PAGES – 152


I have been trying to write about it since the last 3 days unsuccessfully. And now I don’t even remember if the main character had a name. It’s silly, really. This is Murakami’s first work. My copy of the book had a few pages from the author where he mentioned just how he got into writing books. That was a pleasure to read.

It’s a short story without any real plot behind it. It’s like reading a common person’s life for a month. Nothing too exciting and nothing too dull. Just life. What I did gather was Murakami’s thirst for writing. That was evident. Through this book, one can see why he wanted to write. What he wrote is a completely different matter. I saw his why.

I forget the narrator’s name (if it was mentioned); he was in his hometown during college vacation and spent the majority of the novel’s time hanging out with Rat (his best friend), drinking beer and hanging around with the girl with nine fingers. It felt like I was reading someone’s diary. It was a good book and I felt the comfort that is akin to a Murakami’s book.

Whenever I look at the ocean, I always want to talk to people, but when I’m talking to people, I always want to look at the ocean.

I never want to talk to people. Especially when I am looking at the ocean.

Things pass us by. Nobody can catch them. That’s the way we live our lives.

How is this not the saddest line in the world?

When the time comes, everybody’s got to end up where they belong. Only me, I didn’t have a place to call my own. It’s like musical chairs.

THIS! Goddamn. This.

Somehow the whole of the book feels quote worthy to me. Here’s something that made me laugh because it was so relatable:

Ever see your face in the mirror and spoil your entire mood? Me too.


The nights are way scarier now than they were used to before. I shut myself down as soon as the night falls. I find a quiet dark corner and hide like a roach.

How can I amount this as living?

One thought on “HEAR THE WIND SING

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