One of my favorite moments of Sense and Sensibility, the 1995 Ang Lee/Emma Thompson collaboration, comes at the moment where Marianne (Kate Winslet) accuses Elinor (Thompson) of not revealing her feelings. Elinor finds out from Lucy Steel that Edward, the man she's in love with proposed to Lucy first, and therefore isn't available. But since Elinor promised Lucy to keep the secret (before knowing), she never told anyone. Elinor finally breaks down and says:What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering. For weeks, Marianne, I've had this pressing on me without being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature. It was forced on me by the very person whose prior claims ruined all my hope. I have endured her exultations again and again whilst knowing myself to be divided from Edward forever. Believe me, Marianne, had I not been bound to silence I could have provided proof enough of a broken heart, even for you.When it comes to matters of the heart, do I follow sense, or sensibility? I think I belong to the worst corner of the quadrant: I employ the brain first and then I convince myself that it's the choice of the heart and therefore it is justified. Because I am such a romantic, you see?
A friend of mine called me up a few days ago to tell me that someone she had an affair with died in an accident. It seemed like she is now burdened with this knowledge, but could not close this chapter properly because no one else knows about it (except me and someone else abroad).
When I heard it first, I didn't know how to react. I encouraged her to embark on this affair, because I thought it would make her happy. I don't believe in monogamy in general anyway. It was good for her, I think, while it lasted. In a way reacting like me, she didn't feel guilt, and always downplayed her affection for this man, so. But deep down, the feelings were there. I knew it, but it was never clear to me, whether she did.
Another scene from Sense and Sensibility came to my mind. Near the end, Kate Winslet feels betrayed by her love, Willoughby, climbs a hill that overlooks his house, and starts to mutter these words:
Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. Or bends with the remover to remove. Oh no! It is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. Willoughby. Willoughby. Willoughby.
My affairs are numerous, many of them resulting in heartbreak, or at the very least, indigestion (for me and the others). I think the key to surviving those who leave all of a sudden (death or desertion) is a sequential process of denial-resentment-anger-acceptance-and-then peace. We can't stop anyone from leaving, but we can talk about it, become angry about it, and then choose to retain the good memories. And through it all, you need lots of friend who will, like Sex and the City "hold up your hair when you puke". You need to open up, acknowledge it, and then move on.
Being bottled up will never keep those feelings down. Days, months, years later, they will still come back to haunt you. And the stench they'll bring after being left to ferment for so long will stain the rest of the world.
