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It is never personal, you're not the protagonist

It's so easy to become offended. It actually comes pretty natural. Someone says something.  You feel it's directed at you Strong reaction follows No need to react, it's got nothing to do with you as a person Imagine some remarks about academic work versus manual one, a bit dismissive about the latter. You don't have a degree and never wanted one. You know very well it takes years of experience and training to do what you're doing. Talent is involved too, as some people do have "two left hands".  You still feel you should add something to the conversation, but not sure if it is going to be well-received. No need to enlighten the other party right now Most people think in terms of opposites. If it's not this, it's that and it can't be anything else. Certainty of one's convictions is also a form of self-reassurance that everything is stable in one's world. Other points of view cannot be allowed because they are disruptive. Cognitive disrup

Mourning becomes us

I don't know how to write about death without using words which have already been exhausted by intensive use.
I don't want to be original either,  it would be a terrible act of self-indulgence and ultimately psychopathic behaviour.
For short, I have no idea how to express what I feel whenever I hear of someone's death, especially when it is someone close.



Am I saddened by their fate or mine? The realisation that someone is no longer within reach, be it remotely, always comes as a surprise.  It is hitting the same nerve, imaginary or not, that never learns.
Sudden deprivation, loss of a certainty, however vague and infrequently remembered, fear of one's own inevitable death?

No, fear is not the right word, although it has been mentioned by many as the dominant emotion when confronted with news off someone's demise.
There must be something different, heavily tinged, at times, with the guilt of not having made that phone call or visit.

Pre-death behaviour determines a lot of post-death reaction. People emphasise that they have spoken to the departed not long ago, sometimes just a few hours before it all happened. When there is nothing to recollect from recent encounters, much older memories are brought to the surface. A happy shared childhood or school years, help given when needed, no bitter conflicts.

As time has run out for any amendments to the story, the truth is within easy reach.
Paths crossed, lives rolled along parallel lines for a while, then ways parted. The impossibility of keeping up with everyone is not acknowledged. Denial of the inevitable?  The French were on to something when someone coined the phrase "Partir c'est mourir un peu".

Each death makes the world become smaller, till the walls finally close in.




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