Murakami and Our Uncertain Walls

I truly believe literature and children are at the core of who I am. They're my square one - where I find my peace. All the time, in any second, these two aspects are in my DNA. Life seemed to have had other plans for me, and I don’t yet know what this newly forged "I" will look like in the future, but whenever Life pushes me too far – into its chaotic mazes, its never-ending working hours, when I feel like a marionette, I pull the string and try to go back to square one, to my real sanctuary.

Style has always been something that I look for in a book, and although I have always enjoyed Murakami’s writings and his ideas, I have always felt something missing in the language, something that felt false, like it got lost in translation. Dialogues that sound unnatural in Romanian, descriptions that lose their meanings, and so on. So, with his latest novel, I tried the English version, which I think sounds much better than what I have read so far by him in Romanian.

Reading this novel felt like sitting in a quiet place, jazz playing in the background, rain tapping the windows. It’s like stepping out of reality, of how the world goes, and enjoying the other World that is in all of us, surrounded by our own Uncertain Walls. The borderland, the place where fiction and reality, conscious and unconscious, meet and have a drink together, where no one has a Name, and it’s ok, because here, in this place, there is no time, no hands on the clocks, no running, no egos, no shadows.   

“In my head, there was a battle going on between reality and unreality. At this moment I was standing right in the interstice between this world and the other world. There was a fierce split between the conscious and the unconscious, and I had to choose where I should belong.” (121)

“The flow of the river became an elaborate maze, and, just as it traveled deep underground, our reality, too, seemed to proceed inside us, branching out down several paths. Different versions of reality mixed together, different choices became intertwined, out of which a composite reality – or, what we come to understand as reality – took shape.” (131) 

“Single people need those kinds of modest rituals in their lives. To get through each day.” 366

“I shut my eyes and thought about time. In the past – for instance, back when I was seventeen – there was literally an inexhaustible amount of time. Like a huge reservoir, filled to the very brim. So there was no need to consider time. But now was different. Time, I knew, was limited. And as I aged, considering time ahad even greater implications. Time, no matter what, ticked away, ceaselessly. (370 )

“However, there isn’t just one reality. Reality is something you have to choose by yourself, out of several possible alternatives.” (423) 

Black and White and Tons of Colours

If there is something I truly believe in is that the world is not only black and white, but there are always dozens of greys and tons of colours in between. We are not only the “I” that we see in the mirror, or the “you” that we see in front of us. We – the simple people - are our ancestors, their stories, our stories, overlapping, mixing, meeting at the borderland that we define as “I” or “you”.

Despite everything, I still believe in humanity. I still believe that there is that “good” part in most of us – in the humble, common people – we just need to really listen, not only hear that “You” in front of us. I believe in the simple people who enjoy a sunset, a walk in the park, a talk with a friend, a cup of coffee on an orange bench, or we, who see all our humanity in the smile of a child. The people who try to breathe and keep on living in the wrath of history.

I am tired of people who think they are the only ones who detain the truth. Tired of judging people, tired of people who see only the ugliness of this world. I am tired of the noise around me. So sick and tired, beyond my own words. Nowadays, in the new world that arises, and that shall pass one way or another, we, the common, simple people, need to keep on caring the fire of humanity in us. And accept all the colours around us. Because our truth about the other is not THE truth if we can see only the black or the white. 

Blue January

This too, shall pass …

The phrase that I keep repeating to myself during these days.

"I was bruised and battered
I couldn't tell what I felt
I was unrecognizable to myself
Saw my reflection in a window
And didn't know my own face
Oh brother are you gonna leave me wastin' away
On the streets of Philadelphia?
I walked the avenue, 'til my legs felt like stone
I heard the voices of friends vanished and gone
At night I could hear the blood in my veins
Just as black and whispering as the rain
On the streets of Philadelphia
Ain't no angel gonna greet me
It's just you and I my friend
And my clothes don't fit me no more
A thousand miles just to slip this skin
The night has fallen, I'm lyin' awake
I can feel myself fading away
So receive me brother with your faithless kiss
Or will we leave each other alone like this
On the streets of Philadelphia?"

Quiet times in times of War

I started this year with the following quote:

"It's a little embarrassing that after 45 years of research and study, the best advice I can give people is to be a little kinder to each other." (Aldous Huxley) 

I want to finish it with it. I wish I could say that in 2024 I was in a survival mode, but it would be false. I was most of the time in a war zone, with no time to think to a distant future, struggling with change, with pain, with lack of kindness, with superfluity and superficiality, of being alone and managing alone to keep the ship sailing, giving time, and energy, and patience to something that I still believe in. Still, it may not have been my ship to keep it on the surface. Being alone, on this ship, was the hardest and the most stressful thing to do, and only the thought that it was temporary made me move on.

At the end of 2024, I finally hear my own body, aching under all the words unsaid, and the times off that I haven’t taken, and all that I want right now is quiet times. If there is something that I learnt during this year is to be grateful for the people and the things that I have, to focus less on the things I haven’t accomplished (although it does haunt my mind) to the small good things that have kept me afloat. So, I am thankful for: 

1. My people – too few perhaps, but the only ones that I accepted in my boat, old friends, and new Joys, who are more as family to me.

2. People that taught me that we are the same, but have different colours, different reactions, different moods, different insanities. And during sessions of therapies with them, I learnt a few things about myself too. Be kinder, accept the other, and stop judging.

3. The chance of growing. 5 years ago, I wouldn’t have seen myself here. 10 years ago, I would have said that “I am a teacher, and this is what I will do all my life”. Before everything, I would always be a teacher, and a catcher in the rye for every child that I met, and everyone who really knows me knows that I would give an entire world for a child, but now I have discovered new parts of myself that I had no idea that I am good at, although I do miss the tranquillity from time to time.

4. The chances that I had to work in a team. As I said, this year showed me what it means to be alone. I have always wanted to be part of a team, and in those few moments when I felt that, I was really grateful. Plus, “no man is an island”, and I learnt that two brains can work better than one.

5. The few books I managed to read this year, found here, and my review of McCarthy’s last novels here, going back into myself, finally doing something that I cherish, my core identity, my square one. I don’t manage to read as much as I used to, nor to write as much as I want, and somehow, I feel this part taken from me. Each year, I promise myself to make time for reading a bit more, and each year, for my birthday, I buy myself a book to start the year with. This year is Murakami’s latest novel.

6. The few trips taken this year. The silence of the mountain, and of the sea, the time when I was away, forgetting about life for a while, wishing I would travel more.

7. The small fluffy beings – too many this time – that bring happiness even in times of need.

8. The times when I had the courage and a car to drive, wishing I would be able to do what I planned to do.

9. Embracing loneliness. Accepting it. Definitely not what I wanted from life, but learning its language, and because of it, being more grateful for number one, my people that are in my life.

10. The small good things from each day (1.5h walks, children smiling, and their gratitude, kind, unrequested words, and so on) that are sometimes so unseen that most of the time only our survival, our power to go on are the only evidence of their existence.  

Learning to Surrender

Uneori îți vine să te urci în mașină și să conduci cât mai departe, spre un dincolo. Îți amintești apoi de toți vitezomanii și agresivitatea din trafic și automat te întorci în prezent. Uneori îți vine să înșiri tot ceea ce simți pe-o foaie albă, dar poate ți-e teamă de ceea ce simți, sau poate nu mai știi nici tu ce e în tine și apoi iar te întorci în prezent.

Te joci cu amintirile, sau ele se joacă cu tine. Mereu mi-a plăcut să îmi folosesc această ,,supraputere” cu oamenii dragi mie, deși uneori am primit fix opusul. Mereu însă și ele s-au jucat cu mine în așa fel încât uneori mă gândesc că la fel ca în literatura modernistă, sunt oameni care trăiesc în exterior și oameni a căror viață se întâmplă mai mult în interior.

Sunt gânduri, amintiri, emoții încolătăcite, și nu mai știi pe unde să o apuci. Vrei să le dai un limbaj, dar se încăpățânează să fie peste tot, dar ascunse de fiecare dată când vrei să prinzi una. Eu, cea care are nevoie de stabilitate, și ordine, și lucruri clare, în interior e haos. Nu știi dacă să te ridici de la masă și să pleci, nu știi dacă să rămâi, nu știi cum să repari lucrurile pe care le-ai tot amânat, pe care le-ai greșit cu tine însăți, nu știi încotro să o iei.

Poate că cel mai greu lucru pe care trebuie să-l învățăm este să ne predăm, să nu mai încercăm atât în a ne impune vieții. Sau cel puțin în anumite momente când simți că ai pierdut războiul. Dincolo de zgomotul asurzitor al tuturor gândurilor, al tuturor amintirilor, al tuturor greșelilor, al tuturor emoțiilor, să închizi ochii și să dai drumul la tot, și poate doar așa, în spatele acestui zgomot asurzitor fără cuvinte, poți găsi într-un final liniștea și ordinea pe care o tot cauți. 

La capatul noptii

Cum ar arăta o lume în care nu am mai ști să ne bucurăm de nimic? Plină de mizantropie, misoginie, cinism și fără niciun sentiment? Cum ar fi să treci prin viață astfel, sau viața să-ți dea o lecție care îți transformă întreaga existență și în care Binele nu mai există?

Am detestat personajele din La capătul nopții prin tot ceea ce ele exprimă, prin lipsa de umanitate și prin această lipsă a Binelui în care da, chiar cred. Cu toate acestea, ele exprimă o lume reală, acea parte pe care poate cei mai optimiști nu vor să o vadă, o lume vie aflată la capătul nopții, în care Celine chiar crede și pe care o explorează cu îndemânare, într-un stil masculin, clar, fără ezitări.

,,Nu pierdea niciun prilej mama să încerce să mă facă să cred că lumea e bună şi că făcuse mare bine că mă adusese pe lume. Era marele şiretlic al nepăsării materne această presupusa Providenta.” (209-210)

,,Mai vine şi vârsta, poate, trădătoarea, și ne amenință cu cei mai rău. N-ai destulă muzică în tine să faci viața să danseze, asta e. Toată tinerețea ţi s-a dus să moară de acum la capătul lumii, în linişte, în adevăr. Și unde să te mai duci oare, dacă nu mai ai în tine suficient delir adevărat? Adevărul. Iată o agonie fără sfârşit. Adevărul acestei lumi e moartea. Trebuie să alegi, să mori sau să minţi. Eu n-am putut niciodată să mă sinucid.” (241)

,,Egoismul fiinţelor care au fost amestecate în viața noastră, când te gândești la ele, bătrân, se dovedește incontestabil, aşa cum a fost de altfel, de oţel, de platină, și mult mai trainic decât timpul chiar.

Când ești tânăr, celor mai aride indiferenţe, celor mai cinice bădărănii ajungi să le găsești întotdeauna scuza unor ciudăţenii pasionale sau a nu știu căror semne ale unui inexpert romantism. Dar mai târziu, când viaţa ţi-a arătat de câtă șiretenie, de câtă cruzime și răutate are nevoie numai ca se mențină de bine de rău la 37 de grade, îți dai seama, ești pe deplin lămurit și bine plasat pentru a înțelege toate murdăriile de care e plin un trecut. E de ajuns în toate şi pentru toate să te contempli scrupulos pe tine însuți și starea de ticăloșie în care ai ajuns. Nici mister, nici candoare, ţi-ai halit toată poezia pentru că ai trăit prea mult. Mare neghiobie, viaţa asta. (253)

,,Descoperi în tot trecutul tău ridicol atâta ridicol, înşelătorie, credulitate că ai vrea să încetezi brusc să maí fii tânăr, să aştepţi ca tinereţea să te părăsească, să treacă pe lângă tine, s-o vezi plecând, îndepărtându-se, să-i vezi întreaga vanitate, să-ţi plimbi mâna prin golul ei, s-o mai vezi din nou trecând prin fața ta, și apoi odată plecată, să fii sigur că s-a dus tinerețea și, liniştit atunci dinspre partea ei, rămas singur, să treci uşor de cealaltă parte a timpului pentru a privi cu adevărat cum sunt oamenii şi lucrurile. (341)

Lifeboats and small good things

In-betweenness. Sinking or navigating the storm. Protecting or giving it all up. Staying or leaving.  Sanctuaries turned into prisons. The borderline is not a place of peace, but of being torn in two halves: hoping and giving it all up. 

Perhaps what matters the most is what you leave behind in people, although they won't remember it. And we are all covered in billions of fingerprints of others, most of them not even knowing that they are there, on us, whether we accept it or not. In all the chaos, and chains of narcissism, the small good things keep you breathing: from passing people who see you as "mother's mothering" or compare you, unknowingly, with the people who once shaped you. 

And perhaps, in this borderline, these small good things are our lifeboats.