Melancholy and Magical-Realism
We all have moments of darkness and depression, sometimes there’s no logic behind it.
Is it possible to write about loneliness and solitude in a healthy way? When that sentimental melancholy strikes us, can we push it aside and instead focus on the tomorrow that might bring a happier day? Is it better sometimes not to live in the moment, but rather to focus on the future?
That was my thought today as I walked along the beach at sunset. I am on the northern coast of Colombia- the region that birthed Gabriel Garcia Marquez and his magical realism.
Usually the sunsets here are breathtaking- a vibrant mixture of radiant golden light set before a backdrop of magenta and deepest blue that slowly fade to the deep purple of dusk.
I take a lot of photos on days like that.
But not today. Today the sky matched my mood- clouded, gloomy and grey. It was no surprise to me that here in the region that birthed magical-realism, the climate would so perfectly mirror my humor. I even wondered if it might be my fault the sky was so gloomy.
Here magic isn’t merely a literary device, but rather a facet of life. Anything is possible. Alongside the most staggering natural beauty I have ever seen in my life exists a brutal realism- the hard societal limits of cocaine farms, extreme poverty and guerrilla forces.
That’s not to say the region isn’t safe- it generally is, but the violence still exists on the periphery.
I have been travelling for two months, mostly for work and mostly alone. I am a freelance writer and journalist based in Cucuta, Colombia. I love what I do, but I absorb a lot of negativity. It’s fascinating and it feels important, even if it doesn't pay very well. I collect life-stories the way some people collect rare books- and I treasure them just as deeply.
But it’s not a lifestyle that allows me to make many lasting relationships- friendly, romantic or otherwise. I’m always travelling. I usually don’t even know where I will be in a few weeks. I hear a lot of really depressing stories. And I have seen terrible violence.
I think sometimes of a Walt Whitman poem. He spoke of darkness beautifully, “DESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night”.
This dark mood strikes me sometimes, as it does us all, for no reason at all. Sometimes it is due to some memory or a recollection of someone no longer in my life.
Usually it’s brought on by loneliness.
I’m accustomed to it, and it always passes. While it persists however, the world loses some of its vibrancy and life seems bleak.
A friend of mine here says that looking at the world through sadness is like viewing the street through a cracked and dirty window- everything seems clouded and distorted.
The world we see in this state is not the word that actually exists- instead we see a dirty facsimile of cracked faces and faded colors.
DESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night,
The sad voice of Death-the call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarmed,
uncertain,
This sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me,
Come tell me where I am speeding-tell me my destination.2
I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you,
I approach, hear, behold-the sad mouth, the look out of the eyes, your mute inquiry,
Whither I go from the bed I now recline on, come tell me;
Old age, alarmed, uncertain-A young woman’s voice appealing to me, for comfort,
A young man’s voice, Shall I not escape?
-Walt Whitman
I listen to a lot of sad stories. Sometimes that is what gets me down. Today it was brought on thinking about a great love that didn’t work out. Usually thoughts like that pass quickly. I am almost always too distracted by work or other company to take much note.
But today, alone on that beach there was little to distract me.
So it goes.
What the hell do you have to be sad about?
Sometimes I feel really stupid for feeling depression- which isn’t productive at all.
I have no real problems. I spend most of my days talking to people who are much less advantaged and who have suffered greater losses than I ever have or will.
Two days ago I had coffee with Paola, a Venezuelan immigrant and escort in Santa Marta. She smiled and joked with me as she told me a story I can’t imagine enduring. She arrived in Colombia two years ago and at first she worked on the street.
But that was too dangerous. She works now through a website to screen her clients. She likes her job, but is sad that she hasn’t seen her child since she arrived. Once she has a passport she wants to send for him, and move to Spain.
She thinks she will have better luck there.
“There’s too much xenophobia here,” she says. “The Colombians think we’re all thieves and prostitutes. So I guess I’m a stereotype. But it’s not like I had a choice. Believe me, if I could open a business I would. But the only job a veneca (a vulgar term used to describe a Venezuelan-Colombian) can get here is for less than minimum wage in a shop or restaurant.”
But she kept smiling. She has a beautiful smile.
“Chao, amor! Time to go to work!” she said brightly before leaving. She gave me a big hug and thanked me for listening to her story.
As is common when I talk with Venezuelans, she smiled and joked with me- never asking once for pity or viewing herself as a victim. It is inspiring really.
Talking to people who confront greater problems than mine doesn’t make me feel better. I guess for some people it does, but I’ve never understood that. The most charitable theory I can come up with about that reaction is that it reminds them how good their own lives are.
I tend to have a contrary response. I get irritated at the world for making people suffer. It’s a terminally stupid idealism I suppose, to look at the world this way.
What is Paola’s secret?
It’s good to keep in mind that everyone suffers, and not to beat ourselves up too bad for feeling down. But as I think back on Paola’s story now I am again inspired by her resilience and positivity. She is stronger than me. If she can overcome something worse, I can endure this passing malaise.
Probably best to leave this blog-entry behind and go for a walk. Maybe have a beer. Darkness is just a small part of life and tomorrow is a new day.
for more stories about Venezuela you can visit www.murosinvisibles.com or follow us on twitter at @InvisiblesMuros
Joshua Collins is a freelance reporter covering the Venezuelan immigration from the border in Cucuta, Colombia. He is also the editor of Muros Invisibles.
