By Amanda Knox

Sometimes there is melancholy. Explicable or inexplicable, there just is. There’s no shame in it, though to bear melancholy is to feel uncomfortable, awkward, pained, disquieted, humbled. At least this is how I feel, also because I cannot help but to bear my emotions legibly. Where uplifting emotions move across my face with exuberant animation, opposite emotions that cause me to feel weak and vulnerable freeze my features. A blank expression on my face is as sure a sign of distress as tears. When I experience a negative emotion such as melancholy, my solution is often simply to brace myself and hope to get through it.

My coworkers recognized it a mile away. A gentle, sympathetic discussion arose.

“It must be something in the air,” Phil said. “The change of the season.”

Dean said, half-jokingly.“You should go on an epic quest for happiness,”
An epic quest for happiness? I wondered. That’s just melodramatic enough that it might work.

Of course, by the end of the day, melancholy had got the better of me and I decided to just go home and sip tea with a cat in my lap. Sweet insta-happiness. But then I was late for my bus and I was faced with the choice of having to loiter at a rowdy bus stop for a half hour (on an empty stomach), or else embark on an epic quest for happiness—at least until Colin got off work at 8 p.m. and could pick me up on his way home.

Epic quest it was.

It was curious, I noted, that I hadn’t taken more advantage of the proximity of my workplace to my old stomping grounds in the International District, where I had lived for over two and a half years, to benefit from my knowledge of the best of its assets. Namely, food. More specifically, King Noodle, where I could order my old cold-weather comfort: boiling hot congee (rice porridge) with slices of fresh ginger, acorn squash, and BBQ pork.

Alone at my table, sipping the delicious concoction seasoned with hot sauce and raw peanuts, I remembered why not. My residency in the International District, when I was still frequenting the University for my undergraduate degree, already felt like another life ago. Since I had moved out, I had avoided the International District because important pieces of my life there were no longer a part of my life now. I was a tourist of my own past, and it didn’t feel right. Or, at least, it didn’t alleviate my melancholy.

Alas, the first step into my epic quest for happiness had steered me rather towards bittersweet nostalgia. Oh, well, sighed my melancholy. Might as well keep with the momentum and go get some work done at my other old haunt, the cafe of Panama Hotel. It was a favorite spot because of its resemblance to a quiet, quirky grandmother’s sitting room, complete with piano and board games, and I did have that weekly column…

My readers may be pleased that Panama Hotel did not turn out to be the quiet retreat where I expected I could meditate on my melancholy. One, because such is the nature of an epic quest. And two, because enough already!

I found mahjong. Rowdy games of mahjong championed by older women, no less. Quietly tucked away, I settled into the warmth of their energy.

“Something is not going according to plan here…” chuckled a grey head bent over the board.
“We’ll see…we’ll see…” mischievously smiled another from across the table.
“Maybe you’re wondering why I made that move?” teased one.
“Are we being too loud over here?” jokingly cried the first over to the next table.
“You’re making me want to come over there!” came the response.

Working in Pioneer Square, I often witness the energy that surrounds the major sports, but from a bad angle. Rallies swarm the plaza, loud speakers shake the windows, and intoxicated fans stumble through the alleyways. From that angle, I often find myself feeling dismissive. It’s just a game! I think, wondering at the emotional and financial investment. Call me a traitor, but in the end, it doesn’t actually matter who wins.

Observing the competition amongst the mahjong-ers, I was reminded that games are valuable because of how they allow for human contact. Arbitrary stakes welcome risk and strategy to one’s benefit and at another’s expense in such a way that it is an embrace. To challenge each other is to connect with each other.