My grandmother never opened Twitter in her iPad web browser and found herself staring at the word ‘Iscriviti’. She didn’t poke at the screen with her bony index finger curved into a menacing hook and scratched at the words ‘Nome utente’ like an unwelcome water streak.
“What is this goddamned gibberish?”, she never asked. “Why is this here, what did I do?” My grandmother didn’t have Twitter or an iPad or a browser because she only read the newspaper, and within that newspaper she only read the ‘Happenings’ section — the ‘sucesos’, or happenings, which is where you would go when you wanted to read about people who had been murdered in their sleep, or become tetraplegic after falling from their balcony.
Later on, as she got older, she would share the obituaries section with my grandfather and they would recognise the name of a long-held acquaintance and not say anything to each other.
“Why are you throwing yourself off an airplane? Is it because of me? What did I do?” is another question my grandmother never had to ask herself, because her boyfriend never came home one day and said “I am going skydiving in Kolín this Friday afternoon”. Her one and only boyfriend who then became my grandfather would have never contemplated jumping off a plane. And if he had, she certainly wouldn’t have snapped at him to get a haircut instead if he felt his life was so devoid of meaning. (My bad.)
My grandmother never once wondered, “What are 13 little things that can make a man fall hard for me?” because she intuitively knew that it’s her empanadillas.
And she never reflected upon “the five questions to ask when discovering your personal brand”. Her personal brand was the purple and silver blouse she bought herself after my grandfather died but she didn’t think of it that way because grandmothers don’t have personal brands.
The mere mention of “Which Sex And The City Character Are You?” would have gotten any of us yelled at and thrown out of her house. She was all of them, by the way, except Carrie. She would have yelled at Carrie and thrown her out of her house.
It’s days like these when all I have is stupid questions in my head that I miss her the most.
Her and her empanadillas.