You still have some anger to expiate

The night might be dark, a tennis match is darker

Which social masks have you worn today?

I will tell you mine. I pretended to be happy when my mother came by this morning even though I was tired and grumpy. I pretended to be friendly during my visa interview yesterday at the American embassy even though I thought the procedure was unnecessary (probably shouldn’t write this). I also pretended to be a two-year-old kid when playing with my niece a few hours later.

Why did I wear a social mask in each of these occasions? Out of appreciation, out of necessity (really needed that visa), out of love. The causes why we wear different personalities in different circumstances are manifold but they all boil down to one simple reasoning: to get through life scathed, yes, but sensibly so.

The reason you had to sit through this rather bizarre paragraph in a newsletter about tennis is a match I watched last week that took place in Abu Dhabi between Ons Jabeur and Beatriz Haddad Maia. If you have seen the match you would have seen Ons break down in tears midway through the second set. There was a lot of speculation as to why. Was she hurting physically or mentally, emotionally or maybe spiritually? All at once? I don’t have the exact answer and yet I have some kind of answer.

For the longest time playing tennis was my version of going to therapy. A German and virgo (what a combo, geez) I am very good at not only hiding my feelings but straight up compartmentalizing them away. I would be irked by a situation or a person and literal seconds later I would be over it. OR: So I thought. I would go on court days, sometimes weeks, later play a grueling match and at 5:5 in the third set an image would flash by of the situation or person that irked me.

I wasn’t over it, I had just shoved it down my subliminal mind so far not even Gollum would be able to find it. Gollum might live in a cave but my subconscious goes deeper when it comes to putting things (and by things I mean feelings) away.

The problem with tennis is and anyone who has ever played a match on any level can attest to this: Tennis is a rough sport. You constantly feel pressured, under copious amounts of stress and just in general dissatisfied with yourself as a human being. Why we still continue playing and weirdly enjoy it remains to be explored.

Now, what stress does to you is it shatters the well-formed protective layer of ego we carry around with us, our social masks, like a balloon that deflates sadly in front of our eyes, and any spike aimed at us hurts that much more. It peeks the mind and spirit in its rawest, pinkest, most vulnerable place. Which is: our inner self. No ego, no mask, no BS.

Tennis players train and practice, run and lift weights, hit a million serves and a billion backhands and a trillion forehands (don’t look at me, I don’t practice volleys) in order to train their system to kick into place when all else fails. The hope is that no matter how many inner conflicts you carry around, how many fights you had with your mother, how annoying your partner is, no matter that the world around you is going up in flames and a baby in the third row is screaming and somebody behind where you’re serving is eating an apple (seriously, why is apple-eating so damn loud?) your SYSTEM will kick into place. It’s been trained so profoundly to the bone that it has no choice but to kick in and take over.

However, even the best trained athletes in the world have slip ups. That damned balloon doesn’t deflate but bursts with a loud pop and all the stress of our subliminal mind comes forth. I think that is what happened with Ons Jabeur. I don’t know what her specific stressors are, I could speculate based on interviews etc, but in the end it doesn’t matter because we all have them. They are called life and include all the annoying people around us who refuse to do exactly what we want them to do. I think every single person who has ever played a tennis match and was able to hold back tears, but only barely, or who has left their racquet in pieces - ashes to ashes, dust to dust - or who has felt left completely and utterly, mind-blowingly alone on court will have empathy with her.

Ons’ subconscious cave might not be as deep as the German/virgo kind and in extensiveness we all may differ from one another but one thing is for sure: If you stare in the abyss, the abyss WILL stare back.

stare in the abyss at own risk

And then, of course, there’s Chad who “could never” and “doesn’t get it” and Chad is a good-listener and loves you but Chad is also the one who acts completely different in front of his mates. Talking about social masks.

So, which social masks have you worn today? Let me know, I can’t wait to hear!

Things that make me happy:

I watched the entire Yorgos Lanthimos film catalogue this week which already made me VERY happy in itself but this line from The Favorite made me particularly happy: “My maid is on her way up with something called a pineapple.” It also made me really crave pineapple.

shooting the abyss never works

Things that make me unhappy:

Nick Kyrgios approving of Andrew Tate. Are we surprised? This is an honest question: Are we? I think I am but somehow I am also not. It didn’t make me unhappy, unfortunately, it just made me sad.

I will greet you all next week and until then I remain…

Yours truly, Andrea