, I will use it to charm the sh-t out everyone with. I am tired of fudging, exhausted of being ignored, and, most tragically, pissed off about missing out on all these great convos I could meaningfully contribute to thanks to my overflowing intelligence.
On the other hand, outside the world and walls of art relations, in the everyday life and at sunny resorts, please keep away. I don’t like to be bothered, don’t appreciate to be talked to, don’t enjoy noisy gatherings and absolutely hate crowds. Yeah, a “loner” is right.