The plague we suffer
When I used to live in Switzerland there was a couple that accompanied me during my workday commute on the tram. Entering the tram, they were already snuggled within each others arms, forming a single entity separated from the rest of the world — sometimes silent and sometimes speaking in hush voices during the trip. They disembarked the same stop as I did, but separated. He strolled to the right and she briskly walked to the left to catch a different line, but the same as I. After boarding the next tram, at the subsequent stop, I watched the girl rush out into the arms of her love standing at the very spot her doors open. They embrace for several seconds, then the girl steps back into our tram and lightly puts her hand on her heart as she wistfully watches her love become separated from her because the tram is pulling away. This repeated every work day. I always wondered why they did not just take the next tram together. Why did they need those few moments of separation? Was it to make the brief reunion that much sweeter?
Love is never strong enough to find the words befitting it (Camus)
I just finished a book who introduces the reader to various tenets of separation, called The Plague by Albert Camus. Since I was traumatized by the contemporary writing mentioned in my last blog post, I decided to read this French author who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in the 1950s. I was first introduced to Camus when I saw “The Stranger” in boyfriend’s bookshelf at his parents’ home. Liking the book, I have been trying to tick off all Camus’ books from my book list. Just like his book “The Stranger”, the events in The Plague reflect Camus’ theme about the inevitability of death.
The Plague burgeoned in Oran to cause the quarantine — separation — of Oran from the rest of the world. Dr. Rieux treated numerous victims of the plague in a hospital and narrated The Plague rather objectively (yes, separating oneself from emotions of treating patients helps to complete the duty). Even Dr. Rieux’s observations of families and couples being separated and rejoined lacked any ardor. Perhaps because Dr. Rieux separated his own personal life with that of the passion of reunited loved ones he observed, it is up to the reader to imagine or reminisce of any ecstatic memory of being with someone again after a long separation.
Some excerpts from The Plague:
- “Arms closed with hungry possessiveness on bodies whole living shape they had forgotten…he hadn’t time to see that form running toward him, already she had flung herself upon his breast. And with his arms locked around her, pressing to his shoulder the head of which he saw only the familiar hair, he let his tears flow freely, unknowing if they rose from present joy or from sorrow too long repressed; aware only that they would prevent his making sure if the face buried in the hollow of his shoulder were the face of which he had dreamed so often or, instead, a stranger’s face.”
- “This is where, one evening just like this, I longed for you so desperately–and you weren’t there!”
- “Passionately embracing and gazing hungrily at one another in the failing sunset glow–had got what they wanted, this was because they had asked for the one thing that depended on them solely.”
While some are engulfed in the pleasurable plague of love that can separate the couple from others of their world, some suffer plagues of character. The Plague espouses:
“Each of us has the plague within him, no one, no one on earth is free from it. And I know, too, that we must keep endless watch on ourselves lest in a careless moment we breathe in somebody’s face and fasten the infection on him…it’s a wearying business, being plague-stricken…that’s why everybody in the world today looks so tired, everyone is more or less sick of plague.”
Extinguish your plague and do not spread it to someone else.
From a country whose reunification is a long-running dispute — Taiwan — to another country whose disagreements lead to isolation from the rest of Asia — Japan — it is a short flight. Baggage collected, I absorb the sounds of those reunited with their loved ones and the sights of eager faces waiting for their own separation to end.
*This is my first time posting from the WordPress app on my smartphone, I hope the post resulted well.
The results are wonderful. The post evocative, I think I will have to return to Albert Camus.
Camus ‘ books look like short read with relatively simple storylines, but the philosophy underlying his words makes readers really think.
WordPress app on your smartphone = perfect!
P.S.: I liked to read Albert Camus – and his myth of Sisyphus …
As a lover of Greek mythology, this Camus book recommendation is noted on my book list! Thank you!
Oh Albert Camus! Lovely. And such a lovely post. Lovers and sweethearts cherishing each moment. If we could all but grasp the purity of each moment and keep it with us for every second… 🙂
Sometimes we must hold onto memories or emotions from such moments because no relationship is perfect; and invoking those cherished moments during strains in a relationship is a good way to remind us why this person is special to our life.
I agree! Too often it is easy to turn one’s back and forget all the precious moments shared.
Thank you for sharing this, it is something I can relate, and just like you, I’ve been dying to get my hands on Camus works.
Now, going back to the subject matter you speak about, I can honestly and truthfully say my biggest fear in life is what Camus so eloquently writes when he says;“Each of us has the plague within him, no one, no one on earth is free from it. And I know, too, that we must keep endless watch on ourselves lest in a careless moment we breathe in somebody’s face and fasten the infection on him. – It’s a frightening thought to be stricken by such malady. I’ve seen countless of people fall pray to the so called “love” and countless of times they were killed by it. Not literally, but still emotionally killed, and it’s so true they now look tired and aged, older than their real age.
My biggest fear, my outmost phobia is love. Love for another, love for someone other than myself. It is a feeling of destruction, a dying emotion from the moment it is conceived, just as we begin to die the moment we are born.
Love is a virus, it is absolute madness, the losing of one’s self for the benefit of two souls apparent togetherness.
This is why I have never allowed myself to love, to truly fall in love with anyone. It has become second nature to me. I like, yet I do not love the person in front of me, I can’t allow that.
Not only was Camus implying about the plague of love some may suffer, but also the ills of our own character that can not only leave a bad taste upon interaction with others, but also infect others to have the same outlook/morals/thoughts, etc.
Thank you for re blogging my post. Your accompanying commentary reminds me of a quote by Charles Bukowski:
I’ve never been lonely. I’ve been in a room — I’ve felt suicidal. I’ve been depressed. I’ve felt awful — awful beyond all — but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me…or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I’ve never been bothered with because I’ve always had this terrible itch for solitude. It’s being at a party, or at a stadium full of people cheering for something, that I might feel loneliness. I’ll quote Ibsen, “The strongest men are the most alone.” …. You know the typical crowd, “Wow, it’s Friday night, what are you going to do? Just sit there?” Well, yeah. Because there’s nothing out there. It’s stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I’ve never been bothered with the need to rush out into the night. I hid in bars, because I didn’t want to hide in factories. That’s all. Sorry for all the millions, but I’ve never been lonely. I like myself. I’m the best form of entertainment I have.
Thank you Frances for understanding what I was trying to convey and for being so eloquent at quoting such wonderful words by someone I have heard of.
As much as I’ve tried to read the best of the best in world literature, I’ve lacked the opportunity do so, because I was never surrounded by people who read, or what they read was not my cup of tea. So most of my life I’ve always come across literary geniuses by coincidence, call it chance if you will, though I don not believe in chance nor coincidence. I believe the universe has a way of showing us something we need right there and then, and allow us to broaden our horizons reading works which express out own feelings in a much more eloquent and poetic way.
One thing I must say though, I never cared much for romantic literature, I prefer the dark and truth of reality, expressed in the most dark and truthful way possible. As one comic once said; polish a turd, it’s still a turd. As I mentioned before, loneliness is a choice, it might not be the right one, yet considering what the outside world, or even your close world of friends and family and acquaintances has to offer, is best to be alone.
On the other hand as far as feelings of love are concerned, I tried that once or twice and came to realization it was not for me at all. After all what is love? How do you define love? What is that makes us fall in love? Let me tell you what it is that causes all that to “turn” into love; it’s loneliness, the unbearable feeling of being with one’s self, the echo of solitude within your four walls, the unbearable truths which surface where you cannot hide anymore. That is love, a miscella of fear, dependence and codependence. I’ve seen time and time again, all these lovers in love; it’s a joke, a farce laced with absurd deviation of what love truly is. How can you love and fall in love with another human being if you’re insecure within yourself in the first place? When you can’t even love yourself, or be able to look at yourself in the mirror and finally realize you love who you are? Why do such a people look for love on the outside, is it for validation, for comfort, for approval or else? Love, like any other emotion must have a reason to exist and if it doesn’t dies like anything else. We die, we chance, and love does the same.
I’m sure you’ve heard the expression; we’ve grown apart. Really? Have you? No my dear in this case what’s happened is that you’ve changed and your partner has not, you’ve moved on and also you must art some point realized you were in love for all the wrong reasons. No, you have not grown apart, but what you’ve done is that you’ve finally realized you were in love for the sake of being in love. You were in love with the ideal of what love was. With the ideal of what a partner should be, and now, once you finally found your “ideal” you also found out it has flaws, so much so that the pedestal gets heavy and the deity falls on the ground.
How many times have I heard someone say; you’re a very nice person, I love talking to you, you have so much insight, but…you’re not what I’m looking for. You see I have this “ideal” person of what a boyfriend should be, and I’m sorry to say, but you’re not it. Lets remain friends. Thus these individuals let go of me to chase some fantasy and later I always hear the same winning about how nasty people are and how much they hurt you, they are jerks. I stand there listening to these people wondering how come they chased such volatile imbecilic ideal where everything is quantifiable and set in folders in such nice cases without even stopping to think for a moment that a quantifiable individual with the right criteria (which are most of the time merely physical attributes) have nothing more to offer than just that, a physical representation of what we find attractive. Yet neither brains nor soul is found in them, not a drop on intellectual seed where to lay a foundation and so they’re back to square one.
My god, how blind people are, chasing after such shallow ideals of beauty and love, and yet never realizing such attributes are just as volatile and without any strong base to build something on.
In the last 4 months, I’ve found myself in this position 9 times, with nine different people, all wanting to stay friends for later having to hear their ramblings and disappointments of meeting the “ideal” and having been shat by It.
People have said to me many things; one of them was that I was deranged, sick, and psychotic. In turn I’ve seen such accusations fit exactly the person who accused me of such attributes in the first place.
I would like to close this long reply with something that happened to me two weeks ago when I went to the Ballet. Behind me there was a doctor and his wife which didn’t stop talking for a second during the entire performance. Having paid my ticket like everybody else and though I don’t like ballet at all, I tried to do my best to enjoy at least the music by simply closing my mouth and my eyes. It would have been sufficient if it weren’t for the constant nagging of the people behind me, a doctor and his wife. Two imbeciles, with outmost contempt for the arts, for when the curtain goes up you SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Since you do not read much books, might I recommend watching the film version of a book I just finished? It’s called “Ask the Dust” by John Fante. I am sure Google can lead you to more information about the film. The book inspired Bukowski’s writings and includes a dystopic love affair….somewhat reflecting how you feel about love / relationships.
Thank you so much 🙂
Reblogged this on Infernal Deity of a Psychotic Mind and commented:
Thank you for sharing this, it is something I can relate, and just like you, I’ve been dying to get my hands on Camus works.
Now, going back to the subject matter you speak about, I can honestly and truthfully say my biggest fear in life is what Camus so eloquently writes when he says;“Each of us has the plague within him, no one, no one on earth is free from it. And I know, too, that we must keep endless watch on ourselves lest in a careless moment we breathe in somebody’s face and fasten the infection on him. – It’s a frightening thought to be stricken by such malady. I’ve seen countless of people fall pray to the so called “love” and countless of times they were killed by it. Not literally, but still emotionally killed, and it’s so true they now look tired and aged, older than their real age.
My biggest fear, my outmost phobia is love. Love for another, love for someone other than myself. It is a feeling of destruction, a dying emotion from the moment it is conceived, just as we begin to die the moment we are born.
Love is a virus, it is absolute madness, the losing of one’s self for the benefit of two souls apparent togetherness.
This is why I have never allowed myself to love, to truly fall in love with anyone. It has become second nature to me. I like, yet I do not love the person in front of me, I can’t allow that.
I love this post Frances! After posting a very sad entry yesterday afternoon, now, I feel guilty for ever feeling whatever sadness/regret/anger I felt 😦 Another good article to ponder on… Keep ’em coming! 🙂
It’s okay to have regrets from time to time!
Ah an excellent post! Camus is indeed a wonderful author and philosopher. I have just got ‘Rebel’ out of my local library and I intend to absorb it presently 🙂 Keep up the great posts! Thank you.
I’ve wanted to read Rebel as well , let me know how you like the book 🙂
I will! 😀