Once upon a time in a closeby land because not all lands are far away. Sometimes it’s just 10 meters away from you, that big magical land you dream about. Now I know what you’ll say.
Oh, but where’s the magic?
Well, the magic is in the mind of the believer. Now let’s get on with the story before I burn my meat pie.
No hero in this story. Just a common man who doesn’t ride a white horse or fights the dragon on the castle. Just walks the fields alone and can’t take his eyes off of the farmer’s daughter. It won’t be a cute love story like you imagine it to be because the farmer was a hardworking man barely with any time to take care of his family, too busy supporting the livelihood, you see?
This is how communalism destroys.
The vultures don’t circle the same tree anymore.
It was about time they stopped invading the Bat’s territory. They used to look from afar before they dared to step on to one of the branches, casually making acquaintance with the tree that wasn’t theirs. Until more of them came seeing the initiative of other. The bats stayed asleep. What’s another bird in their midst? It’s a huge tree anyway. They’ll leave when they’re rested.
There was once a dead girl who just wouldn’t stop crying.
She screeched and bawled and made tiny baby noise from her throat and she would choke on her own saliva when her tongue would roll up in her mouth. But she had to cry it out, that was all she could do. For even choked and in pain, she couldn’t die again. Continue reading
If you wanna go, then go. I won’t stop you.
There are just some words in my head that need to be said and they will be said whether or not there’s someone there to hear it. Because you see the world’s all filled with noise anyway, you can’t even hear the sound of heartbeats anymore. The only sound that I think still echoes all around is one of heartbreak but the clinking of glasses at a wooden table in the far corner of the bar drown it as well while a slow rhythm plays out the songs of grief of a love unrequited, a half-smoked cigarette and a faraway dream. Continue reading
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My Rating: 4/5 stars
Paperback, 309 pages
Published August 13th 1998 by Vintage Books
I know it has been a long while since my last book review. Six months to be honest and while I HAVE been reading (though too little and mostly short stories), nothing has given me something to talk about as much as this book. Thus, here I am. I can never read a book by Murakami and yet NOT talk about it. Maybe a day would come when that happens but I don’t wanna be around for that. So here we go:
When the news headline flashes on the screen talking about the number of people dead and perhaps one tantalizing video that shows a graphical representation of the tragedy, it is easy to feel that momentary empathy for the people and then go on living your life being glad that you weren’t the one going through it. Continue reading
You’re telling me that’s all I had to do. Show you the last letter for you. Hear me say it right, ‘for you’ not ‘to you’. Continue reading