The Ambient Grief of Unrealised Futures and Fractured Relational Continuities.

A particular feeling, or rather an affect, has followed a recent trip. More precisely is the case that I find myself engulfed by this certain something. I continue to find it rather accessible and effortless to begin via apophaticism. 

Is it regret? It is not. 

Is it sorrow? To state that that is what this is would be to use a shorthand. And it is not. 

Is it perhaps grief? 

From a non-essentialist position, in the immediate moment of my inundation, it did seem to be so. 

Other voices make their presence felt. 

Even if yes, should I write about grief? 

Their presence echos. 

Is this, even, grief? 

Whether it is or not, remains unclear. In earnest, it matters not. It matters not how we address, how I address it. The point remains that something was felt in a particular way, and thus, it must then be written particularly. 

The Social Ontology of Grief 

Literature and discourse offered and continue to offer not just alternative ways of seeing but a moment of silence, a space for skepticism to, at last, have a minute, in a world relentlessly valorising certitude. Encountered during my autoethnographic endeavour, the social ontology of grief proved instrumental in reconciling the Event. This ontology developed by Alfred Sköld continues to offer considerable utility, even years later. At the outset, this non-essentialist and non-pathological framework must, at the very least, be outlined. 

Sköld identifies the core structure of grief as the fact that one lives whilst the other remains dead. One must then ensure this structure underscores one's analysis. Moreover, the experience of loss is followed by a reconfiguration of the ‘web of possibilities for conducting one’s life’, a reconfiguration contingent upon a question that forms Sköld’s second principle: How does one live on? This social ontology compels one to confront not only the mortality of others, but, more pressingly, one’s own. As Norbert Elias puts it succinctly: “Death is a problem for the living.” Integral to this ontology is the subversion of the notion that death and life lie neatly within the boundaries of discrete, physical bodies. Though death is conventionally assumed of the body, Sköld reiterates that other forms of loss are no less significant: the loss of a relationship, the loss of a future, the loss of one’s self. 

Now 

To return, then, to the engulfing something. Whilst the decision to leave finds firm grounding, the engulfing discloses matters that were beyond me at the point of departure. Whilst I sense them now, it is but fleeting. I continue to harbour no doubt about this, but I'm likely to return and keep returning to this feeling for decades to come. 

Yet again, is it sorrow? To state that that is what this is would be to use a shorthand, a rather insufficient one at that. 

Whilst it is certainly beyond sorrow, sorrow doth inaugurate it's opening. Whilst the trip for the most part was indeed enjoyable, meaningful, and productive, the undertone that forms the subject of this piece was quite undeniable. 

Across and within the interactions with the others. Each spoke, implied, or marked about distinctly divergent futures. These futures were expressed in ways more than one. 

Futures which were sometimes privileged, sometimes reminiscent. The contradiction within reminiscing a future is remarkable. 

For they spoke of it as if it had materialised in real terms, for them, at some point. 

For they spoke of as if it was promised to them, in some sense. 

For they spoke of it as if there was still a possibility of this future. 

Indeed, not all expressions were overt. Other times, these appeared but in implication. 

The life we could have lived. 

The life that could have been. 

The life that could be lived. 

The Affect & the Relational Continuities 

It must be stated again, for I remain emphatically certain: this is untouched by regret and unmarked by sorrow. And yet there remains an affect. An affect that demands a particular examination. 

I could not presume, nor would I dare, to speak for you. 

This affect might be better understood through the others, especially given that it is through the relationship with them that it emerges. A few friends, my cousin, my mother, and my cat. 

For C. 

The precise emergence of the affect escapes me. 

Certainly during our private interactions, when discussions turn ambitious, one begins to feel the affect. It rose in the background and there it remains and lingers. With our current and renewed aptitude and capacity, we could do so much. And yet, we cannot. For, in our pursuit which was individual and independent of each other, we traveled far. For, in our pursuit of matters and ends deemed more important and suitable, we inadvertently severed pursuits that we could have taken together. Indeed, this is but bittersweet as the former pursuit is, in fact, our own more than the latter. Alas, it is the death of these other pursuits that we must contend with. 

For my cousin 

The precise emergence of the affect escapes me, again. 

The affect emerges through the evocation of their ambition as well as the tangible and manifested professional development. I cannot help but feel that there remains much that I can do for them. With my skills, temperament, expertise, and a lack of ego (at least in relation to them), their momentum could be boundless. My gain would be but my servitude. 

For my mother 

The affect emerges at distinct instances of interaction, following every departure, sometimes during gathering following extended periods, and every now and again.  

Arguably, we idiosyncratically yearn for different futures. The futures are distinct not just geographically,  culturally, and socially but remain divergent in ontologically, epistemologically, and philosophically. To divulge further details would implicate the others in a way that remains unjustifiable. Woefully, the materialisation of her imagined future would amount to the suppression, if not denial, of my own selfhood. 

For my cat 

Every instance of interaction with my cat, was followed by the affect. 

The clock ticks, and so we age. I recognise, now yet quite late, that I remain absent from a relationship foundational to the constitution of my selfhood. And yet, considering the ethical aspects for all those involved, there is little I believe that can or could be done. For as I return every few years, we shall continue to age, albeit he more than I. This remains possible only for a while, for to accept the inevitable is my sole recourse. I must contend with the decisions deemed ethical. I must contend, then, that insofar as I deem it ethical, it remains devoid of ease. 

There were and are others, yet to be written. For perhaps, this affect was mutually felt; inasmuch as the experience might be collective, the sense remains disparate. There might be a day when the socio-political conditions responsible for this are made clear to us. 

Alas, that day is not today. 

The Ambience of Despair 

Harbour no doubt, that this induction remains but my interpretation is not lost on me. And that I may, in fact, be wrong, remains an enduring possibility. However, I cannot let the provisionality of my thought be an impediment. 

These losses must not be assumed to be superficial, theoretical, or even irrelevant. Far from it, these losses remain practical, visible, and deeply evident. Indeed, these later aspects are but felt through their non-presence. The videos we imagined, the intellectual properties within our reach, the socio-cultural practices and rituals that we could shared, and even the ability to pet my cat, each remain an impossibility. Whilst one could view this as a morbid analysis, I do not. Insofar I do not think it is such, it does remain mournful. 

It is not the death of the others, although that does come eventually to them and, then, to me. It is not the death in the conventional sense, is it? 

The termination of those futures, better yet, it now remains the the impossibility of the other possibilities. The what could have been, if that which had to be had not been. To live is to live a possibility. Indeed, to live a possibility is to not live all others. This must be the price to pay, then. The price to be who one needs to be, or perhaps the despair of wanting to be one's self. 

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