I want to write about Natsume Soseki. I want to write about Kokoro. But how can I possibly write anything about the book without giving away spoilers? How can I say what I loved about it without robbing you of the experience that I had while reading it without knowing a thing?
I don't know when Kokoro stopped being a fictional narrative and started becoming an intensely personal one; when the characters in the book started jumping out to steal faces of acquaintances from my past.
Soseki bravely ventures into the murky areas of different relationships, the emotions we sometimes feel but prefer to not address - the secrets we hide from spouses, the feelings of resentment towards best friends, disappointment in the actions or words of those we look up to, hidden feelings of love, distrust in those that mean no harm.. the list is long. But it's a list that makes me uneasy. Only because I've felt them all.
I don't want to talk about envying/resenting one of my closest friends for being better than me in just about everything. She was taller, prettier, smarter, funnier, braver, more artistic.. you get the point. But, she was still my closest friend.. one who I cared for more than I've cared for anyone else. I pushed all the envy/resentment deep inside, never once talking about it. Never once addressing it. But I still remember the time when I was asked "How is she friends with you? She's so exotic. You are so plain."And that statement dictated how I felt around her.. like a frumpy peahen to her wildly gorgeous, exotically plumaged peacock. Yep. Don't want to talk about that for sure.
I also don't want to talk about the times when I've been madly in love but completely unable to address it. Or the times I've thrown myself at some in hopes of getting some attention in exchange, only to be thwarted graciously.
Or the discovery that even dads are not ideal. They are mere saffron supporting, poonal flaunting mortals.
Or the secrets I continue to hide from my spouse.
They all still make me uneasy.
But I can talk about the man whose face effortlessly came to mind when I read about the Sensei. A man enveloped in as much cigarette smoke as pathos. One unlike anyone I've met before, or after. A reader, a philosopher, a friend, a mentor, a protector, a confidante. One who always seemed far older and far wiser for his age. One who was as surprised at his feelings of tenderness towards me as I was. In spite of all the eye rolls at my youthful optimism. "Your cheerfulness is grating" he has mumbled many many times. The similarities with the Sensei so uncanny that I automatically visualized the Sensei with a round face, a balding head and a salt and pepper beard.
But, I was also reminded of characteristics not mentioned in the book or those contradictory to the Sensei - the deep rumbling laughter, the nasal speech, the love for rosogullas, an almost parental level of protectiveness and concern, a passion for his work and a deep sense of commitment and attachment to his family.
He helped me deal with a manic depressive friend and a failed relationship. Always willing to lend a shoulder for me to cry on. Never saying more than the bare minimum to comfort. But just like the Sensei's testament, I received his one day. A confession of failed dreams, dashed hopes and a dying wife. I try hard to forget the look on his face that night, or the smell of the uneaten dinner between us.
Dr. D was, and will always be my favorite grumpy 'old' man, "My Sensei" - a man who introduced me to the world of adulting. And for that, I will always be grateful. I only hope that I really was, like he occasionally mentioned, his breath of fresh air.
I don't know when Kokoro stopped being a fictional narrative and started becoming an intensely personal one; when the characters in the book started jumping out to steal faces of acquaintances from my past.
Soseki bravely ventures into the murky areas of different relationships, the emotions we sometimes feel but prefer to not address - the secrets we hide from spouses, the feelings of resentment towards best friends, disappointment in the actions or words of those we look up to, hidden feelings of love, distrust in those that mean no harm.. the list is long. But it's a list that makes me uneasy. Only because I've felt them all.
I don't want to talk about envying/resenting one of my closest friends for being better than me in just about everything. She was taller, prettier, smarter, funnier, braver, more artistic.. you get the point. But, she was still my closest friend.. one who I cared for more than I've cared for anyone else. I pushed all the envy/resentment deep inside, never once talking about it. Never once addressing it. But I still remember the time when I was asked "How is she friends with you? She's so exotic. You are so plain."And that statement dictated how I felt around her.. like a frumpy peahen to her wildly gorgeous, exotically plumaged peacock. Yep. Don't want to talk about that for sure.
I also don't want to talk about the times when I've been madly in love but completely unable to address it. Or the times I've thrown myself at some in hopes of getting some attention in exchange, only to be thwarted graciously.
Or the discovery that even dads are not ideal. They are mere saffron supporting, poonal flaunting mortals.
Or the secrets I continue to hide from my spouse.
They all still make me uneasy.
But I can talk about the man whose face effortlessly came to mind when I read about the Sensei. A man enveloped in as much cigarette smoke as pathos. One unlike anyone I've met before, or after. A reader, a philosopher, a friend, a mentor, a protector, a confidante. One who always seemed far older and far wiser for his age. One who was as surprised at his feelings of tenderness towards me as I was. In spite of all the eye rolls at my youthful optimism. "Your cheerfulness is grating" he has mumbled many many times. The similarities with the Sensei so uncanny that I automatically visualized the Sensei with a round face, a balding head and a salt and pepper beard.
But, I was also reminded of characteristics not mentioned in the book or those contradictory to the Sensei - the deep rumbling laughter, the nasal speech, the love for rosogullas, an almost parental level of protectiveness and concern, a passion for his work and a deep sense of commitment and attachment to his family.
He helped me deal with a manic depressive friend and a failed relationship. Always willing to lend a shoulder for me to cry on. Never saying more than the bare minimum to comfort. But just like the Sensei's testament, I received his one day. A confession of failed dreams, dashed hopes and a dying wife. I try hard to forget the look on his face that night, or the smell of the uneaten dinner between us.
Dr. D was, and will always be my favorite grumpy 'old' man, "My Sensei" - a man who introduced me to the world of adulting. And for that, I will always be grateful. I only hope that I really was, like he occasionally mentioned, his breath of fresh air.