From above to bottom - Murakami, Pamuk and Marquez. My favourite writers of all time second only to Jane Austen. Murakami is from Japan, Pamuk from Turkey and Marquez is from Colombia. Despite the geographical differences, their works share one common theme - solitude.
More than often the narrators in their novels lived in a world of conflicts - east meets west, traditions meets modernity. And most of the time, the narrators fell in love, only to lose the love later in the novel. The happiness the narrators experience was temporary. Rarely did the optimism last. Then, the bitter reality came and took away their souls. They ended up as shells of empty souls, functioning through life with a broken heart, beyond repair.
But they lived anyway.
But they lived anyway.
What makes solitude an interesting subject to be discussed in a novel? Perhaps because everybody, notwithstanding their seemingly dramatic life,does experience a great amount of solitude and loneliness. Nobody truly gets and understands you as a whole. We may have family, friends, lovers, companions - yet we can never boast of a complete mutual understanding with each other. Some parts of ourselves - mostly ugly - remain hidden from the naked eyes. The uglier parts of us that we do not have the courage to expose. The feelings we allow only ourselves to deal with.
Solitude is our best of friends. For the sole reason it lets us be who we truly are without the presence of others. No more role-playing, no more succumbing to one's role in society. It's odd how life turns out to be. People change, yes. So radically at times. Yet people expect things to stay the same.
For example, one day melancholy may strike our hearts, making us frustratingly quiet and helpless. Nevertheless, in front of others, we continue to smile. Why? Because we don't allow ourselves to whine. Why? Because we are adults. We have an obligation to not recognize our feelins, eat the shit up and carry on with our lives. Because we cannot afford to lose time. Time is gold. Time is precious. But our hearts are not. Our hearts are constantly changeable
What happens, though, if the melancholy remains in our hearts, refusing to leave?
Do we go on or do we pause and ponder on what the fuck just happened?
To think of it - can we actually afford to pause and ponder? Time is running out, we often say. Can others - those dependent to us - afford to see us pause, too, in the same position again and again without moving forward?
The interdependent connections we have with others disallow such to occur. The existence of obligation negates the need to pause and think and let time slip away. People have their own functions to carry and roles to play. We do things to make people happy. To affirm other people's beliefs that we are not supposed to live life wasting time. To make our parents stop worrying. To convince that we would not fuck our lives up. To ensure our siblings that we'll be someone useful for their sake. To ensure our friends that we would be able to reach our dreams. Life is, one way or another, to serve other people's purposes but ourselves.
Thus, solitude naturally becomes our friend. For in solitude we find peace with ourselves. Solitude acts as a mirror where we look at the reflection of us and ask - "who are you? Where do you come from? What do you want?" Loneliness allows us to be with ourselves. Alone. Without the interference of others to tell us what to do. A conversation would run through our heads, blurting out many unanswered questions. Of why we acted and did not act in a certain manner. Whether we actually liked ourselves. Whether we have loved the deserving people or not. Solitude gives me that. A sense of self. Solitude allows me to explore the person I really am, without burdening me with obligations towards the people I care about. Solitude has helped me with life. Solitude sings and talks and comforts me when I am down. Solitudes never leaves me. Solitude never hurts me. Solitude defends me against other's misconceptions about myself. In solitude I'd allow myself to be who I truly am. For once I step out the door, I'd be back to playing a role.
That is how precious and reassuring solitude is. Why, then, should my favourite authors write about something else...?
Solitude is our best of friends. For the sole reason it lets us be who we truly are without the presence of others. No more role-playing, no more succumbing to one's role in society. It's odd how life turns out to be. People change, yes. So radically at times. Yet people expect things to stay the same.
For example, one day melancholy may strike our hearts, making us frustratingly quiet and helpless. Nevertheless, in front of others, we continue to smile. Why? Because we don't allow ourselves to whine. Why? Because we are adults. We have an obligation to not recognize our feelins, eat the shit up and carry on with our lives. Because we cannot afford to lose time. Time is gold. Time is precious. But our hearts are not. Our hearts are constantly changeable
What happens, though, if the melancholy remains in our hearts, refusing to leave?
Do we go on or do we pause and ponder on what the fuck just happened?
To think of it - can we actually afford to pause and ponder? Time is running out, we often say. Can others - those dependent to us - afford to see us pause, too, in the same position again and again without moving forward?
The interdependent connections we have with others disallow such to occur. The existence of obligation negates the need to pause and think and let time slip away. People have their own functions to carry and roles to play. We do things to make people happy. To affirm other people's beliefs that we are not supposed to live life wasting time. To make our parents stop worrying. To convince that we would not fuck our lives up. To ensure our siblings that we'll be someone useful for their sake. To ensure our friends that we would be able to reach our dreams. Life is, one way or another, to serve other people's purposes but ourselves.
Thus, solitude naturally becomes our friend. For in solitude we find peace with ourselves. Solitude acts as a mirror where we look at the reflection of us and ask - "who are you? Where do you come from? What do you want?" Loneliness allows us to be with ourselves. Alone. Without the interference of others to tell us what to do. A conversation would run through our heads, blurting out many unanswered questions. Of why we acted and did not act in a certain manner. Whether we actually liked ourselves. Whether we have loved the deserving people or not. Solitude gives me that. A sense of self. Solitude allows me to explore the person I really am, without burdening me with obligations towards the people I care about. Solitude has helped me with life. Solitude sings and talks and comforts me when I am down. Solitudes never leaves me. Solitude never hurts me. Solitude defends me against other's misconceptions about myself. In solitude I'd allow myself to be who I truly am. For once I step out the door, I'd be back to playing a role.
That is how precious and reassuring solitude is. Why, then, should my favourite authors write about something else...?
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