On storms and solitude

My parents left this morning, and I'm finding it a little difficult to function today. I don't know if it's because I'm exhausted from the past two weeks, or if it's because I'm kinda nervous and hiding from responsibilities now that I really am all alone and everything is on me. It's a pretty terrifying thought. I should at least make an attempt to get down to the Nakano ward office to change my address from where I'm staying now to my new apartment, which feels daunting despite the fact that it all worked out without a hitch last time I did it. Now I won't have my parental paparazzi following me either, so I guess that source of stress has dissipated. Then again, the fact that I felt kinda like I was wilting when my mom texted me "Miss you already. Should've hugged you more. Love you." goes to show that even though I find them to be super annoying at times, they just want to help out and be there for me. One could wish it wasn't in such an at times overbearing way, but that's just their way. Annoying traits and all, family is family, and I really do love them. From here on out though, things are for real.

It's a really strange feeling to feel all alone like this. It's like I've been picked up and taken out of any environment I'm familiar with and just put down here in this place which is so completely different. I have to be stronger than I've ever been. It's intimidating. It will probably be liberating. I'm so glad I brought all of my Haruki Murakami books, because in beginning to re-read Kafka on the Shore, it jumped out to me within the first few pages:

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”