Blog Post No. 4- Harukist? Probably not.
Trill is in Kyoto this week and sent me a collection of Murakami's short stories, one of the last I needed to complete my read through of his entire collection. A pilgrimage, if you will, and a fitting gift from his hometown. I don't talk about my Murakami fixation much, in a way it's sort of embarrassing. When I met my friend, H, who is Japanese, and told her about my love for his books she laughed and then I laughed because I know that calling Murakami your favorite author to a well-read Japanese person is like someone telling a well-read American their favorite author is Hemingway. Pretentious and a bit eye-roll worthy. I see similarities between the two of them, both kinda skeezy old men who write a lot of horny, broken men and women who only serve as plot devices to ruin them or fix them. H informed me that in Japan his diehard fans are called Harukists. It's not a great point of pride that I have latched onto his plots and prose like a hummingbird to nectar but at the end of the day I am who I am, and I am no Harukist, just a hobbyist. And if I found him to be a genuinely damaging person rather than just an outdated, somewhat pervy geezer, my liking of him would wane. That being said, if a man likes him that's a red flag. And if Kafka on the Shore is his favorite book turn around and RUN.
This is where I was reading from today. I have therapy every wednesday so I often find myself floaty and discontent in the afternoon, struggling to reconnect my brain and my body. Reading is a good way for me to do that, reading outside is even better. It smelled like cut grass and car soap. Little leaf bugs would jump onto my arm and I'd watch them until they jumped away. The sun warms my skin to the point of noticing it, reminding me that I do, in fact, have skin.
I had a panic attack last night and had to call my sister to help walk me down from that perilous height. Before I called her, when I was just starting to cry in the way that makes breathing strenuous, especially when trying to be quiet and respectful of my roommate's sleep, I had a thought. I genuinely, straight up asked myself, "What would Trill do?" My Christian upbringing lept at this with a resounding "WWTD!!!" What can I say, I'm a sucker for a slogan. And what would she do in that scenario? She would fucking cry. And I did. I cried so much my head still hurts today and it was awesome.
I think I have become too emotionally constipated in the last few years. Specifically since October of 2021 when I broke up with my first girlfriend and was in the throes of a very long, drawn out shattering of another important connection in my life. I just sort of shut off. So now, almost four years on, I relish at the opportunity to just sob nasty style. I also wrote down WWTD in my phone to keep track of that silly mantra. Trill, in some ways, is a manifestation of a prompt I was given in therapy a long time ago: "Imagine yourself healed. What would you do?" Well. I would cry, I would love that I am able to feel in this depth and breadth, and I would keep on truckin'.
So that's what I'm gonna do.
xoxo char/trill
April 16th, 2025
This is where I was reading from today. I have therapy every wednesday so I often find myself floaty and discontent in the afternoon, struggling to reconnect my brain and my body. Reading is a good way for me to do that, reading outside is even better. It smelled like cut grass and car soap. Little leaf bugs would jump onto my arm and I'd watch them until they jumped away. The sun warms my skin to the point of noticing it, reminding me that I do, in fact, have skin.
I had a panic attack last night and had to call my sister to help walk me down from that perilous height. Before I called her, when I was just starting to cry in the way that makes breathing strenuous, especially when trying to be quiet and respectful of my roommate's sleep, I had a thought. I genuinely, straight up asked myself, "What would Trill do?" My Christian upbringing lept at this with a resounding "WWTD!!!" What can I say, I'm a sucker for a slogan. And what would she do in that scenario? She would fucking cry. And I did. I cried so much my head still hurts today and it was awesome.
I think I have become too emotionally constipated in the last few years. Specifically since October of 2021 when I broke up with my first girlfriend and was in the throes of a very long, drawn out shattering of another important connection in my life. I just sort of shut off. So now, almost four years on, I relish at the opportunity to just sob nasty style. I also wrote down WWTD in my phone to keep track of that silly mantra. Trill, in some ways, is a manifestation of a prompt I was given in therapy a long time ago: "Imagine yourself healed. What would you do?" Well. I would cry, I would love that I am able to feel in this depth and breadth, and I would keep on truckin'.
So that's what I'm gonna do.
xoxo char/trill
April 16th, 2025