murakamimusings

[murakamimusings]

Mauritius, December 2019

It is when I remember how much I love my parents, that I am confirmed in my belief that one day I will fall in love with a girl with the same intensity.

When I am with them, they are mostly wonderful, but they can also be intolerable like any human being. When I am without them, it is intolerable as well. This day after Christmas, as I sit in the taxi that carries me from Hotel Paradis at the foot of the Morne to Sir Seewoosagur Ramgoolam International Airport, minutes after saying goodbye I already remember their faults fondly, with a smile.

To my right I look out at the Indian Ocean, a bored Mauritian taking a break from work, casually sitting on a bench on the final thin stretch of lawn before the water. How can this man already be so used to looking out at infinity every day? How must it feel to live in this lonely place all year round, fulfilling a mundane profession that ignores the magnificence of the surroundings? A minute later and we pass a beaming bride getting her photo taken in her wedding dress. It’s nice to see. It also reminds me that every day, everywhere there are brides.

I could not imagine a world without them. I know because I think of this every day. I had not nightmares, but difficult dreams about it this past week. Time is a friend and an enemy. So are memories. The past was neither better nor worse because it is a part of us – there is no competition. And still, there is a feeling that there would be no more sense in being around without them. No more fear at the potential end to my life either. Without familiar warmth, what is there to live for? Of course I could create my own family, but it wouldn’t be the same. How have all the great men in history dealt with this problem?

The world is a place of atoms, but it is also and more importantly a place of romance. Without romance we are just animals. The poet could not survive without the mechanic or the hunter but he is still more powerful and important. There is a hard physical truth that governs this place. We bones, water and flesh. But we are more. What does matter above all else are the wanderings and the sighs of the mind. We are desperate little beings trapped in earthy vessels reaching for the skies. Because we know that we are bigger.

In my parents’ presence, despite my short temper, I am only motivated to do things that will make them happy. I don’t always succeed, but I try. I feel such a protective impulse toward them that any slight, any lack of respect or act of aggression shown by someone else is met by me with disproportionate retaliation. Just like when I told the rude man on the golf course the other day to go fuck himself when he was rude to my father and me.

I would like to raise my children by protecting them in the way that a good father should, but also trusting them to be strong on their own. This will happen if they have been properly prepared for the real world. It is also a very rational thing to say and I’m sure that love will make it messier. Love always makes you want to make sure.

Living in such a way to minimize regret is good but it also implies a certain amount of fear. Minimizing regret is being aware that one day there will a time of reminiscence and prevents us from living in complete flow. The key is perhaps to plan ahead for experiences that will minimize regret but to live them in the moment without thought for the future. Life exists only now.

In spite of the difficulties presented by the human condition, I do believe that the general spirit of the world is kind. There is a larger shared family beyond ones’ own. A shared human experience in all of its beauty.

[murakamimusings]

I still think of you

I still think of you…

A whole two years later.

Is that just because you were my first real girlfriend?

Every day I see your name on the side of my Spotify “Friend Activity” and my heart still pinches without fail. I wonder if you feel it sometimes.

I still listen to your music. Not because I’m some sort of stalker of course, but because you really do have great taste, and because Spotify is a nag.

Most of the songs I’ve been playing every day on repeat are your top choices. They’ve all got that cool, upbeat but slightly melancholy, “I’ve found a treasure,” indie feel to them. They speak to me even though I never expected to understand that language.

Plucking at the chords of my heart. I’m not going to say I don’t enjoy it. It’s like sour candy.

*

All right. Hypothetically, say I was actually in love with you, even though I never said those words to you back then… Just imagine that for a moment. Could I really have not been aware of my feelings or am I now idealizing what I no longer have?

If this was really love, why am I not fighting to the death, even now, to get you back?

It’s likely that I’m just a softie romantic who enjoys being a little sad after a glass of wine.

I also think that — in a very self-loving sense — I was always looking for a sign that you were crazy for me. I never got that. I think I would have reached back out if I’d seen that.

Into you - French Horn Rebellion

I listen to this song and I think back to Venice.

November 2019. We go every year for Maman’s birthday.

There’s Acqua Alta this year, particularly acute. We have to buy plastic boot coatings on the street and our antique hotel lobby is under siege, thankfully protected by a clever micro metallic dam that has been erected. Local shops are devastated but still operating — it’s sad to watch and still, life continues.

We still explore Venice treading carefully, dealing with two-lane traffic on one-lane wooden planks. I am well surrounded by my loving and loved parents and yet very lonely as well. Missing a past time. Missing you or the idea of you.

Then, a few days later onto Padova for a half a day visit to Saint Anthony and a plate of tartufo nero tagliatele and then Modena for more gastronomy.

Osteria Francecana. The best restaurant in the world, apparently. I treated Maman and Papa. Had planned this for a few months and we stayed at Casa Maria Luigia, chef Bottura’s lovely quaint estate outside of the city.

My heart was so full and so empty at once. I have never experienced such a thing before. Walking around the beautiful grounds with my parents, then alone. A perfectly bucolic scene that could be interpreted any way, happy or sad depending on the mood of the observer. The whole world empty and full of promise.

I will be back one day. With someone I love.

On many far away trips I have been telling myself this for a while and sort of want to make it happen now. Very much so actually.

Then I think back to Paris a few days earlier.

*

I had finally reached out, after more than a year and a half of thinking and frustrated restraint.

I’d seen that you were working in Paris at least for the time being and given that I was coming home to visit my parents I couldn’t not seize the opportunity.

This doesn’t really make sense, given that we both live in New York and that for at least a year after breaking up with you I often walked by your building in the hopes of running into you.

But because it was Paris I had to.

And… regret minimization I’d decided. I’d imagined myself in my last breaths thinking:

Yup, that was the love of my live…

No, I wouldn’t allow myself to die with that doubt in mind.

So I reached out to you and suggested we catch up over lunch. I asked you where your office was and suggested a cute little place I knew nearby. Les Saisons.

I remember before leaving the apartment lying to Maman and telling her I was heading out for a business lunch. When I was back home I often had to explain why I wasn’t free for a meal. That’s love! But here I also didn’t want to deal with any explanations. I’d brought you up with her and even though she meant the best I always felt like my delicate feelings were being uncomfortably prodded when I brought things up. This was my decision and my tender subtleties to deal with alone.

I’d nervously jumped out of my Uber a few blocks from the restaurant, for a few reasons. Firstly the street was very quaint and had a ton of little shops and activity. Secondly I was listening to music and wanted to build up to walking in at my own rhythm. I was giddy, excited, sad, hopeful, etc. I’m sure you can sympathize.

I turned onto the street I had been looking for, realized I didn’t really have a plan or clear objective, and as I walked in I immediately saw you there. You were seated at the first table and smiled at me calmly, warmly. You were familiarity found again.

You made conversation easy, which was very nice of you. I ordered — in French of course — which helped to make me look good and charming, and we each had a glass of red. I think I had a second. I asked you how your French was doing. Learning a few words you said. The food was ok but the place was perfect and ideal for the occasion. I couldn’t focus very much on eating. I forget what we talked about. It was fairly playful and insignificant. A shroud of light-light-heartlessness over something that felt heavier.

When we got done you said you’d better get back to work soon. I offered to walk you, even though you warned me it wasn’t that close. We stopped by a café and I got us two to go. I think I had to run to the restroom because of an upset stomach and I pretended like there’d been a line because I was embarrassed.

As we continued walking I complimented your bonnet and at some point briefly pulled it off your head by the little furry ball at the top, to which you giggled. I was grateful that I wasn’t forbidden from or scolded for such an intimate gesture. I had an urge to hold you as we kept walking down Paris. Funnily, this was also one of the first times I’d experienced a real romantic moment in my childhood city.

Your office was by a park, a square more precisely as we like to say sometimes in Paris, and as we were walking up to the door I wondered if I would try to kiss you or say something. I didn’t. I gave you a regretful bise and left.

I then walked around feeling a little dazed and FaceTimed one of my best friends back on the East Coast…

How did it go??

I told him I hadn’t really addressed anything, and that I suppose my intention was just to get more time with her, one more good look to know how I felt. It still wasn’t clear.

So, what are you going to do?

I don’t know. I think I’m going to go get an Old Fashioned at the Hoxton and think about it.

I was flying to Italy the next day for Maman’s birthday and if I wanted to make something happen it had to be now.

I opened my phone and started drafting a long note to you, explaining what I’d been wanting to tell you. Then I ran it by a few people and decided it would be best to try to tell you in person.

So I texted you and said something along the lines of…

Hey… I feel like I didn’t get to share everything that was on my mind at lunch. Would you be around later today?

At first you offered a quick 45 minute slot, which was disappointing (and I was about to drop the whole thing then), but upon hearing that this was my only day in Paris for a while you moved things around. So I went.

I picked the Experimental Cocktail Club, post dinner. An intimate speakeasy on an alley, rue Saint-Sauveur, sometimes with a live DJ.

At dinner I was of course absent-minded and a little heavy but didn’t loop my folks in. I didn’t yet have a resolution.

When I arrived you were already seated and had made friends with the bartender, who also was a foreigner.

We talked a little about nothing and then I realized I could no longer afford to beat around the bush.

Thanks for coming here. Listen, I wanted to start off by apologizing for the way that things ended… I feel like it was abrupt, out of nowhere, and you didn’t deserve that.

I meant this although I’m not sure this was really what I wanted to say. I just needed a way in.

I’ve continued to think about you almost every day… I added self-consciously. It doesn’t help that you have these public monthly playlists and that you have great taste in music. By the way, you’re late for this month’s — I checked!

You chuckled.

I noticed you tearing up a little, cracking up in your voice.

So why didn’t you didn’t think of reaching out earlier?

I paused.

I wasn’t sure about how I felt. If it makes you feel any better I felt terrible for several months but just didn’t really know how to approach it.

A pause again.

- Well.. thank you for saying that, but… I feel like our relationship lived its course and for some reason that we never got to the next level… so I’ve turned the page.

I could tell that you didn’t fully mean that and still I resented this American way of describing a very personal matter like something out of a TV show.

You added:

- I feel like I should also tell you that I’m seeing someone. It’s not very serious but I’m giving it a shot.

I pretended not to be affected and in a dignified way inquired a little. You revealed that it was a coworker of yours. He sounded pretty menial.

At this point I felt I’d ingested a strange cocktail of emotions.

I almost saw myself from above, sitting there late at night at this bar in Paris, feeling sorry for myself when you clearly didn’t understand me. You can accuse me of having a big ego all you will… I knew I was a catch and that I wasn’t like everyone else, certainly not like this coworker of yours. And I felt like you underestimated me. Anger was winning over nostalgia. I excused myself to the restroom, and when I came back you did the same.

As you were gone I settled the bill and ordered a car.

You seemed half surprised, which surprised me even more.

Why were you here in the first place if you had this new boyfriend?

How could you think that he would even stand a chance against me in any competition? Could you not see the difference?

Why were you still here?

Did you really think I was going to stick around longer after that conversation?

Did you really think I was the type of person who just wanted to make friends with my “ex?”

I wished you a good night with no visible anger and headed out. I felt like this might be the last time I’d ever see you.

I felt very down and kind of wanted to walk the 45 minutes home sulking but it was raining and I went home by car, more efficiently, and the next day to Italy carrying this weight along with me.

But at least in my mind I could now tell myself that I’d made the right decision and that this was not meant to be. I had made the right call back then.

Tonight I had been looking for a clue, a glimmer, anything to convince me that I’d been wrong, which I had not found. I had wanted to be wrong and to have everything I’d ever desired right there in front of me, finally revealed.

But that had not happened.

And still your music.

And that note you left in that book you gave me about reincarnation once - Many Lives, Many Masters:

Nathan, you’ve definitely lived many lives.

You may have been so lucky to meet me in one of them.

xo

What would I need to see in a girl to feel like she understands me?

I think I would want to be seen.

I am ranting again.

This doesn’t really serve any purpose. I have better things to do.

Chapter closed…

…again.

[murakamimusings]

April is the cruelest month

Have you ever not been sure whether you’re in love or not?

Everyone makes it seem so simple. Like it obviously just happens and happens several times in a lifetime.

Maybe it is and I’ve just never gotten there yet. 26 years and don’t think I’ve met any girl I’d marry.

I’ve never even told a girl I loved her. It just seems so rare to me. Maybe I’m very picky.

I recently broke up with this girl.

By recently I mean April, which is already 4 months ago.

I still miss her. I think I do. In that I feel sad when I think about her, and often think about her. It’s possible that what I really miss is being in a relationship. Maybe I miss only the container and not the contained. Only the play but not the particular actress.

I enjoyed her energy. I think I did. People often miss what they no longer have even if they don’t value it when they have it.

I remember being frustrated in her presence sometimes. More than sometimes.

Like she was going too slow, like she didn’t understand me, like it could be better. Also I didn’t like her closest friend, I thought she was pulling her down. And I pay lots of attention to who I surround myself with because you really do become an average.

She’s the first girl I really dated. We went on trips to some of my favorite places. Newport, Whistler, Austin. Road trips together. Actually a lot of these became my favorite places only after I visited them with her, but I had a hunch they would be before.

Dating her was an excuse to go down my bucket list. It made it more possible and fun, the youthful adventures that one dreams of in movies and songs.

I wonder whether she could have been substituted.

I wonder how she really felt about me. How unique her feelings were.

She self-admittedly wasn’t (actually “isn’t” is the right tense because we’ve only broken up… she’s not dead) very good at expressing how she felt but she seemed to be very attached.

I heard through others that she really liked me.

I heard through my friend that she lost her appetite for a month after our break up.

I had to break up with her twice, because I didn’t have the heart to be clear with her the first time even though we walked from Washington Square Park to my place for her to pack her things. I then traveled for a few weeks and we didn’t speak apart from one polite formal email on my end.

Our second conversation, equally if not more painful, was also charming. We met in Union Square on the passerelle between the plants in the middle of the park and walked toward the Highline. She looked cute and lovely in her jeans farmer dress over her white tee. She always had simple, indie beauty to her, like someone part of an emerging band.

She referenced the Jonathan Safran Foer book I’d given her by saying “I have heavy boots.” She tried to express herself by saying “I want you. I want to be with you. But I don’t want to have to force you to be with me.”

I liked the conciseness of what she was saying but wished that she’d been more specific.

She asked me if I wanted to sit down on the bench in front of the little pond under the weird modern structure on West 12th and 7th ave. I said “you really want to? This is such death.” She said playfully, with a little grin, “You can be inconvenienced a little.” I said “Ok” and managed to smile and sat down.

There were quotes engraved in the dark stone on the ground. They were loopy around the pond and I was too distracted to read them. What a nice setting, I thought. I hope this will not ruin this place for us.

We sat there for a little and she turned to me, calmly and wistfully, and said “I think you’re making a mistake. I think we have something really great going, great energy and chemistry and that is rare.” I didn’t know how to answer that because I agreed.

Part of me still thinks I’ve made a mistake. On some days it’s 5%, on others it’s 20%.

How can love be so probabilistic? Why isn’t it 0 or 100? Why was I never able to tell her “I love you.” I really want to say that to someone. I really wanted to say it and mean it with her.

Will I get more clarity as I keep existing and dating? What if I lose this option though, and this was the right one? Why can I not live multiple lives at once?

All of my friends thought she was a nice girl. Some of them liked her more than others.

A few told me that she was great but would probably not “be able to keep up.” I started getting the feeling that I could do better, whatever that means. My parents met her and felt the same way, whatever their feelings mean…

“Les conseilleurs ne sont pas les payeurs” maman often tells me. It’s true. It’s both important what they said, and also not important. We should be careful about taking advice.

Who do you know is actually happy and successful?

Is the way to achieve those things intuitive or counterintuitive? Will it follow common wisdom or seem foolish?

I am very skeptical of the generally accepted advice.

I still think of her every day.

Maybe it’s because I have an obsessive mind. But maybe it’s something else too.

I’d love to know whether she still thinks of me regularly. Her feelings toward me would feel more noble if she couldn’t get over me.

Was she really attached to me, or to the idea of me? In that, would someone else with generally similar characteristics satisfy her as a boyfriend as well? Or is there something unique about Nathaniel Pine that she would never find anywhere else no matter where she looked?

I think I am terribly afraid of being loved only for the general character I represent and not for anything more granular than that. To lose my uniqueness and become a category, to die without being understood by the kindred spirit I choose to partner with.  

I remember when we went to Whistler she surprised me at the San Francisco airport. She told me she’d be meeting me in Vancouver flying in from New York but there she was, and she knew exactly where I would be. There was something pleasantly eerie about that.

I remember the book she gave me when we started dating. Many Lives, Many Masters. She believes in reincarnation which is mostly charming and a little bit embarrassing. I remember the note she wrote -

“Nathan, you’ve definitely lived many lives. You may have been so lucky as to meet me in one of them - Alice.”

Maybe I give her too much credit for the depth of this. Maybe it was just clever cheekiness, but something about it shook me then and still has an effect on me now.

Over the holidays all I could think about was her. I re-downloaded Snapchat to send her 40 photos a day.

I finally had someone to be fascinated by. I’d waited so long for someone like that.

And it was her. Alice. Probably not just any girl.

I should tell you about those holidays sometime, when I have more time.

I don’t know. I don’t trust myself with these things. I don’t feel like I have enough history.

A big part of me thinks that when I’ll know, I’ll know. But that is common wisdom, and you know how I feel about that.

But another part of me is worried that I am too different and focused on my own legend to become so fully engrossed in another individual as to call myself in love. There is something so foolish and selfless about the whole thing.

I think and hope it’s not the latter. I haven’t lived enough. When I’ve lived more, I will know. If only we could live parallel lives and jump from one line to another, from one life to another, forward and backward in time.

[murakamimusings]

Hi

I hope to express myself fully here. 

In a real way, without having to be self-conscious. 

Not sure who will read this, or if that even matters. 

Welcome.