Inverted streams of light
Existentialism is hard to come by in the land of the rising sun. A full length mirror is no where to be found, Windex has yet to be imported-allowing for no distinctive reflections in passing windows. Only the wavering self-image, cut off at the waist, swirling in ripples of moonlight and streams of waves can be seen in the river. We exist in a myriad of manners, yet mine remains one only visible by nightfall, an existence in darkness, if that, can be deemed an existence at all. Japan seems persistent on maintaining my existence as one of merely shadows, visual effects played out on stark, whitewashed walls, twirling in passing headlights, multiplying, tripling, sprinting ahead, lagging behind, diagonally, vertically, dancing with each other for a moment before retreating into oblivion once again, like some complex Escherian fantasy of light and dark. I exist in exhaled puffs. I exist in anti-agoraphobic tales. I exist in a darkened room, invisible to all but the nocturnal, silently crouching behind a dividing barrier of language, intellectually lost in translation. I do not exist in Japan. Some version of me lives here, works here, carries out a seemingly normal life…but it’s not me. It’s not Lauren. I don’t quite know who she is. We may bare a striking resemblance in certain regards, but she confuses me, and in keeping with Japanese form, that which confuses does not exist.
P.S. There’s bound to be an antonym for agoraphobia, but I’ve yet to find it. Where is my OED when I need him. I’ll look it up and get back to you…I know you’re mentally in knots.
P.P.S. Just fyi, don’t try to light a cigarette while wearing mittens, especially if you’re fire prone. Really, my stupidity only reigns supreme to keep you from harming yourselves. You should thank me. Go on.
P.S. There’s bound to be an antonym for agoraphobia, but I’ve yet to find it. Where is my OED when I need him. I’ll look it up and get back to you…I know you’re mentally in knots.
P.P.S. Just fyi, don’t try to light a cigarette while wearing mittens, especially if you’re fire prone. Really, my stupidity only reigns supreme to keep you from harming yourselves. You should thank me. Go on.
posted by Chishiki Lauren at 6:24 PM
6 Comments:
Agoraphilia should be the opposite, but unfortunately, the word seems to have acquired the sense of a fetish for sex in public places. And I imagine you meant "anti-agoraphobic tales" to mean tales that encourage others to travel abroad. "Agoraphilic tales" would instead denote tales of public sexual exploits, probably not what you had in mind.
Actually, what you describe could be the definition of existentialism; "A philosophy that emphasizes the uniqueness and isolation of the individual experience in a hostile or indifferent universe, regards human existence as unexplainable, and stresses freedom of choice and responsibility for the consequences of one's acts."
As for an antonym, if agoraphobia is a fear of open spaces, then woudn't anti-agoraphobia be claustrophobia?
Anyhoo, me thinks you are suffering from post-vacation-back-to-the-grind syndrome, which is generally cured with a pint of your favorite libation and a couple of friends (or acquaintances).
From what little I've seen of Japanese television, it would seem that Agoraphilia could be found there too ;-)
In theory, claustophobia works. But I had in mind something more along the lines of a fear of indoors, the isolation being indoors relates, for me, at least. Claustrophobia implies a fear of confined spaces. It's not the small spaces that get me down, it's the knowledge that my own existence shrinks in order to fit the form four walls require. Okay, that made sense earlier, but now...I've lost myself.
Oh, okay, I understand what you mean. Something along the lines of "cabin fever", but less prosaic. I'll have to think about that ...
I thought I was making this one up, but the word ecophobia, fear of home, does apparently exist. Unfortunately, again, it has acquired an unhistorical meaning, in this case fear of environmentalism or environmentalists. I did find a word domatophobia, fear of houses or being in a house, which I think is the closest you'll get, although it seems to exist nowhere else besides websites listing various supposed phobias. Perhaps the word needed to express your anxiety has yet to be invented, but I try for you, Lauren ...
Suddenly I could see "Mittens O' Fire". Frightening.
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