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June 30 West of the sunThere is something magical about sunsets. (And maybe about sunrises too, but I'm rarely awake to watch them) Maybe because of the light, maybe because it's an end, maybe because it's neither day or night. Or maybe they just are.
After both me and Em had had a horrible day, we decided, after a nice meal and a very depressing talk, to go for a little walk on the sea front in Morecambe. Ok, not the nicest place in the world, but that night it offered a strange view. The sky was clear to the west and you could see the sun almost setting in the sea, but dark storm clouds were massed behind us, giving an eerie light. The tide was out, leaving behind boats stranded in the mud and patches of grass. Looking at this and having in mind our earlier talk and my doubts about everything at the moment, I came to understand better what 'west of the sun' means.
It's an image from Murakami's 'South of the border, west of the sun'. As children, the two main characters used to listen to Nat King Cole's 'South of the border', which for them symbolised a land of pure happiness, as the US and its border with Mexico meant nothing to them. Opposed to this is west of the sun: the land without hopes or dreams. The way the girl explains it is: in the long and hot Siberian summer afternoons, some farmers are overwhelmed by the vastness of the plains and, leaving everything behind, start walking towards the sun, in an endless quest for a land west of the sun.
As the girl says: 'There's no way back. And west of the sun is a very different place from south of the border'. I could always half understand the pure desperation of that story, the lack of hope and dreams and even the wish to hope. But now I feel lost and don't know what to dream about. And now I know: there's nothing west of the sun...
June 20 Trust"I like to write when I feel spiteful. It is like having a good sneeze." (D. H. Lawrence)
If there is one thing I truly hate that is lies. I don't mean people not telling the truth, that is different. But if someone invents a whole story, with or without good reason, I lose all respect for that person. And I lose all my trust: if someone's lied once then they can do it again and again.
I like to believe the best of people, especially if they are my friends. If someone needs my help, I'll do my best, without asking too many questions. On the other hand I have a pretty good intuition, so I generally know what's going on around me. Which means that if someone comes to me with a completely fantastic story I'll be in a pretty difficult situation: I can't just come out with the fact that I don't believe a word, but I can't just continue being their friend.
And there is one more thing: I often noticed that people who lie and make up stories just to get everyone's attention, usually do get it. So what happens to the rest of us, who would never do something like that, but still, from time to time, need a bit of attention? I like to believe that in the end lies don't take you anywhere, that it all boomerangs and you end up worse than you started. And people who are just being their own selves will have friends and support in the long term. But then, I'm the most optimistic person in the world... June 02 My precioussss.....I found myself today missing home. And I don't mean my brother or my parents, which of course I always miss, but not too much and I'm used to that. Not even the actual, physical home that we live in. No, I found myself longing for something else: the books. Bookshelves go up to the ceiling in my room and others line most of the walls. Books tend to pile up on the floor because there's no more space for them and we keep buying new ones and never get rid of old ones, even if no one reads them anymore.
I remembered an exercise we did in English at school 'Talk about the most precious thing that you own'. I had to think for about five seconds: MY books. Among all the novels, science, history, philosophy books that I have read or not, there are a few that are practically a part of me. Books that I keep on a separate shelf, that I can reach easily, that open up at my favourite scenes. Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Haruki Murakami, Umberto Eco, Jorje Amado, Salman Rushdie, Hermann Hesse. Books that I read when I'm tired, or sad, or alone. It might seem strange to some, but going through one of those books always brings me back on track. Always.
I was thinking: I don't know what I'd be if I hadn't read all those books. They've changed me in so many ways, they're so much a part of me that I wouldn't be myself as you know me without them.
Enough reasons to miss those books don't you think? Procrustes bed and the Dolphin HotelThis is an ancient greek legend, part of Theseus' story. Procrustes was a thief who had a house on the side of the road in a deep forest. He offered a meal and a night's rest to any traveler passing by and he claimed he had a bed that would fit anyone perfectly. What he didn't explain was how this was achieved: if someone was too short for the bed he would strectch him on the rack and if he was too tall he'd chop his legs off.
As most legends, it says a lot about human nature. There are some people (quite a few, I have discovered) that when faced with something they don't understand they'll try to re-shape it until it fits their view of the world. It's like trying to do a jigsaw puzzle and instead of trying to find the place a piece fits in, you just break bits of it until it fits where it's easier for you to put it. what you end up with would be a whole different image from what the puzzle was supposed to be. don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to say that these people are stupid or even narrow minded, but to fully understand other people's point of view just takes a lot more effort than we are usually ready to put into it. And we'd also have to realise that we ahve to make this effort, because most people do this re-adjusting instinctively.
Here is another point of view. It's a quote from Haruki Murakami's 'Dance dance dance', about the old Dolphin Hotel: "Look at anything in the place and you'd find yourself tilting your head a few degrees. (...) Who knows, you might get used to this slant on things? (but if you do you'd never be able to view the world again without holding your head out of true)"
So if strange, different things happened to someone and he'd have to get used to them everything else would seem slightly out of tune, and he'd have to make an effort to see usual things as 'normal' once more.
All this gives me the feeling that we are all living in our own private worlds and just accidentally keep bumping into each other. Slightly depresssing. |
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