MISUSING GUILT

#13 (From the series "MISUSE")

Casually laying on the pool-side bed, with my red bikini that barely leaves anything to imagination, I observe in desperation the orange and green hued dragon-fly that dips it’s tarsus slightly across the surface of the hotel’s pool. An alluring aura forms around the dragon-fly, and I can’t resist to feel envious of its nature. Nonchalantly, it exists, in a world where their beauty is not measured, as in ours. It does not appear to care for it. And it certainly does not wake up every day wondering, “What should I wear today?”.

Yet, the female’s ability of gaining a companion, relies on her colours, patterns, and flight style. So perhaps, she steps out of the house and thinks:

“I should definitely try flying this way today at the pool”.

I truly wish I was somewhere on vacation, though in actuality I’ve just finished my shift, having previously served people some cappuccinos, that were seated in this exact same sun-bed. This is our hotel, and our pool. Our properties lay in the middle of the moist green land of Northern Corfu, just a two minute walking distance from the sandy beach. There, the blue sea, consumes my psyche every day, as I submerge myself in it as a form of therapy. Therapy, in the sense of total escapism from the “Groundhog Day” reality I have chosen this summer. Working seven days a week, shifts that are longer than eight hours of course, but this is what it’s like when you own a business in this economy.

Thus, I silently long to become the dragon-fly I noticed before. Is it really all the same, for me? For the dragon-fly? Do they live the same day over and over again, and they know it? Do they ever get bored of it? Do they enjoy flying a certain way, just to attract a partner?

Why do I feel guilty, me, who is sitting next to the pool, that I have all of this in front of me, yet I do not feel as happy as I should be expected to?

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My almost-daily ritual of swimming in the water, stretching in it, allowing my body to breathe, provides a catharsis that keeps me afloat literally, and metaphorically. “Aguas que van, quieren volver”, as the song Quimey Neuquén states meaning, “Waters that go, want to return”, and that is the embodiment of my every emotion towards this practice. If I go to the water, I shall return. To myself. Free from the day-to-day fatigue, and all guilt built within. But why guilt?

CHRISTIAN GUILT is a rather more common phenomenon than what it’s advertised to be. We often hear it jokingly come out of one of our atheist friend’s mouth, whenever we’ve expressed a much more deeper sense of regret. “Your God will punish you for that!”, they laugh, and yet I can’t help but wonder otherwise… Will he?

Ever since an early age, I can remember that every ‘bad’ behavioural attitude on my part was met with a disheartened remark from teachers at Sunday school, which of course followed after at home with another disappointed argument coming from my mother. On one hand, you’re scolded for not feeling guilty, and on the other you’re taunted for feeling that way. If guilt was a form of emotional currency, religions wouldn’t ever need another penny coming from a ‘donation’ basket ever again.

The feeling of guilt, lies deep within. You almost can’t enjoy anything, if you really think about its spiritual value, instead of the actual, ephemeral pleasure. If you take it in too hard, you’re destined to reel into guilt. And that’s where guilt may also become entangled with anxiety. When the two meet, one feeds the other, “If you go out drinking tonight, you’re just feeding a poison to your body and mind. There’s nothing good in that.” And sure, there is nothing good in that, however the extremely cautious approach that is driven from fear, has isolated me within patterns, where anxiety and guilt walk hand-in-hand. Of course I want what’s best for my health, but not because I’ve been guilt-tripped to be that way!

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I am in search of tranquility from within me, at all times of the day. Even when I serve the guests their first meals of the day. I allow a small, humorous remark to slip from my lips, brightening their continental breakfast tables, giving them, for no extra charge, something just enough to make them smile a bit more while they eat. They are all on vacation, saving their earnings for a few months of the year, perhaps cutting back on other outings in their own country, just to spend something a little less than two weeks in my hotel, in my pool, and in my sea. I think to myself, “This is mine”, and feel grateful and blessed at having the opportunity of being here. Every thought of wanting to leave when some days become insufferably busy, showers my inner being with guilt. “I must follow through, I shall not give up”, and with that, I head to the bathroom to cry away the frustration of work, and working with stubborn parents. If I were to leave, I would be abandoning them. There it is, the guilt. It slowly builds up.

On the other hand, there are also moments where my body screams for rest, and my good-hearted parents always excuse me to go and grab 1-2 hours of down-time, where I always return to look at them with a wondrous face, something in the lines of, “But you’re 60 years old, I think you should go and lay down instead”, while I can feel my body shaking from restlessness. There it is again, the guilt.

This is how we make a living, we provide experiences that allow others to find their own calm, while we work double shifts in this small family business. The days and moments, where I slip away to a room that no guest has arrived in yet, permits me just enough time to collect myself from constant, social interactions, that are mostly just "requests”, that I must fulfil with a wide-eyed smile. I may not be resting my body, by sitting back and writing, but gaining control of my mind’s flow, soothes any discomfort my body complains of.

I totally believe my genuine nature for pleasing others, aligns totally with the profession I’ve found myself in this year: Tourism. Yet, this certain pleasing, seems to fall only under just one side of me.

There is, however, a constant guilt rolling in my mind, as I lay by the pool, in a minor state of depression. Even the blazing sun can only provide comfort to me for a limited amount of time, along with a golden tan, but proceeds to shine all day becoming an annoyance. The heat which rises up to 38 degrees Celsius, wears out the body, leaving no room for the mind to travel where it’s meant to… And that is my writing. Sure, the mind travels as words appear on my screen, but where is the other side of me? Where is my other side of personal escapism at?

CREATIVE GUILT has made itself at-home now. Inspiration runs on all-time lows compared to the last four productive months I had. I cannot bear but feel guilty. I must write. I must leave the pool-side and go to the room, grab my laptop, put on some atmospheric, desert-like-aura music, and find a way to type out and elaborate further these thoughts in my mind. I must post my “MISUSE” piece of course, I must make time to do so… Right?

Sure enough, I stare into the green horizon, where there are tall-grass fields, with an endless variety of trees (which are few I recognise and remember by name), the willow trees sway with the breeze that takes the edge off of the final, afternoon heat, and there it is; A sudden longing for life. One that could keep me away from writing all of this down, if I were able to simply just live this life as I please to. There would be no depressive episode in sight, were my friends here, and we could all leisurely play games in the garden. There, I also envision my lover and friend, who I’ve been away from for four months, steadily and handsomely approaching me, with his cunning smile, and stoic eyes. I long to step outside of my own mind. To allow my body to move into the direction where life has a movement of the truest life, naturally ethereal, without the need to make it that way, to simply letting it be as it is. If you feel it deep enough, you will see that it is effortlessly like that. The forces of nature around my feminine energy are embraced, caressed by the gusts, flowing through every hair on my body, I have goosebumps, and then… The guilt is gone. I am alive.

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Birds call to their mates, crickets do the same, and here I am, messaging my lover, for the also SEXUAL GUILT, and evident shame, I carry. I let them know how much I desire them. How I yearn to please them. And they reciprocate their own longing for me. I feel at once, total trust and intuition feels as if it has guided me to someone who embodies my core-being: A raging sexual intensity, that overflows in abundance, yet with the kindest intentions. That, thus far in my life, only he can embrace. And often, can tame my mind of it as well. And how is that done? Never in a dirty way. Always gentlemanly and always charming. Always allowing myself, as I am, without the need to appear lustful or too promiscuous. He is indeed, turned on by me, in my simplest, carefree form. In such circumstances, there is no room for guilt to build with him.

Writing, and tapping into my intimate side, brought me back to myself today. If I write sensually (meaning pleasing myself with my own thoughts) with a lifted mood, all of my spiritual anxieties, they really do appear as much more uncomplicated. Easy, perhaps, one could say. Such as an example where one side of me constantly dresses up for the attention of the male gaze, always to stare, but never to touch. The other side of me, runs on ecstasy of allowing my innocent and big heart, to accompany my body with the appearance of what I understand as ‘beautiful’ on me. A bare face, with little lipstick, a flowing skirt, and my most favourite; A dash of obnoxious mystery. And for some reason, this state works as a go-to, to reach my own Zenith. To feel as one, as prettiest as I can be, and then I sit back, and allow my ancestral and poetical skills to speak for me. So yes, you can feel beautiful by “dolling up” for yourself, and this can also inspire you. Why must we feel so guilty about it?

The societal impact of men grooming women, influencing entire global markets to make sure their propaganda works against us femme beings, moulding them into what they, the men, want, has now become an outrageous, feministic, and revolutionary act to go against to. Meaning, if you want to look pretty, just make sure you’re not doing it in a way where men are attracted to you, just because of that propaganda mentioned above. And yet, I think… Where is the harm? Why do I personally gain pleasure from this concept? The men created the weapons, and we are the ones who are actually able to fire them. Does that not mean, we are able to overthrow our oppressor with their own arms? A masochist would think that, perhaps that’s what they wanted all along: For us to have the weapons, and teasingly terrorise them. So, really… Where is the sexual guilt of wanting to be liberated of all forms of men’s influence over our own beauty, for their own satisfaction? Is it possible? Have we completely perverted our perception for what we’re able to achieve with our looks? Frankly, my sensual and personal condition, somehow aligns perfectly with the above narrative, knowing that I am in total control.

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This is my guilt-free truth, and this part of me, is what has sanctioned my every literary work from lyrical musing, to surreal script-writing, to even painting out a world that doesn’t exist for you. But it does, for me. And that is my temporary world of no guilt. What is guilt, if only a mechanism of denial for our true desires and self-acceptance? What is guilt, but not a societal expectation of you to stay “in-line” morally, when morals can only be based off of individual perspective? What is guilt, if not a way but to extort someone else of their doings?

What is guilt, when we are the ones who actually create it?

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Thank you for reading this MISUSE piece! What is your take on guilt? Do let me know… I’ve been craving to hear about others’ ideas…