To Be Or Not To Be

Blissful Friday – forecast is raining on our parade with a chance of shower later on. Still, at 5AM with the world rousing up slowly in the veil of the leftover night, Friday is a comforting and hopeful prospect. I have recovered slowly from the depression on Monday as the week progressed. The work, however, continues to trouble me somewhat, but has on longer oppressed me to desperation. I actually managed to force myself to get out of my cubicle –went out to lunch with coworkers one day and took my lunch walk 3 other days. Both activities brought the needed diversion for my haunted soul, even though I had been reluctant at first.

Lunch had been harder, as I rarely took invites during my 2-year employment. Mayhap I resent the early rejects when my coworkers never included me in their group lunches till months later after I came. The main reason, though, is that taking a 1-hour-plus lunch break depresses me: the illogical guilt afterwards and the emptiness (in contrast to a stuffed up stomach) in retuning – it’s like after-the-movie, when-curtain-drops’ void and disillusion. It is as real as it is absurd. Somehow, those steps do not just take me back to the office but to the 7-years-old jammed in a flood of people moving out of the theatre. Gone was the 2-hour luxury, the thrill of an imaginary world in that big screen and the daylight that was there before we walked in the movie theatre. Tears would almost swell up into my eyes as my young heart pumped heavily from the loss. No, images like that do not exactly seem appealing, but I took the invite bravely this time.

On the way to the lunch place, a Vietnamese restaurant – another adventure for me as it would be my first bite – I was informed that there might be other people joining us. My new found courage diffused further on top of the prospect of foreign food. I grumbled and mentioned about “getting another table for myself”. My friends as well as coworkers would never associate “shy” with me, even though I am horribly uncomfortable with crowds. I usually resolve in hiding myself near the food tables and stuffing my mouth with food to avoid meeting or talking to people. It turned out there was but one showed up when we got there. My anxiety though not gone eased off a little bit, but I was still helplessly self-conscious. I averted my eyes from this harmless Asian colleague, acting cooler than necessary and talking more than usual. When I tried to be anything but frantic, I was a wild animal caught on fire. He became my object of my frenzy. I asked him about his family, where he lived and even his marital status, none of which belonged to a casual lunch conversation with someone that I would probably never meet again. Even my 2 other coworkers raised their eye brows and commented afterwards: “and you said you wanted to get a table by yourself??” I wanted to retort back: “EXACTLY why I wanted to get a table by myself!”

I thought of another occasion with this past Sunday’s potluck at the church. Even with a crowd bond by the same faith, some of whom I have known for more than 2 years, I could not stop that inner debate whether to stay or not to stay the entire time during the service. The thought of where to sit and whom I might have to talk to and what I could talk about paralyzed me. My conscience after the convicting sermon of that Sunday morning on “the functions of church” screamed out loud that I should stay, but my fear had the upper hand eventually. I couldn’t flee fast enough right after the church. As I sped out of the crime scene and even had a chance to rejoice in my narrow escape, it dawned on me that I was actually in the “hospitality committee”.

What is the right thing, running away or facing the enemy with expenses and casualty on both parties? If doing the right thing changes who you are, is it the right thing any more? Then again, if who you are isn’t what you should be, then shouldn’t changes be the right thing? On a Friday morning when dreams and hope come alive once a week, questions such as these do not fit the mood or occasion. I am somewhat thrown back to my earlier downcast. A 15-minute walk with my iPod and the bell chiming the sweet old hymns from the church a few blocks away seems now a much preferable choice for both therapy and celebration…. I should have known; me and myself are enough for any party.