My grandmother is on her way out.
Aren’t we all?,
She replied spikily.
I remember being offended into silence. She was my girlfriend at the time. She was supposed to be consoling me and telling me everything would be all right and that she would be there for me! My grandmother was buried about two weeks later. I honestly do not know what brought her low. Well, old age. I was sitting an exam for Control Systems at the time she was being lowered into the ground.
It is amusing, the things we remember after a parting of ways with our lovers. One cannot help but wonder whether those minute details had anything to do with the breakup. Even after the ashes have cooled, we still dissect and analyse the aspects of past relationships to see if they have any bearing on the present. I find that however useful this seems, it is often not as important as we believe beyond a certain degree: after recognizing our previous mistakes there is not much else we can do.
Any meaning we might forge from those experiences could be arbitrary, the intellectual and emotional equivalent of pulling something from one’s posterior. We have an in-built tendency to make events count, even when they exist detachedly, not particularly connected to anything and having no bearing to most of our daily lives beyond the fleeting emotions, bad poetry and even worse blog posts they might have inspired.
A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke. – Rudyard Kipling