Laughing-crying madness?
by Anna Atsu
As Picasso's mischievous grin adorns my desk, his gaze fixated on the heap of GCSE Maths papers spilling out of my massive black bag, a curious inquiry slips from his lips,
"So you also do maths?" His words ripple through my mind, triggering a cascade of reflections.
I can't help but chuckle inwardly, a reflexive response to the situation I will repeat many times in the coming days.
How many times do I need to repeat?: “Only foundation level, in higher tier questions on ratios and probability become too high philosophical concept for me…” — I don’t even mind my fab academic to hear me. She is my guru. Professor Mamokgethi, a B2 NRF-rated scientist, a speaker and a courageous woman I learned about from a display in a maths classroom in one of the schools where I teach. Oh yes, she is a public figure I recently followed to Egypt, on Instagram to “educate, inspire and give hope” follows me and reads my reflections.
“I have only one Instagram account🙏🏾” she says, which makes me chuckle thinking of a fake Elon Musk on X, who yesterday dared to think I am a pink blond princess who will drink all the Tesla sweetness words so easily. Of course, I played an overexcited pink-blond version of myself using the whole of my lunch break to lead him to a belief I was vulnerably exposing myself to my true Tesla guru. As I listen to the lovely karaoke of my maths professor and think of the sweet nonsense of a fake Elon as my private amusement, a stern inner voice interrupts, chastising my seemingly frivolous behaviour.
"Seriously, Anna! Time to stop reading you," it scolds, “you laugh to yourself like mad. This is stopping to be funny.”
True, no one can make me laugh as much as I can make laugh myself and to be truthful with you if I waited for anyone to make my laugh I would be the most serious person in the world. Being able to smile to myself makes me increasingly proud of myself. At the end of the day, counting on anyone to make you happy or sad is madness.
But beneath the surface of a mad amusement lies a deeper mechanism at play. Laughter, often considered a social cue, serves as a coping mechanism, a means to alleviate tension or discomfort. In this instance, it masks a subtle discomfort I feel at the intersection of art and mathematics, two seemingly disparate domains that converge within me. Add to it end-of-the-week events and you end up with a laughing-crying experience.
Mad?
I am not denying it. My tendency to retreat into laughter serves me as a defence. Laughter serves as a shield against vulnerability, a barrier I erect to shield myself from the raw emotions lurking beneath the surface. Call it hiding madness, if you wish, I don’t mind.
Yet, the ability to find solace in my own laughter, and to derive joy from within, represents a significant milestone in my life. It signifies a shift away from dependency on external validation for emotional fulfillment, towards self-reliance and self-acceptance.
As I navigate the complexities of life, oscillating between moments of levity and introspection, I confront the inherent unpredictability of human experience. The interplay between emotions, thoughts, and actions…
Indeed, the confluence of disparate events—from conducting spoken and marking GCSE papers to grappling with existential questions of life and death—underscores the unpredictability of life.
Let me take you there just for a moment:
Let’s take Friday and the weekend that followed. I was a GCSE community languages examiner for some languages that I speak. I collaborated with my German colleague who had a long list of students who needed to go through the exam process in a school where the person organising them was a tiny Spanish lady wearing bottle green trousers with an amazing accent and the beauty of Penelope Cruz. I did not expect to encounter the Spanish language in any other form after the completion of the examinations.
My thoughts were set in one specific direction that evening but then I received a message from my dearest cousin speaking Spanish among many other languages, a beautiful computer programmer and a wonderful Italian cook girl whom I took to my home country.
Unpredicted? Maybe for you. For me is a norm. She is my cousin, but she doesn’t come from where I was born, although we share some of the languages. She is young, has hair type 3B, poses like a professional model, can program anything for an American company but has a heart larger than any continent. She contacted me to talk about…
death…
You know that although I am getting better at this topic, it is still a great challenge for me to accept its impact on all of us. So I’ve been crying a lot, not even knowing the people I was writing the poem for the Anglo-Spanish funeral. The contrast of emotion was great simply because just before I wrote another poem celebrating the birth of a baby of my best friend in Poland, a friend I had known since my childhood, with whose brother I was singing all the songs of Celine Dion that I’ve been hearing in radio recently. Both friends are such fun people, the kind you start laughing when you hear them. I have friends like that, true, some would prefer to distance themselves from me… We see each other infrequently but the guarantee of good time is always there, no matter if we talk about parenting, difficult memories or just simply drinking coffee and eating cakes in their beautiful homes I could move to straight away.
Yes! I find solace in the company of friends—individuals whose laughter echoes through the halls of memory, infusing even the most difficult conversations with levity and warmth. It is within these connections that I discover the enduring resilience of the human spirit, a reminder that amidst life's uncertainties, laughter and love prevail.
Ah! You want a takeaway or at least a cake to take with you: Spanish churros, creamy flan, Italian pina colada or American homemade apple pie?
Laugh when you can, share both tears and laughter, smile and talk to people even if they are not your cup of tea and you don’t eat desserts.
But seriously, here are a couple of facts I very SERIOUSLY want to share with you:
When we laugh, our bodies release endorphins, neurotransmitters known as "feel-good" hormones. These endorphins promote feelings of pleasure and reduce stress levels, effectively combating the negative effects of cortisol, the stress hormone. By engaging in laughter, even for just a minute, we can alleviate tension and promote relaxation, offering a much-needed reprieve from the pressures of daily life.
Laughter fosters social connection and strengthens interpersonal relationships. Shared laughter builds bonds between individuals, fostering a sense of camaraderie and mutual understanding. Whether it's exchanging jokes with friends or sharing a humorous moment with colleagues, laughter creates a positive atmosphere where communication flows more freely and relationships flourish. This sense of connection is essential for mental well-being, providing a support network during challenging times and enhancing overall resilience.
Laughter promotes perspective and resilience in the face of adversity. Humour has a remarkable ability to reframe difficult situations, allowing us to approach challenges with a lighter heart and a more optimistic outlook. By finding humour in life's trials and tribulations, we can reduce feelings of helplessness and empower ourselves to overcome obstacles with resilience.
Laughter stimulates cognitive function and creativity. When we laugh, our brains become more active, leading to enhanced problem-solving abilities and increased cognitive flexibility. This cognitive boost can have far-reaching implications for mental health, improving mood, and fostering a sense of vitality and mental agility.
My message is simple: a minute of laughter may seem inconsequential, but its impact on mental health is anything but. From reducing stress and strengthening social bonds to promoting resilience and enhancing cognitive function, laughter offers a myriad of benefits for emotional well-being.
So, the next time you find yourself in need of a mental health boost, don't underestimate the power of a good laugh—it may just be the best medicine of all.
Please, laugh today!
My laughing-crying madness poems: