The Mermaid's Betrayal
The mermaid had a beautiful life, full of richness and effortless delight. She had a place, she had a home; she had a life.
But there was something she wanted, and it wasn’t a part of
that life. It couldn’t be a part of that life, for it was above the surface,
while the very foundation of her life was that it existed below it.
In order to get what she wanted- no, what she needed- the mermaid had to break through
the surface and get to the other side. It was necessary, the trade of all
trades. Barely anything to consider. It was not only the obvious choice, but
rather the only one to make.
I clearly remember
the night I first stumbled across The
Mermaid’s Homesickness. For months, I had been torturing myself with
thoughts of the various lives I could lead after graduation. I was, with equal measure
and matched enthusiasm, leaning towards several distinctly differing paths. Some
days, I would dream of travelling Europe. Others, I was quite determined to
quit school and move anywhere in California. I contemplated driving trucks to
see the country, and (though, I’ll admit, very briefly) considered joining the
army to see the world. The only strained constant amidst all my planning was
this: I was to lead a new and exciting life as a new and exciting person. I was
to uproot, reconsider, and get the hell out of here.
Yes, gone would be the days of coming home to messes I didn’t
make and the buzzing dependence of a family unit. I would no longer concern
myself with such trivial things as turning in assignments and laboring over applications.
These days would be over for good.
I was to uproot, reconsider, and get the hell out of here. In
some ways, I guess that’s still the plan. However, something’s not quite right.
The ready-to-go, charged abandon I once had has been diminished. It’s been
replaced by something more tender, something far gentler and more nostalgic. And, as I stare at The Mermaid’s Homesickness at 3:32 in the morning, the rest of the
house asleep, it hits me: once I venture into this new life, I’ll forever lose
the one I have now.
The life I have now will pass the moment I depart from it. It
won’t be here when I inevitably come back for a visit, longingly and with
pride. I’ll come back for comfort, and it won’t be here. I’ll come back to say,
“Look! Look at all I’ve done! Everything is so much better now.” But to whom
will I boast? I will boast to a concept, a thing that once existed and never
will again.
Long before I’m dead, I will lose this life. It’s passing now. And I don’t know what
frightens me more: that I’m not going to try to save it, or that I couldn’t
even if I wanted to.
The mermaid and I are not the same. I am aware- she was not.
She didn’t understand the ramifications of her decisions; I do. She didn’t get
that you can’t reclaim what you forfeit in trivial pursuit; I do. I know
better, and yet I push on. The mermaid was ignorant and filled with hope. I am knowledgeable
and filled with pride.
As the mermaid stares into the space she once knew as home,
she hardly feels the physical pain. She is far too engulfed in the throbbing
waves of self-betrayal to spend much time focused on any one particular thing. She
has betrayed herself by abandoning herself, by forgetting herself amidst her
pursuits. She has caused irreversible damage, and she can’t go back.
She didn’t know any better.
Wang, Lijia. The Mermaid's Homesickness. 2013. Oil Canvas. DeviantArt, Online.
Wang, Lijia. The Mermaid's Homesickness. 2013. Oil Canvas. DeviantArt, Online.
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