Kafka on the Shore
I liked Kafka on the Shore. I couldn’t really describe why. It was just incredibly different with types of English, American, Irish novels; let alone Chick lit. Nothing special in terms of vocabulary. After all, it was translated from Japanese. I was sure there was a lot of linguistic richness washed out when it was transferred to English, ruthlessly. But the story could drown me in. Bulelwa said it was as if the writer was on drug when he wrote it. In some sense, I agreed. There was nothing rationale about it. Everything was absurd and impossible. The chain between one story and another was vain and there was long, very long unnecessary prologue even to describe terms as simple as penis. It talked about the Entrance Stone, Living Spirits, TransGender, but it was not a science fiction. A Sci-fi would pretend everything irrational could be explained clearly to put it into our sense. But Kafka did not. Indeed, it was as if it was trying to highlight the absurdity of its content. It did not push its reader to accept it as reality but more of metaphors, metaphor of our own live. The more absurd the concept was, the more it evokes my thinking to mirror to my own experience, my real life. There was something chaotic in his writing, something unacceptable, yet, we have terms for that, it was very postmodic. Postmodernism thinking never let us drawn into their story. Instead, they would keep disturbing us with things we would not expect and only through that we would actually question ourselves.
Just like how I questioned myself now. Sipping Irish Cream Steamed Milk and chewing my tuna sandwich, I started to think about my concept of freedom. Freedom could be defined as easy as letting all the emotion gone. Most of the time, people were imprisoned by their anger and fear. These two emotions were just like the two faces of a coin. It was intertwined with one another. You were angry on something, you would love to do revenge. Yet, the fear wouldn’t let you out. You were afraid of going further, you were afraid of the consequence of the revenge, you were afraid of letting your anger out. Nonetheless, you were still angry. Only if you could forgive, if you could stop your anger, you could stop your desire to go further and thus, none to be afraid of. Only if you could release your emotion then a person can gain the true meaning of freedom.
But is freedom good or bad? I always thought freedom was a great concept. Most of my time, my hunger for adventure pushed me to search for the divine freedom. If I was freed from school, work, family, I would be able to do whatever I wanted and I shall be happy. But now I was free from school and work and far away from my family and love, could I know what it was that I want? Moreover, could I know how to do what I want to do?
Civilised people created fence for themselves. Only if they respected those fences they could have a good life together in a society. Most people who wanted to break their fence, who desired freedom most, were the most to die first. Freedom was such a wild concept that everyone must have own limit in dealing with it. When I realized that, I was wondering if letting myself to be free was wrong indeed.
I stopped my emotion for him. I no longer felt mad at him leaving me like shit. Whenever I knew my wild fantasy would bring me to emotive anger on him easily cheating on me, whenever I was reminded on how big his desire to escape this tie, I felt pain and angry. So I closed my eyes, tried not to think about it and let it go. I gave up revenge and hatred for him. I knew the only way to make him felt as sorrowful as I was, was to screw myself, which I refused to do. I stopped hating him because it was just too tiring for me. Moreover, I looked at my future and decided not to fear anything. After all, I would not have to choose anymore. My destiny had been set ages ago and all I had to do is follow its path. I would definitely be able to overcome my loneliness, my desire because I had been through this before and I survived. So why do I have to miss and love him? He was of no use for me. Yesterday, I felt I become a better soul. Yesterday, I felt freed. But today, I felt freedom has overcome my humanity.
What is human without emotion? Aren’t we called human being because our ability to love, to anger, to fear and to show those feelings? And isn’t anger the one give us the purpose of live, incite us to do something and provide us with a term ‘achievement’? Isn’t fear the one limiting us in breaking into pieces, allow us to run and escape so that we could have full day activity? What if a human let go his anger and fear? He would not have the reason to wake up and do something in the morning; He would not have anything to stop him to create a change. And if he didn’t have reason to wake up, he wouldn’t have reason to live. He would live his life as a living creature with a deathly spirit, waiting for the death train to come and pick him up. And what was a living creature without living sprit?