Page 16 - Ruminations
P. 16

14. Nostalgia and its discontents

          One can be exiled without feeling much nostalgia for one’s time
       and place of origin, if such a change of scene—voluntary or not—was
       considerably for the better. That ought to be distinct from nostalgia
       for  childhood,  which  can  arise  with  or  without  exile;  nevertheless,
       unpleasant early memories (if not repressed) would leave no rosy glow
       regardless of physical displacement. The worst combination of events
       would  be  misery  in  youth,  followed  by  a  disastrous  departure  and
       subsequent wretched refugee or immigrant experience in adulthood.
       The  combinations  of  those  variables  could  be  ranked  by  their
       presumed strength of nostalgia, from high to low:

                         Childhood    Exile    Adulthood
                         ------------     ------    ------------
                           Happy         Yes      Unhappy
                           Happy         No       Unhappy
                           Happy         Yes      Happy
                           Happy         No       Happy
                           Unhappy     No       Happy
                           Unhappy     Yes      Happy
                           Unhappy     No       Unhappy
                           Unhappy     Yes      Unhappy

         Complicating matters, it has been proposed that nostalgia is felt not
       for  what  one  has  lost,  but  for  what  either  was  not  one’s  own
       experience or what in fact did not happen at all. This relates to false
       memories  and  cultural  idiosyncrasy—but  what  matters  is  that  one
       feels loss, in the present, of something important. Could that welling-
       up of emotion be charged by fear of another anticipated loss—one’s
       own death and disappearance in the future? The resonance is a simple
       analogy the unconscious but empathetic mind would reasonably make.
       And it is probable that this loss (of oneself, post mortem) may not
       seem “real” to anyone else in that ambiguous sense of nostalgia. Thus
       I am my own chief mourner before the fact, having experienced my
       future  absence  in  imagination  countless  times  after  inventing
       numerous scenarios of my demise and its aftermath, most of which
       are unlikely. The cure for this—and for nostalgia, in general—is either
       belief  in  an  afterlife,  in  which  significant  pieces  of  the  past  can  be
       revisited, or certainty  in the  reality  of an infinite, eternal  space-time
       continuum, in which no pieces of the past (or future) are missing.
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