Fangs of separation

I stretched lazily and walked up to my window. A sweeper raking specks of leaves from the pale green grass swathed in the morning sunlight. A stray mongrel waited by, confused. I squinted to see who else was lounging around after breakfast. Just one more morning, I thought. At this window.

People deal with farewell and separation in many different ways. They try different ways till the one time they find that they have truly cut themselves successfully away, without much damage. They develop networking and social skills and try hard to keep in touch, in hope that one day they'll never have to say the dreaded word. I hate saying goodbye - to places, to things. Especially to people.

Some people deal with it by slowly taking it in. By savoring and enjoying every last second. With the things they always wanted to do. By taking pictures, by graciously accepting that this is going to be the last time. They wish they would cry and get over with the sorrow but then the tears disappoint. Because they have already grieved enough.

Sometimes, you want to say goodbye by spending all your time with that person or in that place. Doing things you have always enjoyed doing, living the life you have always led. Perhaps with a implicit reassurance that nothing will change and nothing should. This is when you want to believe that this going away is just a small deviation in the master plan of life.

Some people deal with it by keeping away. They immerse themselves in packing, running errands, in things which would take them away from dealing with the pain, and in the process those precious last few moments. They simply don't want any memories of saying goodbye. That would ruin the lovely picture they have in their minds.

Some people just walk away, out of your lives, in a precious second. Some people cry. If it needs some alcohol, so be it. Some people say nice words. Some others hug and kiss.

I blog.