When Qingqing put down Norwegian Wood, it was already ten in the evening. She barely noticed the TV turned off an hour ago, or the old tissues tossed on her table. There was no flowing air in the room. Mozart’s piano concerto was still playing. Every other minute there were rattling sounds in the kitchen and the moving of utensils. She stretched her back, and took a quick glance over the window. Then, she closed her eyes, and was instantly met with a strong sting…it was a strange day for her, and she still couldn’t quite fathom how she could sob like a hurt animal earlier while reading the book. It couldn’t possibly be about Naoko’s witness of her sister’s death, although that was quite distressing. She remembered the stinging sensation on her shoulder in those moments, as if the death was being told by someone present – the dead eyes of Naoko’s sister, the blank stare of the alive, the silence.
Qingqing thought it a strange thing that she could relate to all of the characters, on both good and bad sides. Maybe it was the nostalgia, or just a young people thing. Young people like to pretend they have lived and known it all, don’t they? She chuckled. Is it fair to think? People are fleshly, and they feel. Sometimes they might be oblivious, but the past and memories left traces, even subtly. ‘Even subtly,’ Qingqing murmured. Could she possibly know? The thoughts of Anthony came to her mind. Oh, Anthony was far, far away from her now. Qingqing couldn’t recall the last time she seriously thought about him. Although back in August she was writing him long letters, when he reached out to tell her about everything still – the government, his new job, and the arguments he had with his family.
Qingqing knew she didn’t love Anthony anymore. That she was certain. Yet, she was grateful that she once loved him, and deeply so. They didn’t always get on perfectly, but it was enough for her to know that Anthony loved her. He would walk across the whole town to pick her up in freezing days; he took her home, cooked her delicious broth and shovelled her gently into his arms and made her tiredness go away. She knew it was at those trivial, small moments that she fell in love with him. Before Anthony, Qingqing had a few serious relationships, but it was never like the way she felt for Anthony. Love was a mysterious thing.
From Norwegian Wood, there was something strikingly similar between Watanabe and Qingqing. Watanabe was the only character that kept on loving with a gentle and sincere heart. Every time, and with each person. Qingqing knew very well how hard such a thing could be. Does it even exist, loving with ‘fullness’, giving one’s all, without any baggage? Qingqing couldn’t think of anyone that has loved her like that. Not even Anthony. But Qingqing always gave her all. That was why it took her longer to recover. People are calculated. They always minimise their expectations, and curb the ones of the other. Qingqing has met many men like this, and it made her wonder why they continued to go out with her. This world is full of smart and beautiful women, and why choose her to have a half-hearted relationship? If one isn’t happy to give it all, then why give at all? To kill time? Or one has so little to give?
Thinking this, Qingqing felt a range of emotions coming through her nose. She held her breath for a few seconds so her roommates wouldn’t hear her, and she turned the book back open again. There was a line that struck her when she was reading:
No truth can cure the sadness we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness, can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see that sadness through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sadness that comes to us without warning.
It was something Watanabe realised when he decided to move on from Naoko’s death and build a new life with Midori, still in grief.
The recorder was now playing poignant melodies, Concerto No.22 Andante. Qingqing closed her eyes again, trying to pinpoint how she felt. One thing was sure: she recovered fully from Anthony, and despite those deep memories, she moved on, and dated other men. She knew she was always being real. When she went out with them she never thought once about him and had good hopes about building something new. And when things ended, the hurt felt just the same even if she didn’t end up falling for them. Wasn’t that an uncanny thing to live with? Is suffering equally in love supposed to be a price to pay, in order to love again? Is going through the same tearing and bleeding, like the one she has experienced before, a precursor to move on, so there could still be something complete to give?
Qingqing understood the risk of not denying everything she felt for others: it bruised her ego, and took away her power. But she also understood the risk of denying it. Indeed, she has the choice to feel less and be protected from the sorrow. Many people have done that, and it worked. Regardless, there are things that will never change: she has another fifty years at least, to be on this earth. She would meet new people, as she picks up new professions and travels to new places. Life would still be about similar things, and that certainly won’t change for anyone in this world. Suffering exists, like poverty, like drought, like death. People, overall, are fortune enough to decide for their experience.
Qingqing knew what she would do.
Siming Lan 