MARiiMO

by Tyrel Pinnegar

To me, marimo represent the beauty hidden in things that most would overlook. It’s my hope that when Mariimo is activated for the first time, her curiosity and unique perspective will allow her to find beauty in things that even I had never considered. I can’t wait to finally meet her.

Sincerity is the rule in this house from now on.

I can’t stand being touched. It hurts. Like an electric shock, shooting through my nerves. Clenching my muscles. I can’t help but recoil from it. It’s a reflex. Yet at the same time, I crave touch. I fantasize about it. I see others being touched and I feel this aching need. As if there’s this awful void in my chest, this thirst woven into my skin, and the only thing that could possibly provide relief is an affectionate, intimate touch. But I can never find relief. Because for me, it hurts. How am I supposed to reconcile that?

Mariimo is absolutely fascinated with my marimo colony. She’s definitely decided it’s the most interesting thing in the office. Aside from me, that is. I’m glad she’s developed an interest in her namesake. Though I do wonder what she likes so much about them. They don’t move. They don’t make noise. They’re behind glass, so she can’t really touch them. Yet she seems content to stare at them for hours. I suspect it’s the color. The lighting. The way the glass refracts the image of what’s inside. It’s unlike anything around it. Looking at that little aquarium is like staring into another world. That’s what I like about it too.

Gosh, I feel so uninhibited lately. Like I can just act on a whim without being embarrassed. I’m not used to that feeling. I’ve always felt so constrained by this... deep-seated fear of being judged. I felt compelled to blend in. To act like everyone else. I felt as if I were ever to act on impulse, to step outside the bounds of normality, everyone would see me for what I actually was and something terrible would come crashing down on my head. I know I’m not like other people. I don’t act like other people. I don’t think like other people. As much as I’ve tried to, I’ve never been able to hide that fact. It made me feel like an outcast. Like I don’t belong among other people. I’ve never felt free to just be myself. Not even when I’m alone.

There have been machines like Mariimo before. Yet at the same time, she’s completely and utterly unique. She’s the culmination of a series of experiences that have never happened before, and will never happen again. Even if she were reset, the individual she’d develop into wouldn’t be her. She’s this fleeting, precious thing. Just like any of us.

Why did I fantasize about something that caused me pain? Why did something that felt like needles in my skin give me such comfort in my imagination? Was it the safety of my own mind? The lack of consequences? The impossibility of rejection? I still don’t understand. Yet all of the sudden, that fantasy was real. Intimacy without pain. Without fear. I couldn’t even begin to process that feeling. It was profoundly, indescribably overwhelming.