Leaving the Forest
I sat on the sofa beside my small desk and poured myself a glass of sparkling wine. Outside the window, the sun was going down, and the last strip of light fell across the balcony. The buildings around me had started to flicker on. I opened the door, stepped onto the balcony, and leaned against the railing. This city is never quiet; open a door or a window and noise always comes in. Usually that annoys me, yet in that moment it felt real and peaceful, strengthening my sense that the world was running like some enormous machine—and I badly needed that.
Just a few minutes earlier, I had finished the audiobook of Norwegian Wood. I had never imagined I could make it through an audio recording longer than 13 hours, especially an English one. Yet from the first minute on, it pulled me in completely. Every word came through with perfect clarity, as if it had been converted seamlessly into my own language, and the narrator's voice felt like a melody I had known for years.
In fact, over the past 25 years, I have read this book many times already—something like five to ten times. Because I knew the story so well, every sentence sketched vivid scenes in my mind and made the narration hit even harder.
Time passed without my noticing. I went deep into the world of the story, like the walks I have taken in that forest over so many years. Every visit to the forest brings a different feeling, shaped by the season and by my age. This time felt very different. Maybe because I had never listened to an audiobook like this before, or maybe because I had never read a full book in English from beginning to end. I had to focus and follow the narrator step by step, and that was completely different from reading on my own. I noticed details I might once have skipped, and found new elements in a landscape I thought I already knew.
This audiobook journey reminded me of my first long-distance drive. Before that trip of more than 1,300 kilometers, I had never imagined I would drive more than 200 kilometers alone. Since then, my sense of distance has changed. Now a trip of 500 to 800 kilometers feels short. I believe that after these 13 hours of audiobook, my definition of a long audio recording has changed too.
My sense of time has changed as well. Just like that long trip, when I was young I could hardly imagine making plans for the next few years. Living in the present was the only thing I cared about, though I looked forward to summer and winter holidays, and to replies to letters. Back then, I could not picture what life in the future would be like. Now, 25 years after I first encountered Norwegian Wood, my whole view of time has changed. I can barely remember when exactly, across all those years, I read Norwegian Wood so many times, but those moments did happen, and they have blended into my other memories. As I get older, memory becomes flatter in my mind. The order of things grows vague, and it becomes harder to tell memory, dream, and imagination apart. But that does not matter. They exist in my head anyway, and nobody else knows or cares. No matter how much I think about the truth of past events, or their timing, I cannot go back, not even for a second. I only need to live, and leave blank space on purpose.
Still, some scenes remain vivid in my memory, more vivid than my own recollections. I remember Aureliano Buendía facing the firing squad. I remember the moment an old woman, in the entrance hall of a public place, was approached by a man. I remember an old man with 622 love affairs behind him telling an old woman that he had waited for her for 51 years, 9 months, and 4 days. I also remember a boy of 12 or 13 declaring that the cousin visiting his home for the first time was the girl he had met somewhere before. Among all these scenes, what I really want to bring out is the forest and meadow where Watanabe and Naoko walked, the Boeing 747 landing at Berlin airport, the night of Naoko's birthday, and Midori with nowhere to call. Norwegian Wood had a major impact on my life—on the way I made friends, on my writing, on my love, and on the way I saw the world.
Looking back on my life from the age of 37 once felt impossibly far away. When I first read Norwegian Wood, it was hard to imagine that I would ever reach that age. But now, 37 is long gone too, and there is no going back. Only in stories do people live from 17 to 20 and then return to 17 again. Only in stories does a 37-year-old man keep looking back on his early years without growing old. In the real world, though, time never stops.
Over the past week, I listened to that audiobook whenever I had time, and it ended too quickly. Then all at once I had a moment of clarity, as if a voice told me I had stayed in the forest too long and it was time to leave. And yes, I suddenly understood that it was true. Yes, I have been lost in Norwegian Wood for too long. I have read all of Haruki Murakami's other novels, yet none of them affected me as deeply as this one. I read books mentioned in Norwegian Wood, like The Magic Mountain and The Great Gatsby. I listened to the music mentioned there, and fell in love with some of it. I wanted to help everyone I cared about, seeing them as victims like Naoko. But most people are perfectly normal, and neither need nor understand that strange idea of help.
It seems I have been trapped in the world of Norwegian Wood, and yes, it is time to leave, just as Watanabe decided to live bravely again without Naoko. That realization moved me again. As long as I keep thinking this way, I may never leave. But that does not matter. This is not a real forest after all; I can decide for myself whether to stay or go. Then again, like the metaphor of the well in the forest in the book, whether it is real or not does not matter.
The audiobook chapters finally ended, and my journey through the forest ended with them. After I finish this glass, I will go to sleep, and I hope I sleep well. After all, tomorrow is another day.
