Pure Incoherence (or, a declogging of the writer’s block)

“Over and over we begin again”
- from Banana Yoshimoto’s Kitchen.

Yes begin with a quote like that.

November is a bundle of new impressions. I recognize some of the new impressions as a logical result of the old or as a result of a process. On the other hand, some of them still bewilder me. Very liberally, these new impressions streamed towards me and the raw simplicity of the experience makes me glad I stopped restricting myself and decided to, in many (albeit conventional) ways, open the doors.

Perhaps it was only D.’s spirit of adventurism that drove me. Perhaps it was her readiness to venture out to unfamiliar territory, to live what I usually just imagine, to let the experience of the world liberally (and as though in a natural control and calculation), beautifully gush forth. Over the five years, I travelled once or twice out of the country and out of the city for work. In both occasions and in all those places, I longed for her. And as I longed for D., I also discovered so much of myself. I figured how I have interpreted and processed the impressions I collected. I wrote the impressions I collected. As I did then, I do now, I write.