-- Sacrifice is the spirit of love
Summer vacation has almost come to an end, and as I traveled back, I finished reading 犠牲(sacrifice) written by Kunio Yanagida (published the same year Into the Wild was). It's an essay about his son, Yojiro, who committed suicide at the age of 25 after suffering metal illness for more than a decade. One of his problems being anthropophobia, it was difficult for him to get a job, and thus he despaired that he had nothing he could give to society.
At the same time, he was deeply moved by one of Tarkovsky's films, Sacrifice, which expresses the belief that the reason we can live today in peace is due to "the sacrifice of a nameless person who lives somewhere under the broad blue sky". When Yanagida finds his son brain dead, he agrees to donate his kidneys as a token of Yojiro's existence, thinking that this kind of 'sacrifice' was what he had always wanted.
One of the things Yojiro feared most was oblivion -- the fact that when one dies, even the fact that he lived and suffered will be forgotten and deleted from history. A character from a book I read last summer states the exact same thing, to which the protagonist retorts that he should get over the fear, because "there was a time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after". Her point is that even if some people remember you after your death, they too are going to die, and in the end, there will be no one remaining to remember you anyway. This logic applies even to the world's most famous person, because at some point, the human species will extinct, and the planet will collapse.
I guess it's a decent argument, but obviously, the truth that everyone dies doesn't really liberate you from the fear of death. Logically, I understand that everything is going to disappear one day, that it's nonsense to dwell on whether or not you will survive death for what amounts to less than a fraction of a second in geological time. But emotionally, I still fear the possibility of dying leaving nothing behind. I want to give my life some kind of meaning, and I think a lot of people do, including my mother.
To tell the truth, I'm a terrible daughter -- deep down in my heart, I have not always respected her. I've told her more than once that I will never live a life like hers, and that I was 'different'. Apart from the years she spent working as a language teacher, she has worked as a full time housewife, and since she started seeing her 60th birthday coming around the corner, she started asking herself (and her family) the meaning of her own life. She suddenly realized she had no personal accomplishments, and began questioning the value and meaning of her 'self-sacrifice'.
Now I realize that the real reason I sometimes have a hard time respecting my mother is only because she is too busy imagining what she could've become and regretting what she could've done that she sadly fails to see the meaning of the life she has actually lived -- the whole process she calls self-sacrifice.
After reading Sacrifice (and all the other books I've read), and living my life for more than 1/4 of a century, I have come to the conclusion that the meaning of life comes from 'giving' which often requires sacrifice. When I give, the receiving person will also give to another person, and that person will do the same and pay it forward. We will all die, but we will all live on as a participant of a 'giving relay' as long as it goes on.
I don't know how much I will be able to give in my lifetime, how many people I will be able to help when I become a doctor, but every patient I help would not have been saved without my mother's 'sacrifice'. Will my patients think of my mother's existence? Most likely not; they wouldn't even remember the doctor after a while. And does that make my mother's life meaningless? Is she eventually going to disappear forever in cold oblivion? I'd say yes to the latter. But does that matter so much when the unmovable truth is that my mother's sacrifice has helped me help the patient (in some way) to live his life and pay it forward (to someone who hopefully will pay it forward)?
Yojiro, at some point, encounters the concept of "indestructibility of human existence" which appears in a passage written by Mircea Eliade, and states as follows: Every death has contributed to the continuity of life, and my own current life is standing upon the sacrifice of numerous nameless soldiers.
We all fear oblivion because that is our final death. It's scary to think that the evidence that we ever existed is as fragile as a drawing on sand. But even if it is a picture on sand, there are new pictures that will not exist without it. Our life, our sacrifice and love will always be of someone's support, and it's encouraging to think that just because we will never escape oblivion will never change that fact -- something we might call the meaning of life.
I should now call my mom and tell her how much I've appreciated her 'sacrifice'. Because that is why I also want to live to love and give.
2015年8月3日月曜日
the cards we are dealt
We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand.
-- Randy Pausch
I read the rest of the book (Into the Wild) while I traveled back home, and it reminded me of the fact that many patients who came to visit the psychiatry department had divorced parents and other family issues. McCandless doesn't seem to have suffered any mental illness, and what brought him to Alaska was his intense character and adventurous spirit combined with his love of nature, but what pushed him to the extreme -- cutting off all contacts with his family for two years, and ultimately all human contact for his "great Alaskan odyssey" -- was apparently his discovery of his father's past bigamy (which had ended a couple of years after his birth).
McCandless was never withdrawn, and he actually left some lasting memories in the hearts of many people he met in his last years, but obviously had some problems building intimate human relationships, and it seemed to stem from his parents' mistakes that made his "entire childhood seem like fiction". Maybe he needed something to believe in, and nature -- its absolute existence and its merciless honesty -- was what he turned to. He was apparently criticized of his arrogance for trying to live in the wild without enough preparation, but perhaps it was his naivete -- he'd put too much trust not only in himself but the wilderness as well.
The tragedy was not really the fact that such a young man had died alone in starvation, but that he had to die when he was finally ready to go back to civilization and human community -- his severe experience of developing a bond with the wilderness had somehow helped him move on and it seemed like he had just found a way to forgive his parents' imperfections and his own, but that was when one careless mistake took his life.
Then again, I found a not-so-tragic answer to what I'd been wondering when I wrote my last entry -- how he had felt when he realized he was going to die. It reminded me of what Viktor Frankl had said in his book, about how we were always -- always -- free to choose how to react to a circumstance (and death too is one of those circumstances). The author of the book, Krakauer observes that McCandless was unmistakingly at peace in his last picture, "serene as a monk gone to God", and I don't think it was the author's wishful thinking -- the below is what McCandless had written before deciding to walk out of the bush to possibly end his "great Alaskan odyssey". It was shortly after he had shot a moose and regretted it due to his failure of preserving the meet and wasting it. He'd always demanded a great deal of himself (and others) but this moose episode seems to have taught him the value of acceptance:
Consciousness of food. Eat and cook with concentration... Holy food.
I am reborn. This is my dawn. Real life has just begun.
Deliberate Living: Conscious attention to the basics of life, and a constant attention to your immediate environment and its concerns, example→ A job, a task, a book; anything requiring efficient concentration (Circumstance has no value. It is how one relates to a situation that has value. All true meaning resides in the personal relationship to a phenomenon, what it means to you).
The Great Holiness of FOOD, the Vital Heat.
Positivism, the Insurpassable Joy of the Life Aesthetic.
Reality.
Independence.
Finality -- Stability -- Consistency.
On a side note, the plane I took yesterday had a problem landing, and it flew past the airport into the city. It took the staffs quite a long time to announce what the problem was, and until then, I seriously wondered if the plane had been hijacked or something, and if we were all going to die. To be honest, I was quite upset by the thought of it, mostly because I thought my life hadn't even started yet, but after a while, I just started wondering what the last thing I had said to my mother had been. Had I ignored her last call? Had I been nice to her? I was actually still holding the book in my hands but the whole McCandless story seemed to have dropped off from the surface of my brain.
After a lot of useless and unnecessary panicking and finally landing on the airport, I went straight to my grandmother's place only to find out she was sick, though it was mostly a mental thing; she is always too busy worrying about dying and feeling sick that it almost looks like she never has enough time to have fun. When she started feeling better, I was going through a pile of books on her shelf, and she told me the novel I was holding was supposedly really good: "What was it about... yes, yes! It teaches you how to survive!" She hadn't read it, and I was pretty sure she never would, so I just told her maybe she could just forget about surviving for a moment, and relax. Otherwise, I really wanted to ask her what she wanted to survive for so badly. If she knew, I think she would stop worrying too much, but then again, I will never know how it feels to be 86 for another sixty years.
-- Randy Pausch
I read the rest of the book (Into the Wild) while I traveled back home, and it reminded me of the fact that many patients who came to visit the psychiatry department had divorced parents and other family issues. McCandless doesn't seem to have suffered any mental illness, and what brought him to Alaska was his intense character and adventurous spirit combined with his love of nature, but what pushed him to the extreme -- cutting off all contacts with his family for two years, and ultimately all human contact for his "great Alaskan odyssey" -- was apparently his discovery of his father's past bigamy (which had ended a couple of years after his birth).
McCandless was never withdrawn, and he actually left some lasting memories in the hearts of many people he met in his last years, but obviously had some problems building intimate human relationships, and it seemed to stem from his parents' mistakes that made his "entire childhood seem like fiction". Maybe he needed something to believe in, and nature -- its absolute existence and its merciless honesty -- was what he turned to. He was apparently criticized of his arrogance for trying to live in the wild without enough preparation, but perhaps it was his naivete -- he'd put too much trust not only in himself but the wilderness as well.
The tragedy was not really the fact that such a young man had died alone in starvation, but that he had to die when he was finally ready to go back to civilization and human community -- his severe experience of developing a bond with the wilderness had somehow helped him move on and it seemed like he had just found a way to forgive his parents' imperfections and his own, but that was when one careless mistake took his life.
Then again, I found a not-so-tragic answer to what I'd been wondering when I wrote my last entry -- how he had felt when he realized he was going to die. It reminded me of what Viktor Frankl had said in his book, about how we were always -- always -- free to choose how to react to a circumstance (and death too is one of those circumstances). The author of the book, Krakauer observes that McCandless was unmistakingly at peace in his last picture, "serene as a monk gone to God", and I don't think it was the author's wishful thinking -- the below is what McCandless had written before deciding to walk out of the bush to possibly end his "great Alaskan odyssey". It was shortly after he had shot a moose and regretted it due to his failure of preserving the meet and wasting it. He'd always demanded a great deal of himself (and others) but this moose episode seems to have taught him the value of acceptance:
Consciousness of food. Eat and cook with concentration... Holy food.
I am reborn. This is my dawn. Real life has just begun.
Deliberate Living: Conscious attention to the basics of life, and a constant attention to your immediate environment and its concerns, example→ A job, a task, a book; anything requiring efficient concentration (Circumstance has no value. It is how one relates to a situation that has value. All true meaning resides in the personal relationship to a phenomenon, what it means to you).
The Great Holiness of FOOD, the Vital Heat.
Positivism, the Insurpassable Joy of the Life Aesthetic.
Reality.
Independence.
Finality -- Stability -- Consistency.
On a side note, the plane I took yesterday had a problem landing, and it flew past the airport into the city. It took the staffs quite a long time to announce what the problem was, and until then, I seriously wondered if the plane had been hijacked or something, and if we were all going to die. To be honest, I was quite upset by the thought of it, mostly because I thought my life hadn't even started yet, but after a while, I just started wondering what the last thing I had said to my mother had been. Had I ignored her last call? Had I been nice to her? I was actually still holding the book in my hands but the whole McCandless story seemed to have dropped off from the surface of my brain.
After a lot of useless and unnecessary panicking and finally landing on the airport, I went straight to my grandmother's place only to find out she was sick, though it was mostly a mental thing; she is always too busy worrying about dying and feeling sick that it almost looks like she never has enough time to have fun. When she started feeling better, I was going through a pile of books on her shelf, and she told me the novel I was holding was supposedly really good: "What was it about... yes, yes! It teaches you how to survive!" She hadn't read it, and I was pretty sure she never would, so I just told her maybe she could just forget about surviving for a moment, and relax. Otherwise, I really wanted to ask her what she wanted to survive for so badly. If she knew, I think she would stop worrying too much, but then again, I will never know how it feels to be 86 for another sixty years.
2015年7月31日金曜日
into the wild
Since I last wrote, I went through training at the neurosurgery and anesthesiology departments, and finally our first term has ended. As soon as I came back home a couple of hours ago, I started reading Into the Wild. I've only read 1/3 of it yet, but I'm slowly beginning to understand this Christopher McCandless -- a kid in his early twenties who ended up dying in the wilderness of Alaska in 1992 after hitchhiking for two years. In one of the letters he wrote to people he met on the road, he talks a great deal about the importance of getting out of your comfort zone. I've heard a lot of people talk about this, and it's a piece of advice that makes me wonder a bit if I'm nearing the end of my twenties missing out on important experiences I could've had had I chosen different ways.
I say this because I've never really tried to get out of my comfort zone in the sense McCandless did. Some people tell me it was very brave of me to decide to switch to medicine after majoring in law, probably because I had to endure some sense of insecurity until I got a place in med school, but it wasn't a crazy plan, like ditching all my possessions and travelling to "see the world" and meet random people on the way. I've always planned my future carefully for a stable job, a stable life, and I value stable human relationships. And actually, I don't necessarily think it's a way of life to be criticized the way McCandless probably did:
So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to life of security... ...nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. ...The joy of life come from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.
Personally, I think it's perfectly possible to be happy with a "life of security" with no "adventures" or "new experiences" as long as you have good eyes to notice the little reasons to be happy in your sedentary repetitive existence. But maybe it's a totally different type of happiness that you find in the wild -- "the great triumphant joy" to be alive -- and I can only imagine because I've never hitchhiked my way to Alaska, and I probably never will; that is not my dream.
Perhaps I will try to "get out of my comfort zone" in some other way at some point in my life once I start working as a doctor and gain financial freedom. I can almost hear McCandless point out that I have totally missed the point here, but I have no courage to abandon everything and take the risk of dying alone, cold and hungry. I cannot help but wonder if McCandless still believed in his values and the reckless choices he had made when he realized he was going to die.
Still, any life is transient, a passing phenomenon after all, and the security I value is only a borrowed hut I will have to let go anyway. In that sense, there may be nothing to lose at any point in life.
Regarding human relationships, I've learned to value ones that don't necessarily last; it's not only those "stable relationships" I mentioned earlier that shape my life and who I am. Sometimes, a one time encounter can make a mark on someone's life; a single memory can make someone feel glad to be alive. But I have always valued human relationship, and there is one passage Chris wrote that has kind of opened my eyes, of course not in the same way as his "raw transcendent experiences" had opened his own eyes, but I think it's worth quoting:
Still, any life is transient, a passing phenomenon after all, and the security I value is only a borrowed hut I will have to let go anyway. In that sense, there may be nothing to lose at any point in life.
Regarding human relationships, I've learned to value ones that don't necessarily last; it's not only those "stable relationships" I mentioned earlier that shape my life and who I am. Sometimes, a one time encounter can make a mark on someone's life; a single memory can make someone feel glad to be alive. But I have always valued human relationship, and there is one passage Chris wrote that has kind of opened my eyes, of course not in the same way as his "raw transcendent experiences" had opened his own eyes, but I think it's worth quoting:
You are wrong if you think Joy emanate only or principally from human relationships. God has placed it all around us. It is in everything and anything we might experience. ...My point is that you do not need me or anyone else around to bring this new kind of light in your life.
2014年3月24日月曜日
wholehearted living
Dance like no one is watching. Sing like no one is listening. Love like you've never been hurt and live like it's heaven on Earth.
- Mark Twain
Today I read The Gifts of Imperfection (by Brene Brown). I know a lot of people like this book and say it changed their lives; that's exactly why I decided to read it. Halfway through the book though, I wondered if it was worth finishing. I'm going to be honest about it because the book talks so much about how important it is to be true to yourself rather than to seek approval of others and fitting in.
To me, the book was abstract (despite the fact that it had a fair amount of examples drawn from the author's experience; unfortunately I couldn't really relate to them), there were too many definitions (though I understood the importance of them), and it just didn't speak to my heart. Maybe I've read too many self-help materials that I've become numb. Maybe my expectaion was too much. Maybe people like me don't read self-help books in the first place. At any rate, I wouldn't have bothered to leave a note about it if it hadn't been for the last chapter where she talks about dancing:
...there is no form of self-expression that makes us feel more vulnerable than dancing. It's literally full-body vulnerability. ...(but) you can see this desire to move in children. Until we teach our children that they need to be concerned with how they look and what other people think, they dance. They even dance naked. Not always gracefully or with the beat, but always with joy and pleasure.
As a kid, I loved dancing. I took ballet lessons and I remember being comfortable enough to dance in front of my classmates at least up till seven. Now I never dance. One reason is that dancing is not prevalent in the Japanese culture. Schools never have dancing parties. The Japanese in general are not used to expressing themselves through dancing and I am no exception. But there was a time in my life when I was not embarrassed at all. So I must have changed, no matter how much I claim that I usually don't care too much about what people think about me. And if that -- measuring my worth on the scale of others -- is getting in the way of leading a wholehearted life, I will probably go back to the book again someday when I really realize that. Right now, I have a vague feeling that my problem (if there is any) lies somewhere else.
As I was talking to my mother about the book though (I thought about the problems she was facing while reading the book), I came up with a single idea that seemed very convincing. I've been struggling to find some comforting words the past couple of months, resulting in some pretty nasty fights every time my mother dwelled upon the fact that her life seemed so meaningless. I thought: well, that's what life is; it's meaningless and it's painful and empty but you live it because that's life. But today, as I was talking to her, I said something I might want to say to my future self when I hit my own mid life crisis:
Now that you look at how your picture has turned out to look like, you might be depressed to find out that it doesn't look at all like the picture you had in mind or the ideal picture you've suddenly created in your head, but when you were painting the picture, you probably always chose the best color and the best brush every time you added a stroke. It was always the best stroke. Even if it seems like a mistake now, it doesn't change the fact that it was the best in that moment, no matter the reason. There was a meaning back then, and if you can't find it now, it doesn't matter. Love your picture as it is because it's the best picture you could've painted. It may not be perfect but there is no such thing as perfect -- if your "perfect picture" had been the reality you would've found that imperfect anyway. All we can do is live in the moment. You can't really control the ultimate outcome (in many cases it will not fit your ideal image) but it's still something worth loving because it's the result of those moments you lived that you could not have lived better, no matter what you think of them now or what you thought of them then.
In short, maybe it's almost like the mere fact that you made a certain choice makes that choice good enough -- if that makes any sense.
- Mark Twain
Today I read The Gifts of Imperfection (by Brene Brown). I know a lot of people like this book and say it changed their lives; that's exactly why I decided to read it. Halfway through the book though, I wondered if it was worth finishing. I'm going to be honest about it because the book talks so much about how important it is to be true to yourself rather than to seek approval of others and fitting in.
To me, the book was abstract (despite the fact that it had a fair amount of examples drawn from the author's experience; unfortunately I couldn't really relate to them), there were too many definitions (though I understood the importance of them), and it just didn't speak to my heart. Maybe I've read too many self-help materials that I've become numb. Maybe my expectaion was too much. Maybe people like me don't read self-help books in the first place. At any rate, I wouldn't have bothered to leave a note about it if it hadn't been for the last chapter where she talks about dancing:
...there is no form of self-expression that makes us feel more vulnerable than dancing. It's literally full-body vulnerability. ...(but) you can see this desire to move in children. Until we teach our children that they need to be concerned with how they look and what other people think, they dance. They even dance naked. Not always gracefully or with the beat, but always with joy and pleasure.
As a kid, I loved dancing. I took ballet lessons and I remember being comfortable enough to dance in front of my classmates at least up till seven. Now I never dance. One reason is that dancing is not prevalent in the Japanese culture. Schools never have dancing parties. The Japanese in general are not used to expressing themselves through dancing and I am no exception. But there was a time in my life when I was not embarrassed at all. So I must have changed, no matter how much I claim that I usually don't care too much about what people think about me. And if that -- measuring my worth on the scale of others -- is getting in the way of leading a wholehearted life, I will probably go back to the book again someday when I really realize that. Right now, I have a vague feeling that my problem (if there is any) lies somewhere else.
As I was talking to my mother about the book though (I thought about the problems she was facing while reading the book), I came up with a single idea that seemed very convincing. I've been struggling to find some comforting words the past couple of months, resulting in some pretty nasty fights every time my mother dwelled upon the fact that her life seemed so meaningless. I thought: well, that's what life is; it's meaningless and it's painful and empty but you live it because that's life. But today, as I was talking to her, I said something I might want to say to my future self when I hit my own mid life crisis:
Now that you look at how your picture has turned out to look like, you might be depressed to find out that it doesn't look at all like the picture you had in mind or the ideal picture you've suddenly created in your head, but when you were painting the picture, you probably always chose the best color and the best brush every time you added a stroke. It was always the best stroke. Even if it seems like a mistake now, it doesn't change the fact that it was the best in that moment, no matter the reason. There was a meaning back then, and if you can't find it now, it doesn't matter. Love your picture as it is because it's the best picture you could've painted. It may not be perfect but there is no such thing as perfect -- if your "perfect picture" had been the reality you would've found that imperfect anyway. All we can do is live in the moment. You can't really control the ultimate outcome (in many cases it will not fit your ideal image) but it's still something worth loving because it's the result of those moments you lived that you could not have lived better, no matter what you think of them now or what you thought of them then.
In short, maybe it's almost like the mere fact that you made a certain choice makes that choice good enough -- if that makes any sense.
2014年3月23日日曜日
of human bondage
It might be that to surrender to happiness was to accept defeat, but it was a defeat better than many victories.
A quick note since I just finished the book: Life has no meaning; it's just like a pattern of a Persian rug woven for no end but the pleasure of the weaver's aesthetic sense. Anticipation of an ideal pattern, untamed passion beyond reason, sense of shame, severe poverty all become bondages -- obstacles that prevent you from weaving your own "perfect rug".
The protagonist's morbid obsession towards his unrequited love seems to emphasize the human nature of having to live under lack of satisfaction. Current unhappiness is always unconsciously ignored because the future by definition is bright -- there is a perfect pattern somewhere, waiting to be woven. The empty cup is always waiting to be filled. Anticipation builds. Except that that future never comes.
It's always now or never. What you should do to weave and complete your ideal pattern (which in fact may be designed by thoughts instilled in you by other people) is not important. What matters is what your own heart desires now. Now is the only time you can liberate yourself from all bondage and be free. And if you can find happiness there and then, if you can allow yourself to do that, the rug you're weaving is better than any other rug you pictured with your lofty ideals.
I think it was one of the best books I've ever read. I had so many parts I could relate to that it was almost like reading my own thoughts and following the path I've been walking for the past decade. I'm glad I read it now and not sooner or later in my life.
A quick note since I just finished the book: Life has no meaning; it's just like a pattern of a Persian rug woven for no end but the pleasure of the weaver's aesthetic sense. Anticipation of an ideal pattern, untamed passion beyond reason, sense of shame, severe poverty all become bondages -- obstacles that prevent you from weaving your own "perfect rug".
The protagonist's morbid obsession towards his unrequited love seems to emphasize the human nature of having to live under lack of satisfaction. Current unhappiness is always unconsciously ignored because the future by definition is bright -- there is a perfect pattern somewhere, waiting to be woven. The empty cup is always waiting to be filled. Anticipation builds. Except that that future never comes.
It's always now or never. What you should do to weave and complete your ideal pattern (which in fact may be designed by thoughts instilled in you by other people) is not important. What matters is what your own heart desires now. Now is the only time you can liberate yourself from all bondage and be free. And if you can find happiness there and then, if you can allow yourself to do that, the rug you're weaving is better than any other rug you pictured with your lofty ideals.
I think it was one of the best books I've ever read. I had so many parts I could relate to that it was almost like reading my own thoughts and following the path I've been walking for the past decade. I'm glad I read it now and not sooner or later in my life.
On a side note, I realize the title was taken from Spinoza's Ethics but I'm wondering why the Japanese title means human bond instead of human bondage. I'd appreciate it if anyone could give me some insight.
2014年3月8日土曜日
on death and dying
Death is just a moment when dying ends
-Montaigne
Finished reading On Death and Dying by Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. It's a study on death and dying -- how each individual patient copes with his last yet greatest ordeal in life. It contains many dialogues between the interviewers (the author with the hospital chaplain) and the patient who found the interviews as a chance to let out their suppressed concerns and emotions as well as to teach the medical professionals and pass something on.
Several things I want to remember (mostly from the last two chapters):
1. Terminally ill patients are aware of the seriousness of their illness whether they are told or not. Those who are not told explicitly know it anyway from the implicit messages or altered behavior of relatives and staff. Those who are told explicitly appreciate it unless they are told coldly and without preparation or follow-up, or in a manner that leaves no hope.
2. Leave hope when telling the truth. No matter the stage of illness or coping mechanisms used, all patients maintain some form of hope until the last moment.
3. We have to take a good hard look at our own attitude towards death and dying before we can sit quietly and without anxiety next to a terminally ill patient. The most important thing is to let him know that we are ready and willing to share some of his concerns.
4. For the patient death itself is not the problem, but dying is feared because of the accompanying sense of hopelessness, helplessness, and isolation.
5. Dying patients has the need ro leave something behind. They want something that will continue to live perhaps after their death and become immortal in a little way.
On a side note, the Japanese translation of the title is 死ぬ瞬間 which literally means "the moment of death". I haven't read the translation so I'm not sure what the translator meant but this book is not about the moment of death; it's about the suffering and eventual acceptance that comes before that moment in life; it's more about dying - the last process of living - than about death itself. But then again, I think there's no such word as "dying" in Japanese. Interesting.
-Montaigne
Finished reading On Death and Dying by Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. It's a study on death and dying -- how each individual patient copes with his last yet greatest ordeal in life. It contains many dialogues between the interviewers (the author with the hospital chaplain) and the patient who found the interviews as a chance to let out their suppressed concerns and emotions as well as to teach the medical professionals and pass something on.
Several things I want to remember (mostly from the last two chapters):
1. Terminally ill patients are aware of the seriousness of their illness whether they are told or not. Those who are not told explicitly know it anyway from the implicit messages or altered behavior of relatives and staff. Those who are told explicitly appreciate it unless they are told coldly and without preparation or follow-up, or in a manner that leaves no hope.
2. Leave hope when telling the truth. No matter the stage of illness or coping mechanisms used, all patients maintain some form of hope until the last moment.
3. We have to take a good hard look at our own attitude towards death and dying before we can sit quietly and without anxiety next to a terminally ill patient. The most important thing is to let him know that we are ready and willing to share some of his concerns.
4. For the patient death itself is not the problem, but dying is feared because of the accompanying sense of hopelessness, helplessness, and isolation.
5. Dying patients has the need ro leave something behind. They want something that will continue to live perhaps after their death and become immortal in a little way.
On a side note, the Japanese translation of the title is 死ぬ瞬間 which literally means "the moment of death". I haven't read the translation so I'm not sure what the translator meant but this book is not about the moment of death; it's about the suffering and eventual acceptance that comes before that moment in life; it's more about dying - the last process of living - than about death itself. But then again, I think there's no such word as "dying" in Japanese. Interesting.
2014年2月21日金曜日
believing in yourself
If you gave up on yourself, if you didn't believe in yourself, who would?
I finished reading Crime and Punishment. I had bought the first volume a decade ago and had never touched it since (except for when I was packing to move) but finally found the time to read it. I didn't think it was especially an impressive book. It wasn't exactly entertaining, nor did I think it would influence the rest of my life; some parts were interesting but I didn't feel like writing an entry about it right after I finished the book.
After a whole day, however, I thought I might as well leave some thoughts here. It was a surprise that the protagonist never actually suffered the pangs of conscience (or at least never clearly admitted it). On the surface, what he finally suffered from was the fact that he couldn't help but confess (which I guess means that he actually did feel remorse for having comitted a murder). He didn't think it was a sin to commit a "crime" in order to achieve a goal that would make a better world. Some people -- people like Napoleon who could endure his crime by strongly believing in himself and his belief -- had the right to violate the law for the better. The protagonist's sin was that he couldn't stick to his own belief. He couldn't believe in himself, and thus had to confess. He was ashamed of himself for that very reason until love saved him...
Everything was depicted pretty dramatically (it was almost like reading a play script); maybe I thought the second volume was better because I got used to the dramatics and could focus more on the content (and also finally saw that every character - some that seemed unnecessary - had his own role).
Speaking of believing in yourself, I was deeply moved last night by Mao Asada's free skating program, especially after witnessing the failure that hit her the night before in her short program. I had always looked up on her for her efforts and perseverance. She always knew that hard work was the only thing that could give you confidence, but often times, it was not enough for her when it came to important games; effort betrayed her over and over, resulting in anger and trauma. Her desire for the olympic medal deprived her of her confidence yet again in her short program -- another defeat to herself.
But she didn't give up -- finally last night, she nailed a perfect program including a triple axel jump she had waited for so long. Maybe she had let go of her pride and expectations; she had lost everything, and was back to the state when she had just loved skating and had nothing to lose but her strong will, now evident in every step, every jump. Asada burst into tears the moment she finished. When interviewed afterwards, she said rather calmly: "I believed in myself that I could do it. It was the program I always had in mind and I'm pleased that I did it." Her words -- her strength -- meant more than a medal.
It was really as if she returned to life under the spell of Rakhmaninov's music, just like the protagonist in the Russian masterpiece found his life once again after his "death".
I finished reading Crime and Punishment. I had bought the first volume a decade ago and had never touched it since (except for when I was packing to move) but finally found the time to read it. I didn't think it was especially an impressive book. It wasn't exactly entertaining, nor did I think it would influence the rest of my life; some parts were interesting but I didn't feel like writing an entry about it right after I finished the book.
After a whole day, however, I thought I might as well leave some thoughts here. It was a surprise that the protagonist never actually suffered the pangs of conscience (or at least never clearly admitted it). On the surface, what he finally suffered from was the fact that he couldn't help but confess (which I guess means that he actually did feel remorse for having comitted a murder). He didn't think it was a sin to commit a "crime" in order to achieve a goal that would make a better world. Some people -- people like Napoleon who could endure his crime by strongly believing in himself and his belief -- had the right to violate the law for the better. The protagonist's sin was that he couldn't stick to his own belief. He couldn't believe in himself, and thus had to confess. He was ashamed of himself for that very reason until love saved him...
Everything was depicted pretty dramatically (it was almost like reading a play script); maybe I thought the second volume was better because I got used to the dramatics and could focus more on the content (and also finally saw that every character - some that seemed unnecessary - had his own role).
Speaking of believing in yourself, I was deeply moved last night by Mao Asada's free skating program, especially after witnessing the failure that hit her the night before in her short program. I had always looked up on her for her efforts and perseverance. She always knew that hard work was the only thing that could give you confidence, but often times, it was not enough for her when it came to important games; effort betrayed her over and over, resulting in anger and trauma. Her desire for the olympic medal deprived her of her confidence yet again in her short program -- another defeat to herself.
But she didn't give up -- finally last night, she nailed a perfect program including a triple axel jump she had waited for so long. Maybe she had let go of her pride and expectations; she had lost everything, and was back to the state when she had just loved skating and had nothing to lose but her strong will, now evident in every step, every jump. Asada burst into tears the moment she finished. When interviewed afterwards, she said rather calmly: "I believed in myself that I could do it. It was the program I always had in mind and I'm pleased that I did it." Her words -- her strength -- meant more than a medal.
It was really as if she returned to life under the spell of Rakhmaninov's music, just like the protagonist in the Russian masterpiece found his life once again after his "death".
2013年12月15日日曜日
the sputnik sweetheart
Before I write about the book -- it's Sunday 7 am. It's still dark outside. I wonder if it is going to rain today. It's strangely quiet, and I realize I was away for almost half a year. During that time, I tried not to think too much and instead tried to stay indifferent unless it was about something very important to me. I tried to find a way to be neutral like a plain white canvas. And I think I've come to terms with the problems I had when I stopped writing:
I think too much when I write. It's like when a cow chews on grass and swallows it down and then brings it back and chews it again and swallows it and... it's a never ending process and I sort of got tired of it. I'm trying to find something that can give me a blank state of mind instead of a flood of words.
I have a very good friend I met through my old blog. I think we have known each other for more than five years. We've never talked in person, but she holds a special place in my heart.
In her previous email, she told me the way I wrote about writing (the passage above) reminded her of Sumire from Sputnik Sweetheart. It was a funny coincidence because a couple days before, another friend had pointed out that I reminded her of Myu, another character from the same novel.
As I read the novel last night, I thought I was more like character #3 -- the narrator.
...Considering the amount of information I have, no one in the world can talk about me as much as I can. But when I talk about myself, the "me" that is described would be selected, defined and cut out by the narrator that is me -- according to my sense of value, my emotional standards, my ability as an observer, and various realistic concerns. (85)
Obviously, it's not just that different people cut me out differently (like my two friends). I probably show different parts of myself to different people. But I actually did have one part that overlapped with Sumire (198-202):
...I used to write because I couldn't help but to write. Why can't I help but to write? The answer is obvious: to think about something, I have to make that something into words.
私は日常的に文字の形で自己を確認する。
I identify myself daily in the form of words.
But since I met Myu, I stopped writing. ...I probably stopped thinking. ...I am floating towards nowhere... and I think that's okay. Instead, I need to be extremely light in order to understand Myu.
理解というものは、常に誤解の総体に過ぎない。
それが私のささやかな世界認識の方法である。
Understanding is always merely a mass of misunderstanding.
That is my modest way of perceiving the world.
On the other side of what we think we know very well are the same amount of things that we don't know.
It's still very quiet here but it's not dark anymore. It's just... cloudy.
Another day has started.
I think too much when I write. It's like when a cow chews on grass and swallows it down and then brings it back and chews it again and swallows it and... it's a never ending process and I sort of got tired of it. I'm trying to find something that can give me a blank state of mind instead of a flood of words.
I have a very good friend I met through my old blog. I think we have known each other for more than five years. We've never talked in person, but she holds a special place in my heart.
In her previous email, she told me the way I wrote about writing (the passage above) reminded her of Sumire from Sputnik Sweetheart. It was a funny coincidence because a couple days before, another friend had pointed out that I reminded her of Myu, another character from the same novel.
As I read the novel last night, I thought I was more like character #3 -- the narrator.
...Considering the amount of information I have, no one in the world can talk about me as much as I can. But when I talk about myself, the "me" that is described would be selected, defined and cut out by the narrator that is me -- according to my sense of value, my emotional standards, my ability as an observer, and various realistic concerns. (85)
Obviously, it's not just that different people cut me out differently (like my two friends). I probably show different parts of myself to different people. But I actually did have one part that overlapped with Sumire (198-202):
...I used to write because I couldn't help but to write. Why can't I help but to write? The answer is obvious: to think about something, I have to make that something into words.
私は日常的に文字の形で自己を確認する。
I identify myself daily in the form of words.
But since I met Myu, I stopped writing. ...I probably stopped thinking. ...I am floating towards nowhere... and I think that's okay. Instead, I need to be extremely light in order to understand Myu.
理解というものは、常に誤解の総体に過ぎない。
それが私のささやかな世界認識の方法である。
Understanding is always merely a mass of misunderstanding.
That is my modest way of perceiving the world.
On the other side of what we think we know very well are the same amount of things that we don't know.
It's still very quiet here but it's not dark anymore. It's just... cloudy.
Another day has started.
2013年6月11日火曜日
fire for dessert
Relating to Murakami, the only books I've read thoroughly are Norwegian Wood and the one I mentioned yesterday. I personally think of the former as the Japanese version of The Catcher in The Rye; NW is obviously a hard core love story and its characters are much more morbid and even more sentimental, but both stories depict the inevitable loss we all experience in the process of growing up. I can't say exactly *what* we lose (probably because I've already lost them) but I'll probably remember when I read these books again. They remind me of the struggles I went through and the questions I used to have - how I used to see the world. Of course you can't always live in the world of sentimentalism (and I'd rather not), but it's sometimes nice to be reminded of things you forget without realizing. And there are a couple of scenes and conversations that I really like, and I wanted to share one of them:
University student Watanabe is spending one Sunday afternoon at Midori's. It's a sunny day and they're on the laundry deck after lunch, where they can see a neighborhood house caught in fire. Watanabe suggests they evacuate, but Midori wants to sing a song and that is what she does. She sings her terrible self-composed song called "I have nothing", and they drink beer while she talks about when her mother died -- she hadn't felt sad at all.
They feel somewhat "warm and close" after watching the glittering rooftops and the smoke and the red dragonflies together and they want to "preserve that mood in some form" -- they end up having a "soft and gentle kiss", "one not meant to lead beyond itself". Midori pulls away and tells Watanabe that she's seeing someone. He admits the same, and "the brief spell of the early autumn afternoon" vanishes. Watanabe leaves a couple hours later and asks Midori to come for a snack, but she says she has to stay in case the phone rings.
Midori: I hate waiting at home all day for a call. When I spend the day alone, I feel as if my flesh is rotting little by little -- rotting and melting until there's nothing left but a green puddle that gets sucked down into the earth. And all that stays behind are my clothes. That's how it feels to me, waiting indoors all day.
Watanabe: I'll keep you company next time you have to wait for a call, as long as lunch is included.
Midori: Great. I'll arrange another fire for dessert.
One of the best kissing scenes that I know of. Then again, I actually didn't like it at all when I read NW the first time. I was probably around 19-20 and I read the original in Japanese. I happened to read the English translation two years later, and I didn't think it was too bad (except that too many people die too easily). I don't know if it was me or the language, but if anyone's wondering which version they should read, I would still recommend the English copy.
University student Watanabe is spending one Sunday afternoon at Midori's. It's a sunny day and they're on the laundry deck after lunch, where they can see a neighborhood house caught in fire. Watanabe suggests they evacuate, but Midori wants to sing a song and that is what she does. She sings her terrible self-composed song called "I have nothing", and they drink beer while she talks about when her mother died -- she hadn't felt sad at all.
They feel somewhat "warm and close" after watching the glittering rooftops and the smoke and the red dragonflies together and they want to "preserve that mood in some form" -- they end up having a "soft and gentle kiss", "one not meant to lead beyond itself". Midori pulls away and tells Watanabe that she's seeing someone. He admits the same, and "the brief spell of the early autumn afternoon" vanishes. Watanabe leaves a couple hours later and asks Midori to come for a snack, but she says she has to stay in case the phone rings.
Midori: I hate waiting at home all day for a call. When I spend the day alone, I feel as if my flesh is rotting little by little -- rotting and melting until there's nothing left but a green puddle that gets sucked down into the earth. And all that stays behind are my clothes. That's how it feels to me, waiting indoors all day.
Watanabe: I'll keep you company next time you have to wait for a call, as long as lunch is included.
Midori: Great. I'll arrange another fire for dessert.
One of the best kissing scenes that I know of. Then again, I actually didn't like it at all when I read NW the first time. I was probably around 19-20 and I read the original in Japanese. I happened to read the English translation two years later, and I didn't think it was too bad (except that too many people die too easily). I don't know if it was me or the language, but if anyone's wondering which version they should read, I would still recommend the English copy.
2013年6月9日日曜日
dead end of evolution
Some of the words I've quoted recently have been from a book by a fifty-something year old Haruki Murakami, "What I talk about when I talk about running".
It's about Murakami himself, his life, and what it means, in general, for an imperfect human with limitations, to age. I'm not exactly a fan of Murakami but I can see why he has worldwide fanatic fans. He's obviously good with words and has a smart and humorous writing style. His metaphors can be sharp and nostalgic and fresh. It didn't change when he wrote about himself and his aging, a topic I guess most people wouldn't necessarily enjoy talking about.
I think as I run, that if my time doesn't get better, there's nothing I can do about it. I got old, and time takes what it takes. It's nobody's fault. Every game has its rule. It's the same as how the river continues to flow into the ocean. There is nothing you can do but to accept yourself as part of the natural scene. It may not be an enjoyable task. You might not feel glad to find what you find. But there is nothing we can do. I have enjoyed my life -- maybe not enough but in my own good time. (38)
1. Life has its order of priority. You have to decide how you're going to divide and distribute your time an energy. Without that system, your life loses focus. (58)
2. The most important thing we learn at school is the truth that we can't learn what is most important at school. (67)
3. Some processes do not accept change. If we have to live with it, all we can do is to change ourselves through obsessive repetition and take the process into ourselves as part of our character. (95)
4. If you quit just because you're "busy", you're never going to do it. There are always only a few reasons to continue while there are a truckful to quit. All we can do is to brush up those few reasons with great love. Find time and brush away. (102)
5. The essence of running is to burn yourself as effectively as possible within your limitations. It's the same with life. (115)
6. We always blame everything on global warming. We're always in need of a certain villain that we can put the blame on. (190)
7. Our shortcomings and defects are countless. But there must be *some* merits. We have to survive with what we have because that's all we have. (209etc.)
8. When you switch from swimming to cycling in a triathlon race, it feels like you're a salamander evolving to become an ostrich. (226)
9. If there was no pain, no one would run a marathon. It's the pain -- the process of overcoming the pain -- that gives us a solid realization that we're alive. (230)
10. If what we're doing is useless and empty, there's nothing we can do. If what we're doing is as vain as pouring water into a bucket with a hole, the fact that we did put in some kind of effort still remains. And truly important things can be found only through inefficient tasks. Empty actions are not stupid actions. (231)
I recognize that I'm only a tiny piece of a large mosaic called nature. Just like the water of the river, I'm only part of a replaceable natural phenomenon that passes under the bridge heading for the ocean. (125)
(Nonetheless,) I will run another full marathon in the winter and another triathlon race next summer. Seasons will change, time will pass, I will grow another year older, and write another novel. I will take the task that's in front of me and manage it one by one. I will concentrate on every stride. And at the same time, I will look at the far away scenery. Because that is what a long-distance runner does. I will do what I can and bear what I can to satisfy myself in my own way. (232)
It's about Murakami himself, his life, and what it means, in general, for an imperfect human with limitations, to age. I'm not exactly a fan of Murakami but I can see why he has worldwide fanatic fans. He's obviously good with words and has a smart and humorous writing style. His metaphors can be sharp and nostalgic and fresh. It didn't change when he wrote about himself and his aging, a topic I guess most people wouldn't necessarily enjoy talking about.
I think as I run, that if my time doesn't get better, there's nothing I can do about it. I got old, and time takes what it takes. It's nobody's fault. Every game has its rule. It's the same as how the river continues to flow into the ocean. There is nothing you can do but to accept yourself as part of the natural scene. It may not be an enjoyable task. You might not feel glad to find what you find. But there is nothing we can do. I have enjoyed my life -- maybe not enough but in my own good time. (38)
1. Life has its order of priority. You have to decide how you're going to divide and distribute your time an energy. Without that system, your life loses focus. (58)
2. The most important thing we learn at school is the truth that we can't learn what is most important at school. (67)
3. Some processes do not accept change. If we have to live with it, all we can do is to change ourselves through obsessive repetition and take the process into ourselves as part of our character. (95)
4. If you quit just because you're "busy", you're never going to do it. There are always only a few reasons to continue while there are a truckful to quit. All we can do is to brush up those few reasons with great love. Find time and brush away. (102)
5. The essence of running is to burn yourself as effectively as possible within your limitations. It's the same with life. (115)
6. We always blame everything on global warming. We're always in need of a certain villain that we can put the blame on. (190)
7. Our shortcomings and defects are countless. But there must be *some* merits. We have to survive with what we have because that's all we have. (209etc.)
8. When you switch from swimming to cycling in a triathlon race, it feels like you're a salamander evolving to become an ostrich. (226)
9. If there was no pain, no one would run a marathon. It's the pain -- the process of overcoming the pain -- that gives us a solid realization that we're alive. (230)
10. If what we're doing is useless and empty, there's nothing we can do. If what we're doing is as vain as pouring water into a bucket with a hole, the fact that we did put in some kind of effort still remains. And truly important things can be found only through inefficient tasks. Empty actions are not stupid actions. (231)
I recognize that I'm only a tiny piece of a large mosaic called nature. Just like the water of the river, I'm only part of a replaceable natural phenomenon that passes under the bridge heading for the ocean. (125)
(Nonetheless,) I will run another full marathon in the winter and another triathlon race next summer. Seasons will change, time will pass, I will grow another year older, and write another novel. I will take the task that's in front of me and manage it one by one. I will concentrate on every stride. And at the same time, I will look at the far away scenery. Because that is what a long-distance runner does. I will do what I can and bear what I can to satisfy myself in my own way. (232)
2013年4月21日日曜日
brokeback mountain
"...there was another shirt inside it, the sleeves carefully worked down inside Jack's sleeves. It was his own plaid shirt, lost, he'd thought, long ago in some damn laundry... ...stolen by Jack and hidden here inside Jack's own shirt, the pair like two skins, one inside the other, two in one. He pressed his face into the fabric and breathed in... ...but there was no real scent, only the memory of it, the imagined power of Brokeback Mountain of which nothing was left but what he held in his hands."
It was amazing that so little words could convey so much. Borrowed the book from a friend. She recommended the film too, but it was a bit surprising to me that this story was one of her favorites. She's a nice person with a great sense of humor but I sometimes have a hard time understanding her.
Like the other day, she said she'd never experienced regret. I just kept the conversation going, but the remark stuck with me for days. I mean, she's more than ten years older than me and she has never experienced regret. If that was true, I feel kind of sorry for her in a way. A life without regret is like a chocolate without cacao. White chocolate is good too, but the cacao is what makes the other ingredients tastier. If she hadn't really meant what she'd said, I feel sorry for her either way.
"Brokeback Mountain is the sad chronology of a love affair between two men who can't afford to call it that. They know what they're not - not queer, not gay - but have no idea what they are."
There is a obvious smell of regret especially towards the end. I don't know how my friend could've liked this story without knowing regret. But for some reason, I can sort of picture her doing what Alma did to confirm her doubts - the part where she tied a note on the fishing rod she found with the price tag still on after five years. That part was pretty hearbreaking actually. Hello Ennis, bring some fish home, love, Alma. She knew what exactly he was fishing.
It really was a sad story.
"There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe, but nothing could be done about it, and if you can't fix it you've got to stand it."
It was amazing that so little words could convey so much. Borrowed the book from a friend. She recommended the film too, but it was a bit surprising to me that this story was one of her favorites. She's a nice person with a great sense of humor but I sometimes have a hard time understanding her.
Like the other day, she said she'd never experienced regret. I just kept the conversation going, but the remark stuck with me for days. I mean, she's more than ten years older than me and she has never experienced regret. If that was true, I feel kind of sorry for her in a way. A life without regret is like a chocolate without cacao. White chocolate is good too, but the cacao is what makes the other ingredients tastier. If she hadn't really meant what she'd said, I feel sorry for her either way.
"Brokeback Mountain is the sad chronology of a love affair between two men who can't afford to call it that. They know what they're not - not queer, not gay - but have no idea what they are."
There is a obvious smell of regret especially towards the end. I don't know how my friend could've liked this story without knowing regret. But for some reason, I can sort of picture her doing what Alma did to confirm her doubts - the part where she tied a note on the fishing rod she found with the price tag still on after five years. That part was pretty hearbreaking actually. Hello Ennis, bring some fish home, love, Alma. She knew what exactly he was fishing.
It really was a sad story.
"There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe, but nothing could be done about it, and if you can't fix it you've got to stand it."
2013年3月15日金曜日
what i wish i knew
What I Wish I Knew When I Was 20 - Tina Seelig
Finished it just now. Preachy. Might be better in the original language (I read the Jpn translation). Last chapter worth reading.
Message: Think outside the box. Allow yourself to question common sense. Do not fear to take risks. Do not fear to choose a path no one has ever taken. Not knowing what comes next will make you anxious. Unpredictability, however, is what makes life amazing. Do not make excuses - you can only blame yourself for the lack of effort. But be tolerant of mistakes (both yours and other's). Do your best in everything. You have only one life. You can't rehearse it.
I think the reason the whole book sounded a bit preachy was because it didn't have enough anecdotes on failure. The writer is obviously a very rational, intelligent, successful woman and naturally, people around her (the people she writes about) are the same. I understood that everything she said was a necessary condition to succeed, but at the same time, I'm sure there are people who did the same, or almost the same and still didn't succeed. I wanted to hear more of those stories and compare (by myself instead of her explaining) what was the slight difference between people who succeeded and those who didn't.
Finished it just now. Preachy. Might be better in the original language (I read the Jpn translation). Last chapter worth reading.
Message: Think outside the box. Allow yourself to question common sense. Do not fear to take risks. Do not fear to choose a path no one has ever taken. Not knowing what comes next will make you anxious. Unpredictability, however, is what makes life amazing. Do not make excuses - you can only blame yourself for the lack of effort. But be tolerant of mistakes (both yours and other's). Do your best in everything. You have only one life. You can't rehearse it.
I think the reason the whole book sounded a bit preachy was because it didn't have enough anecdotes on failure. The writer is obviously a very rational, intelligent, successful woman and naturally, people around her (the people she writes about) are the same. I understood that everything she said was a necessary condition to succeed, but at the same time, I'm sure there are people who did the same, or almost the same and still didn't succeed. I wanted to hear more of those stories and compare (by myself instead of her explaining) what was the slight difference between people who succeeded and those who didn't.
2013年2月26日火曜日
reading
The other night, I met up with my friends and we talked about novels at one point. One guy said he never read novels - he only reads "parts of textbooks". He said he was never moved by anything, or at least he couldn't remember any moments like that, which sounds horrible, but I didn't feel sorry for him at all. He's always a bit too realistic but he really is a happy nice guy who wouldn't mind driving more than two hours to go see a friend's basketball match the day before a fairly important exam. And he's the kind of guy who comes to school late because of bad hangovers and still gets As all the time.
He's good at drawing and likes wasting money on "UFO catcher" games. He used to be a pharmacist and used to study drugs for breast cancer. He isn't "into breasts" anymore because he saw too many of them. He takes home fried chickens in his pocket when he's drunk and lies down on the school bench when he has a horrible hangover. He doesn't have a father but has a black cat called Moon. His nose bleeds every few months, and he can't wash dishes without gloves on because he's allergic to dish washing liquid. He's skinny and tall and has a funny haircut that sort of makes him look like a mushroom.
If you remember the Right Arm Peel Incident when A decided to peel the right arm with K and asked me to do the left arm - the side which was sort of twisted - the guy who tried to help me was him. He came over and said he was a "professional" when it came to holding arms in the right position, but I was almost finished and was really tired so I ended up telling him it was too late. But he really is a decent guy. He can be super lazy but he's a really warm and kind person. And of course there's nothing wrong with being lazy (as long as it's not when he's operating on me).
Either way, reading means so much in my life. I couldn't really imagine a life without reading but I guess my friend proves that life can still go on without reading.
He's good at drawing and likes wasting money on "UFO catcher" games. He used to be a pharmacist and used to study drugs for breast cancer. He isn't "into breasts" anymore because he saw too many of them. He takes home fried chickens in his pocket when he's drunk and lies down on the school bench when he has a horrible hangover. He doesn't have a father but has a black cat called Moon. His nose bleeds every few months, and he can't wash dishes without gloves on because he's allergic to dish washing liquid. He's skinny and tall and has a funny haircut that sort of makes him look like a mushroom.
If you remember the Right Arm Peel Incident when A decided to peel the right arm with K and asked me to do the left arm - the side which was sort of twisted - the guy who tried to help me was him. He came over and said he was a "professional" when it came to holding arms in the right position, but I was almost finished and was really tired so I ended up telling him it was too late. But he really is a decent guy. He can be super lazy but he's a really warm and kind person. And of course there's nothing wrong with being lazy (as long as it's not when he's operating on me).
Either way, reading means so much in my life. I couldn't really imagine a life without reading but I guess my friend proves that life can still go on without reading.
2013年1月20日日曜日
in a haze of blue
青が霞む恋の記憶
正月明けに飛行機で読んだ木村綾子さんの文章。彼女が十九歳だったころの淡い恋の記憶がつづられている。「前田くん」と遠距離恋愛をしていた彼女は、夏を北海道帯広の牧場で住み込みのアルバイトをして過ごした。牧場での一日が終わると、彼女は毎日前田くんに手紙を書いた。
朝露をまとった八月の草花、牛を追いかけながら見上げた星空、まったくの他人と暮らす難しさ、彼らとともに立ち会った命の誕生、そして死。
初めてのものを目にするたびに、前田くんを強く思った。それをこぼさず伝えたかった。手紙の枚数は日ごとに増えていった。
しかし、彼から返事が来ることはなかった。二か月の牧場生活を終えると、彼女は真っ先に前田くんに会いに行ったが、彼はあっさりと別れを告げた。
それから十年以上たった今、彼女はサン・テグジュペリが生涯最後に恋した女性に贈り続けた手紙をまとめた本を読む。
届かぬ思いが募るほど、王子様の表情はそこはかとなく変化していく。つぶやきは…対象なき嫉妬を帯び、ある日を境に…架空の恋物語が始まる。手紙はもはや宛先不明のものとなっている。
私は、あの夏の日々につづった手紙、ところどころに青がかすむ記憶を思い出さずにはいられなかった。
正月明けに飛行機で読んだ木村綾子さんの文章。彼女が十九歳だったころの淡い恋の記憶がつづられている。「前田くん」と遠距離恋愛をしていた彼女は、夏を北海道帯広の牧場で住み込みのアルバイトをして過ごした。牧場での一日が終わると、彼女は毎日前田くんに手紙を書いた。
朝露をまとった八月の草花、牛を追いかけながら見上げた星空、まったくの他人と暮らす難しさ、彼らとともに立ち会った命の誕生、そして死。
初めてのものを目にするたびに、前田くんを強く思った。それをこぼさず伝えたかった。手紙の枚数は日ごとに増えていった。
しかし、彼から返事が来ることはなかった。二か月の牧場生活を終えると、彼女は真っ先に前田くんに会いに行ったが、彼はあっさりと別れを告げた。
それから十年以上たった今、彼女はサン・テグジュペリが生涯最後に恋した女性に贈り続けた手紙をまとめた本を読む。
届かぬ思いが募るほど、王子様の表情はそこはかとなく変化していく。つぶやきは…対象なき嫉妬を帯び、ある日を境に…架空の恋物語が始まる。手紙はもはや宛先不明のものとなっている。
私は、あの夏の日々につづった手紙、ところどころに青がかすむ記憶を思い出さずにはいられなかった。
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