sábado, 12 de diciembre de 2015

The Dancing Girl of Izu - Yasunari Kawabata

Naturally, I did not speak.

Love fades in most curious ways. Differences between characters, tastes, choices; monotony, the attraction that seems to dwindle through the years, in a minute. It evaporates when someone loves too much whereas the other party only exists, yearning for another opportunity. The tragedy of never been in love with somebody else's mind. Admiration slowly fading away. A growing indifference that cannot be concealed with a thousand cherry blossoms.
Possibilities that offer a myriad of colors and shapes.
A young student from Tokyo in a solitary journey through the Izu Peninsula. A walk of endless miles. The search for opportunities only to take a look at her face. To listen to the sound of her drum; evidence that she is still there.
I could not bear the silences when the drum stopped. I sank down into the depths of the sound of the rain. (13)

The universe conspires nothing; it is you deliberately looking for a fortunate stroke of serendipity. And then you achieve it. And then you stay silent. Because it is not your turn to speak and doubt floods your disquieted heart and you have to keep your sense of pride intact. The human way to go. The most common pretext to flee from the extraordinary.

This story is about one of the possible reasons as to why infatuation fades. Kawabata portrays with perfection the nature of first love. A love that merged with torment and later dissolved into thin air after a misunderstanding.
The burden disappeared. As to the extent of the burden, I think we all have a standard against which to measure it. We all have made its acquaintance.

The moment you realize you are free ends with a burst of laughter.

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