This Is What Murakami Meant | A Short Story

Her eyes swell up. I don’t want her to cry, but I cannot utter a word. She has too brilliant a mind to lose it over her heart.

We would have been perfect for each other, I know she believes it. We both love the same things. But for us to happen, we’d need another universe. We are here instead, and this isn’t going to happen.

I tell her, hers is the most brilliant mind I have ever come across. And I wished I could give her back the marvels she has given me. But I fall short. I’m only human, she might have been divine.

Admiration is what bonded us together. I have told her one too many times how much I adore her mind. When did she begin to blur the lines between the mind and the heart, I cannot tell.

‘I know it’s not your fault, not my fault, or anyone else. It’s just how it is. It’s just living,’ she says. A fine line of tear has already left her tiny eyes.

Living, the word echoes endlessly in my mind for a minute.

‘This is what Haruki Murakami meant,’ she says. ‘When he wrote, that a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair.’

The words are too hard for either of us. But it has been said. Was she really beyond repair?

‘Maybe not beyond repair,’ she says realizing the harshess of the words. ‘But if you think of it, we don’t go repairing our heart. We just peel off the broken parts till new ones grow in. So it is beyond repair in one sense,’ she adds.

I told you, she has too brilliant a mind to lose it over her heart.

I knew Murakami was one of her favorite authors. I never read one myself. I don’t know if she was blaming me, or herself, or anyone for existing. Living was in itself a coiled reality. That we could live in so many different levels in the minds and hearts of others is both terrifying and amazing.

Either of us hadn’t done anything. She was hurting. And I felt guilty. But there was nothing either of us could do.

Wouldnt it have been so much easier if we could love the ones who loved us? Maybe Murakami knows the answer to this. Maybe he doesn’t. What did he really mean with that line afterall?

Growing Up #7: The Merry-Go-Round of Life

I’ve listened to people talk about their lives as the words innocently sprung out of their mouths and crystallized into lines. A line or two at most, not an elaborate conversation, and yet I know I’ve been hit by circles of perspectives. I’ve listened not through ears, but through my heart. It is as though we are all in a merry-go-round of our lives as we come across others on the ride.
 
I’ve listened to an experienced elder doubt his life actions of living without concrete plans. I’ve listened to a professional admit how he thought this was it after he landed the job, but a change came along. I’ve listened to a senior share his career plans going sour. I’ve listened to another senior be brave about their catastrophic loss. 
 
As I listened, I realized it must all be a part of life. I saw them become more human. Perhaps the moments where I do not seem to find a way ahead is making me more human as well.

Jeff Goins writes in his book Real Artists Don’t Starve:

You’re never done becoming yourself.

The ride continues.

And here’s a wonderful piece by Joe Hisaishi, Merry Go Round of Life. 


I cannot believe I’ve made it to the 7th week and I have been writing this column every week on my blog. I’ve not had a hot chocolate for a while, but Saturday continues to be a reflective day.

Growing Up, a series on well, growing up, every Saturday.