On Murakami’s Books

A good friend, C, recommended the books of Haruki Murakami last Saturday….(actually,not really “recommended,” but he sneered when I said I haven’t read any of his books yet.) Knowing him, and our inclination to certain genre of literature, I trust his taste. So I did my research, Murakami’s works have recurring themes of alienation, loneliness and depression. Novels with disappointing, or frustrating ends.

That intrigued me though.

Anyway, I came across ThoughCatalog’s review and others as well. They love the books through its pain, frustration and negative feelings but all of them implied his books are not meant to be read more than once. Eventually, we have to outgrow them.

“It touches the continuous struggle of people against loneliness.”

In some way, the books validates their emotion. And at present everyone is looking for that, Validation.

That they are not alone in feeling this mellow spectrum of emotion.
They are not alone feeling alone.
They are not alienated for feeling sad.
That they are not the only ones struggling.
It’s an emotion we have to go through but not embrace.

Pain that must be felt but eventualy have to recover from.
However, in emphasizing that everyone struggles it diminishes the gravity of the emotion each person takes and the unique a person maneuvers through the emotion.

You’re sad. I’m sad. Eventually, Everything will be okay.

Indifference follows.

That’s why, there are times we use our loneliness as part of our identity. Why do we have these books then? instead of using it as comfort, a distraction, we try digging deeper to the realm of loneliness and reaching the borders of depression.

Maybe that’s why reviewers, ate wuite dismayed finding them in shelves of people they visit. People who upon knowing they own or even like the books, will break the facade they built and their mask they wear.

I’ll start by reading Norwegian Wood.

We Set Sail.

Nights with eyes drowned by tears but with one deep breath, and an ear to listen…everything was all right.

There are times, it’s better to believe friends instead of what my mind creates. I felt cold and hateful as I allow distrust and paranoia to envelope my thoughts. Losing myself….losing my life.

I have to Accept the inevitability of change, and sail towards the uncertain future. Otherwise, I’ll drown hoping to relive the past, gasping for air as the waves of regret hits me and currents of attachment pulling me down.

We set sail in different directions and the distance between us grows wider until we become smaller than specks in each other’s vision then disappear completely from the horizon. But no matter how far we go, we sail on the same ocean.

Always remember that at some point, we were sitting on the same shore, with the waves clasping our toes. Dreaming of the day when we will set foot on the land where the sun sets and stars rise.

We dreamt of that together but our journey doesn’t involve each other.

Stats

More than 7 Billion on Earth
More than 100 Million in PH
More than 1 Million in the City
More than 10,000 at my workplace
More than 1,000 co-employees
More than 500 colleages
More than 100 relatives
More than 50 acquaintances
More than 30 Friends
More than 20 crushes
Less than 15 close friends
7 cousins
3 grannies
2 parents
1 ex
1 best friend
0 sister
0 brother

I actually forgot the reason for this list. Perhaps, absorbed by counting with what I have or I just got lost…

Yes, lost.

My psychiatrist once told me to go out, have fun, meet new people, make new friends and try something new.

I did. It felt good. I was genuinely happy. Visited new places on my own, laughing out loud in crowded places, met new people, made new friends and tried a lot of things.

But why is it back? Why am I lost?

I realized that to know people…know them by name and face. The way they speak, the sound of their voice, laughter etc. basic stuff. That’s it. Stop.

The rest is just a bonus.

Maybe it’s natural for me to ask for more. Being an only child, spending more time being alone, I had difficulty trusting and expressing myself to others. And when I do, it’s not something ordinary. When I open up, that’s probably the first and last time the earth will hear about it.

But it doesn’t matter.

I remember the first time meet, the moment I felt trusted by you, the moment I felt like I’m already your friend and the small changes I started to notice. The entire span of how the full cycle returned to being strangers.

It hurts.

It’s frustrating because no one is at fault.

It’s not my fault for being boring and dull. Or not so good-looking. I wouldn’t blame you if you prefer the company of other people.

Maybe it’s my fault why I’m broken. Because nobody likes broken pieces, unless you are a beautiful kind of broken.

At times I enjoy placing myself in situations I can die. Just spark some fear or ignites reasons why I don’t want to die.

Because at the moment, the thought is circling me. I’d like to feel how my extremities will slowly feel cold, the numbness climbing to my core, vision starting to get blurry, tears flowing down my cheeks, memories flashing, heart rate slowing down, breathing gets heavier, gasping for air as an involuntary response to live. Then darkness.

Eternal silence because of silence.

The stats remain the same.

No brother, No sister.
1 bestfriend, 1 ex.
2 parents, 3 grannies.
7 cousins, 15 close friends.
20 crushes, 30 friends.
50 acquaintances, 100 relatives.
500 colleagues, 1,000 co employees.
10,000 in the workplace,
1 million in the city
100 million in the country
7 billion in Earth.

That’s how small I am. That’s how irrelevant I felt…..

I could just die, by killing myself.

Then I realized…

Even if others feel irrelevant, they chose to stay.

If someone can render someone else as irrelevant, maybe I can too.

There’s a limit to my stupidity. 

I have to change my stats.

The Saddest Person

Once upon a time, a lowly peasant found himself standing in front of the famed magical Mirror on the wall. Curious by it’s power, he whispered

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, answer this lowly peasant’s call.”

A chorale of voices, low and high, echoed in the room saying “How can I be of service?”

The peasant then asked “Show me who is the saddest of us all.”

The peasant’s reflection faded in the mirror and starts to show a silhouette of another.

“This is the saddest person living.” The mirror said.

The peasant saw the saddest person but was baffled.

The saddest person was laughing.

Jouska Quintus

Jouska – n. a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head—a crisp analysis, a cathartic dialogue, a devastating comeback—which serves as a kind of psychological batting cage where you can connect more deeply with people than in the small ball of everyday life, which is a frustratingly cautious game of change-up pitches, sacrifice bunts, and intentional walks.

A: “The people who were there at my worst deserve me at my best.”

B: “They were not even there when you were at your worse.”

A: “So were you.”