no longer human

It's been three weeks since I finished reading No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai. It has also nearly been three weeks since classes started at UW. My original reflection on the novel that I wrote after completing it can be found here. But in this post I want to return to the book once again, being mindful of the new insights I've gained in the past weeks.

no man is an island

It is apparent to anyone that to find a place in society, you must change yourself in some way. From an early age we are conditioned into following the accepted norms of behavior, speech, relationships, etc. This can be considered a natural consequence of living in society.

Often, this adaptation becomes so natural that people forget that they had to adapt themselves at all. Others try to consciously reject social pressure, resolving to "be themselves" despite everything. But even that behavior is molded by 'society'.

At some fundamental level, however, we all feel that we must reject some parts of ourselves to be accepted into the community. And some do this with greater difficulty than others.

contact

Sometimes, when I gaze at another person, I am struck by the obvious yet incomprehensible realization that they see the world through their own eyes. That they are a wholly separate consciousness. That the world they know is different from the world I know, and that I will never be able to understand theirs.

When I think I know someone, when I feel close to anyone, am I really? At moments I am overcome by the sense that between myself and everyone else there exists some unfathomably vast distance that cannot possibly be overcome. The more contact I make with people, the more I am reminded of my own loneliness.

Of course, it isn't always like that. I can have fun with others, I can feel close to others, and I can feel as though I have made contact with them on a commentary level. And it feels good.

But there is always that underlying doubt, that unutterable question of whether you can truly get to know anyone else.

偽物

Sometimes, I am struck by the thought that I am fake. In every interaction with others, there is some adjustment on my part to maintain a certain image. Over the years, I've gotten better at this. At anticipating others' expectations and adjusting myself to fulfill them. But I feel like less of myself. There is always something that is left unsaid, something that is left undone for the sake of appeasing others. Or conversely, something forced that, perhaps, should not have been.

Other times, it seems to me as though everyone else is fake and only I am real. Everyone else might as well be a construct of my imagination. That would change nothing for me. Perhaps I am god. Perhaps people do not exist until I meet them, concepts not conceived until I think them, words unspoken until I speak them.

It would make no difference either way. Well, there would be if I died.

departure

If I died, what happens to everyone else? Do they still exist? Or are they extinguished along with me like a blown-out candle? Would they even leave any smoky residue, or vanish altogether?

Actually, I lied. There is no difference even if I died. Because if I were to die, suddenly, it's no longer my problem whether other people exist or not, whether god exists, or whether I am god.

I don't fear death. I only fear dying.

return

There is such a thing as thinking too much. I think anything irrelevant shouldn't be thought about. To do so is just a waste of time and energy. The happiest people are those who only think about what is absolutely necessary.

In No Longer Human, Yozo thinks too much. I am convinced that if he did not spend as much time pondering everything, he would have been able to live a completely normal life.

So with that, I will stop thinking. I will grab onto this moment in the present and stake my life upon it. And finally, I will be alive.