I was reading stuff about Haruki Murakami and his inspirations in writing when I saw a note about hibakushas. They are survivors of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings who suffered severely because of the extreme wounds they got after and the adverse effects of radiation to their health. The thought just saddened me and the pictures of the victims in the Wikipedia article I was reading depressed me more. There’s this one person who survived both bombings. According to the account of the story, he was on a tour when he went to Hiroshima when the bombs were dropped. He survived. On August 8, he went back to his hometown in Nagasaki and that was the day before the second (set of) bombs were dropped. He survived it again. However, he died at the age of 93 because of stomach cancer (note: according to the Wikipedia article. I got lazy using proper citation).
Haruki Murakami is my favorite author. He uses magical realism (just like Gabriel Garcia-Marquez) and surrealistic type of writing in his works (I’m basing this on how Wikipedia discussed his techniques and writings). He also talks themes of personal loss, emptiness, untold stories of war (such as what happened in Manchuria or Manchukuo), detachment from society, student movement, sex, et cetera et cetera (My personal perception based on reading some of his novels and with the support of the Wikipedia article about him).
This is kind of ironic for me because I’d like to believe that I’m the happy type of person who opposes all of these. Well, sometimes I’d really like to be detached from the society but most of the time I’d like to be happy. When I read and finish his novels I can’t help but feel sad in the end and ponder about the characters in the story and about my life.
Sorry if I suddenly feel like writing a blog about him. It just caught my attention that he started writing when he was 29 years old. His first novel was Hear the Wind Sing which unfortunately, I will not be able to read because it was not mass-produced outside Japan like his other works. After being published in English by some Japanese-publishing company early in the 1980s, they suddenly decided not to publish it anymore. Too bad for a fan like me who wonder what Murakami’s style of writing before was. Well, I was able to read A Wild Sheep Chase which is part of “The Rat Trilogy”. A Wild Sheep Chase followed Pinball, 1973 and then Pinball,1973 followed Hear the Wind Sing (which is the first book as I mentioned). I don’t know if by the age of 29 I can write my first novel also. I’m 22 right now and I’m nearing that age.
Well, what I really want to talk about is the effect of Murakami’s novels to me. Sometimes, it makes me feel like I am the characters in the story. Like Toru Watanabe for instance (although I did not experience casual sex or having a bestfriend die because he committed suicide) or Toru Okada (and I did not experience losing a wife, falling in a well or astral traveling either). Murakami’s novels make me feel sad after reading them and it’s consistently like that. This makes me think that Japanese people are really the sad type of persons. Inside them is a deep emptiness. I can’t prove this theory yet but as I’ve read in his books and as I’ve watched from some of the Japanese films and TV series, it appears like that.
I have a brother who is Japanese. He is my sister’s boyfriend actually that’s why we treat him as an elder brother. A “kuya”. He is different from the Japanese people depicted in the (Murakami) books I’ve read and Japanese films and TV series I’ve watched. Maybe you can’t really generalize after all based on what you’ve just read or watched. These are just secondary sources. It is still different when you experience what you want to observe first hand.
I don’t know what the path of this blog will go. A while ago I was just discussing about hibakushas and now I’m talking about how to arrive at generalizations.
Anyway, I just want to say that I’m a frustrated writer. I want to write and write. I keep on mentioning this even in my previous blogs. Just like Sumire of Sputnik Sweetheart, sometimes I want to drop out of school and start a career in writing. But of course I can’t do that because we’re not that well-off in life and that means I would have to work to support that career.
It’s fun when the letters, the words, the sentences, the paragraphs continuously appear on screen. Seriously, right now, I don’t care who reads this and what other people would say about my writing. I’m just letting this go on until I can hold and until my mind goes blank.
I’ve wrote it this long and I still haven’t saved this. My internet got disconnected and I’m writing again using MS Word 2010 which auto-corrects grammar.
I can’t write that well in Filipino. This is not to say that I’m so good in English. It’s just that, when I try to write in Filipino, it will either be written in pure Filipino but the content is horrible or it will be written in Taglish but the content is better. And I don’t want to write in either of those ways.
I’m afraid of the dark, actually. An hour ago, while reading stuff about Murakami there are thoughts in my head like someone will just slash my throat. This happens to me a lot of times. I feel it again right now. The feeling that somebody will just attack me and slash my throat. My neck feels uncomfortable again.
I don’t know if I’m going to post this. This is a juxtaposition of all that I wanted to write straight from my head. I don’t know if I’m going to edit this once I’m done writing and reading this all over.
I’m so lazy to do anything but write!