Confession To Broken Lady (6)

Waking up would stop me, switching back time would stop me.

She brought out yet another book from her bag, Heads Up Philosophy, it was how it spelled; while I was holding her book still and not yet gave her my two cents. “There are so many of them in each period.” In the midst of her adjusting the book, she made pause her move. 

What makes them acknowledged, up untill today, were their steady inquiry to the knowledge, to the truth, to have what perceived truth an infinite regress. Dedication. All of those thinkers came out with established theory by means of lifetime dedication.” She was so passionate to the point I saw there imaginary flames as if it was a matter of extreme important to her; and it was ever so interesting, ever so thought provoking.

It would be so much pale in comparison, if I were to tell her my fascination. It seemed to me she took her interest seriously, how could it not? She brought them  along everywhere what got her attention stolen. At least how to make it sound like a refained my preference of readings, ‘is it even just to call it an act of reading? In comparison to her subject of interest? Come to think of it, it quite  got the gist of philosophical wisdom.’ 

We are all born a single soul through the carrier of a mother womb. We will end up leaving this world just the same we initially brought out to the world. “ 

Tighten sadness were hidden, all the pain that came up were hidden.


On Kafka On The Shore

​“ 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.

An 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.

Haruki Murakami , Kafka on the Shore

The aforementioned quotation above reminds me of the line from this song, ‘Trouble is a friend’ by Lenka, “Trouble will find you. No matter where you go. No matter. No matter if you are fast. No matter if you are slow.”In order to stay firm in the midst of, violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm” one needs to have clarity of purposes in life, at least, s/he knows where his or her life is heading. Sangkan Paran and deep-seated ‘counciousness‘ as a key; in every of chosen endeavour what makes one a winner of his/her game of life. And “once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive.” Quite hard a practice to maintain an inner peace, and I’m practicing still. 

Unfulfilled Void


She dumped me for another guy at last. What do you expect from a man of no value afterall? Of no color. Close to nothing. Surprisingly, I manage to be calm in the midst of my chaotic inner feelings. As if all this while, life is. in a non-conformist way, preparing me for this moment to come. After the losing of Shiro, here comes another losing. The losing of a person that supposedly help me filling up the void within. The person I desperately want to spend the rest of my life with. And that guy, the guy who made her pin a smile on her face so delicately, who made her laugh so endearingly. It pains my heart knowing the fact that the guy is not me. As self-contradictory a phase I walk in right now, the calmness is only a denial of my losing in the battlefield. Of not having the only thing I ever wanted in life.

Tsukuru. It’s always a moment of another realization in every our very encounter. Trust me, never for once it ever crossed my mind to beguile you about my feelings. The attraction is reciprocal. It’s that crystal clear and transparent.

(Inspired by Haruki Murakami’s novel under the title ‘Colorless Tzukuru Tazaki’, because I find the ending rather hanging, whether Tsukuru finally ended up with Sarah or not, I self-made a conclusion)