A little more about me
I’m looking back over the first few messages of this blog. It must seem a bit strange, a bit abstract. I’m not – or maybe am no longer – used to talking about myself. However, it’s probably because I need to talk that I write online. I realised that I distilled a few pieces of unlinked information, contents of a past and present life where a lambda reader would have difficulty finding a footing. What’s missing are links, facts, dates, a sequence. I have to solve these mysteries. Just like the mystery of Alasdair, for example.
Alasdair. I say his name in my mind so many times that I don’t ever realise I’m doing it any more. It’s a mantra, painful and magnificent, that times the rhythm of my thoughts with the beating of my heart. It’s for Alasdair that I get up each morning and go about my tasks, from the most material to the most intimate.
It’s the memory of Alasdair that lights up my heart and makes my eyes cloud over with sadness. He is the instrument for what I become inside, he is my soul itself and, at the same time, my guiding light. Is that enough for you to understand? I’m sure you want to hear me tell a story – you need an anecdote, specific details, that’s normal…so I’m going to try, even though it’s hard for me, and even if my purpose here isn’t to satisfy your curiosity. So bring on the violins…
Alasdair and Claire met at Edinburgh University, right at first year matriculation. They looked at each other in surprise : it was full-blown love at first sight, a love that confused them. After this initial, brutal emotion, they realised that the bond they had just formed in just a few seconds was unbreakable. They were sworn to intensity for eternity, that was clear. They were never apart, and followed a five-year law course together with the same determination. They prepared to join the same business law office, where they had sat the tests and undergone the interviews together.
They were given names of mythical couples, because it seemed like nothing could separate them: Tristan and Isolde, Romeo and Juliet, Dante and Beatrice... They fairly – or maybe unfairly, yes, so unfairly – inherited the destiny whereby one is practically the other, with little difference. Death prematurely separated these legendary lovers, amputating the female element from the body of the relationship, leaving the man in a state of mourning, vengeance or sublimation.
As for the story I’m telling you, the roles were reversed, with the male counterpart dying. Claire lost Alasdair. The end of the violins…now comes a more serious moment, better suited to the old viola or the almost broken voice of an old blues singer…
I mourned, I didn’t look for vengeance, I shouted at the injustice, I spat in the face of heaven.
I gave up everything and went home to T. I had another reason for this: Mum had just had her attack, and couldn’t be left alone.
I locked myself up with my pain. I carried on with little outings, little jobs. I looked after Mum. I did the cleaning at the graves in her place. My heart didn’t stop beating.
Alasdair.
Alasdair. I say his name in my mind so many times that I don’t ever realise I’m doing it any more. It’s a mantra, painful and magnificent, that times the rhythm of my thoughts with the beating of my heart. It’s for Alasdair that I get up each morning and go about my tasks, from the most material to the most intimate.
It’s the memory of Alasdair that lights up my heart and makes my eyes cloud over with sadness. He is the instrument for what I become inside, he is my soul itself and, at the same time, my guiding light. Is that enough for you to understand? I’m sure you want to hear me tell a story – you need an anecdote, specific details, that’s normal…so I’m going to try, even though it’s hard for me, and even if my purpose here isn’t to satisfy your curiosity. So bring on the violins…
Alasdair and Claire met at Edinburgh University, right at first year matriculation. They looked at each other in surprise : it was full-blown love at first sight, a love that confused them. After this initial, brutal emotion, they realised that the bond they had just formed in just a few seconds was unbreakable. They were sworn to intensity for eternity, that was clear. They were never apart, and followed a five-year law course together with the same determination. They prepared to join the same business law office, where they had sat the tests and undergone the interviews together.
They were given names of mythical couples, because it seemed like nothing could separate them: Tristan and Isolde, Romeo and Juliet, Dante and Beatrice... They fairly – or maybe unfairly, yes, so unfairly – inherited the destiny whereby one is practically the other, with little difference. Death prematurely separated these legendary lovers, amputating the female element from the body of the relationship, leaving the man in a state of mourning, vengeance or sublimation.
As for the story I’m telling you, the roles were reversed, with the male counterpart dying. Claire lost Alasdair. The end of the violins…now comes a more serious moment, better suited to the old viola or the almost broken voice of an old blues singer…
I mourned, I didn’t look for vengeance, I shouted at the injustice, I spat in the face of heaven.
I gave up everything and went home to T. I had another reason for this: Mum had just had her attack, and couldn’t be left alone.
I locked myself up with my pain. I carried on with little outings, little jobs. I looked after Mum. I did the cleaning at the graves in her place. My heart didn’t stop beating.
Alasdair.
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