I asked myself if this was what structural violence looked like: to unconsciously teach someone about gifts, where to buy them, how to deliver them. To teach someone that you’re not supposed to buy the cheapest pair of pants, ready-made pesto, computer, or frying pan like I’d always done, but that you had to pick the best version. A couple of years later I saw that any notion of latent violence in this exchange was a figment of my own imagination, sparked by the experience of being abandoned and posthumously construed by a mind burning with indignation.
