Single File, Now! Part I

There is always a moment that marks the true end of a relationship. It is the moment  when one of the two people involved takes the first step towards erasing the evidence or at least storing memories out of sight in the healthy hope that they stay out of mind. I call it: Single Filing Yourself. 

Bar all talk of the new minimalist Feng Shui culture of the 21st century. I am a proud member of the "Keep A Physical Memento of Everything That Means Anything To You" club. This includes cinema ticket stubs, wine bottle corks, and post-its… I would be an awful Buddhist. Despite striving towards the three C's which have been the mark of a true woman of grace throughout time: Cool, Calm, and Collected, I stray from the zen attitude of detachment from all things material and from people (obviously). I did have visions of myself going off to India on yoga retreats but unfortunately after several attempts of practicing it in my home country, I came to the conclusion that I simply find it quite boring.

Now this blog came into existence due to my epic inability to move on so you can imagine that the Single Filing process is not going exceedingly well. So far, I have moved one offensive post-it into a draw as opposed to on my desk. Unfortunately, today I got quite a shock when I realised that Lol was so much further ahead: Facebook pictures had been deleted. There is now barely a trace of us having been a part of each others lives. In terms of Single Filing, Facebook is publicly brutal. I envy the age of pre-internet culture: yes, one was still a victim of gossip but there were blissfully fewer mediums one could use to spread it. I am forever thankful of my wise decision to hide my relationship status until marriage and, considering current divorce statistics, even then I may not be spared the humiliation of having the following message announced on Newsfeed: "Ms Havisham has changed her relationship status from married/engaged/in a relationship to single." 

Never.

Again.

And so, although my first step was not insignificant, there is still much left to conceal. However, I am so far unable to proceed any further as I cling to an unrealistic quasi-pathetic shred of hope. Were I a better Buddhist/Minimalist/Feng Shui and yogalates practicing vegetarian, it might be easier although I have an inkling that detachment must often be feigned for a painful length of time before it becomes a reality. But I am not Elinor Dashwood, I am Marianne. I know Lol's actions are just another way for the little voice I obstinately and blindly persist in muffling every day to clearly irretractably say: 

"It is over, Ms Havisham." 

But I am not yet ready to listen to it and pass the point of no return where I can no longer fool myself into believing that things might still change.