salils blog and writing space

I lost my partner of 8 years.

I have a belief that some objects have a soul. A more substantial soul than most people do. You can almost feel their will to function, and perform well beyond their design capabilities. Every revolution of the engine, or the computer fan seems to indicate an earnest effort to do their best, and work harder. When the going gets tough, they don’t appear to ever give up, but simply carry on, no matter what the conditions are. Sometimes, they break and you get them patched up, but even though they don’t work like they used to before, they still give it everything they have. They’re not just machines, or tools, they take the role of a friend, or a partner. Always by your side, no matter what lies ahead. Their dependability is constant, it almost becomes boring. The end of civilisation seems a more likely possibility.

But then one day, they start breaking down in a manner which is perplexingly undiagnosable and untreatable. But they still function, in a disabled, limp-home mode. It’s painful, and they can’t seem to do anything like they used to before, but they painfully carry on, relying on a combination of button presses to revive them everytime. It feels like they’re dead, and this is panic induced limp-home mode is them in a coma. I guess, it feels like they’re brain dead, with normal bodily functions carrying on, but with no will or direction.

The initial shock was that of betrayal, not with the machine itself, but with the reality that I lived in. It’s a bit cruel that a device that I used almost every single day, was for practical purposes, dead. I assumed it would live on forever. A machine that was 8 years old, nearly four generations past, still worked just as well as the day I first started using it. The work that this machine has done is probably more illustrious than a fair few people that I know of.

Farewell for now, A1278.