Qoutes, Rant, Review, Thoughts, Uncategorized

Hopeless Prison

When it comes to Murakami’s books, I tend to take a longer time to finish. By ‘longer’ I mean, maybe more than 5 – 6 months since 1. I read books during selective weekend / night. 2. I love how he put things into picture until it seemed alive and as if the words themselves are talking to me hence I tend to have a lot of my kind-of- silent-moment upon his brilliant elaboration (I guess that what made him as a legendary writer). His words hit the right spot and yeah, he really is an excellent author no doubt about it.

In Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, when Tsukuru dreamt he was in a great jealousy for the first time in his life, Murakami successfully (at least in my view) inserted “jealousy” into a vivid frame. It just feels the same like what I sometimes feel and finally, I found the right word – most hopeless prison. Being in state of jealousy is like being in a hopeless prison that you stepped in yourself. No matter how suffocated you are in the prison, you insist to stay for some odd reasons.

“Jealousy—at least as far as he understood it from his dream—was the most hopeless prison in the world. Jealousy was not a place he was forced into by someone else, but a jail in which the inmate entered voluntarily, locked the door, and threw away the key. And not another soul in the world knew he was locked inside. Of course if he wanted to escape he could do so. The prison, was after all, his own heart. But he couldn’t make that decision. His heart was as hard as a stone wall. This was the very essence of jealousy.” 

..exactly !

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to many more posts about his quotes.
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Qoutes, Uncategorized

Fate is like sandstorm

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

-From my all-time favorite author Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore).

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