sasamegoto

[sasamegoto]

Letters to Sensei (Part 1)

(July 18th, 201X)

Dear Sensei,

I saw my college for the first time last week. With my friend and her parents, we went there for our freshmen orientation, where we picked our classes for the first semester.

It was a big place; I got lost on the way to lunch and had to resort to following an Asian family whom I presumed to be going to the same location. Luckily, my hunch was right and I ended up where I was supposed to. Thanks to the help of my friend, I was also able to find my way to the psychology building, where I picked my classes.

Honestly, I was a bit taken aback to how tedious the process was! There were so many options, and so many time slots to choose from that I took about two hours. The senior advisor was probably getting fed up with me by the time we finished, but still, I hope I haven’t made too bad of a first impression on him. 

Also I got my student ID. So I’m officially a college student now. Or maybe not quite, but I’d like to think that I’m getting there.

Sincerely,

Reimi

P.S Thank you for the suggestions you made regarding my writing! I will take them into account as I edit through the parts. 

(September 1st, 201X)

Dear Sensei,

It has been about a week since I’ve moved in to college. All is well.

Actually, I only say that as a poor means of comforting myself.

The truth is, as I expose myself to more people, I become less and less aware of who I truly am, or who I should work towards becoming. People say to be yourself, and I think I attempt to do that as well as I possibly can. The problem is, being myself doesn't equate being the present me. Being myself also mean constantly bettering myself, constantly making myself a better person. Is that right?

If that is right, I don’t know how well I’m doing on being myself.

I often ponder that question as I walked down the shaded roads on my way to class. The trees here are plentiful, and they so frequently draw wonderful patterns with their canopy upon the concrete roads I travel. It’s quite a pleasing sight, but I digress.

Overall, I’m happy, I suppose.

Happy with the new experience, happy with my roommate, happy with the food, happy with the classes of which I had picked for myself.

But I’m afraid, Sensei.

I’m afraid that these are nothing but illusions of contentment that my defensive mechanism had dreamt up in order to please my ego. I know you told me before graduation that it’s impossible for someone my age to know exactly what I want to do, for even you are not sure of how your future will turn out. Still, I hold doubts.

One of the nice upperclassmen I met told me that for a psychology major, it’s only a good choice of study if I know the concentration I wish to go into. But as of now, I can’t even be sure that I’ll stay in this major.

Man, that sounds horrible.

Ah, my roommate is calling me for tea time! She is a very sweet, lovable person. Much more than I can ever hope to be. I’m praying that we’d get along well for the rest of the year.

She makes very delicious tea. If you were to come visit, Sensei, I’m sure she’ll be happy to have you join us.

As always, I look forward to your answer.

Sincerely,

Reimi

(September 27, 201X)

Dear Sensei,

Who am I?

Not that I want you to guess. I can’t even seem to guess that myself. Recently I’ve been feeling confused. For one, I’ve always thought of my heritage as something to be proud of; but when I see people at this school who have just came from my home country, I’m not so sure anymore.

I don’t feel like I’m a part of them, while at the same time, I don’t feel like I’m part of this place, either. Of course, I’d like to hold off on my judgment, but they seem too…different, for a lack of better wording. Watching them make me feel like I’m stuck in some weird transition in which no one can enter. I may appear to be close to these around me, but the truth is, there is a thin layer of glass separating me and them, always.

Sensei, have you felt that way when you were in college? Belonging on the surface, when, in your heart, you have no idea where you should be.

 I wonder if it might be because I enjoy have private time on a daily basis that I feel like I’m distant around everyone. It’s selfish and contradictory of me, I know, to both desire solitude and company. I wish I could explain why I’m that way, but no matter how deep inside myself I descend, I can’t seem to locate the answer.

It’s a bit upsetting to see how happy and friendly my roommate always is, when I seem to possess the personality that repeals people. I wish, I just wish that someone would reach out to me, or just take the initiative to talk to me, when I feel that way. But I just end up disappointed.  

 I apologize for sounding gloomy; I hope I haven’t made your day start or end badly.

On a brighter note, I’ve been learning quite a lot about literatures from Asia. It was a bit surprising for me, but I’ve found that the first novel written in the world is actually from Japan. The Tale of Genji is the book’s title. We’ve been reading that for the past few days, and I enjoy the sensitive nature of every single word in each chapter.

If you have time, I’d like to suggest for you to take a look at it.

Hope you are doing well.

Sincerely,

Reimi

(October 12th, 201X)

Dear Sensei,

 You've told me it is okay to call you in my spare time, but I haven't had the chance to do so. Rather, I couldn't bring myself to do it.

It’s because when I know I can’t be seeing a person on a daily basis, or rely on a person, I tend to pull away unconsciously. Of course, I don’t mean that in any rude way, but I do hope you understand what I’m trying to convey. I feel that I’m less likely to hurt if I were to maintain the distance between us.

The main thing is I don’t want to feel that overwhelming sense of nostalgia if I were to hear your voice for extended periods of time. Only by becoming more independent can I become a better person—that is what I firmly believe. So please, please don’t be put off by my means of communication solely by writing. I think for me, that’s the most comfortable and natural way of speaking my thoughts to another.

Oh. But Sensei, sometimes I’m afraid to talk to people. Afraid of rejection. Do you ever get that feeling of such emptiness at the middle of night, and turn on your chat to find some of your friends online? You’d think that finding that would ease that sense of loneliness, but it doesn’t.

It just makes me feel even more uneasy.

Sorry if my words are starting to turn blurry, because it’s two AM and my logic is starting to fade. I think I’ll go finish studying for the test I have tomorrow.

Take care, Sensei.

Sincerely,

Reimi

(October 16th, 201X)

Dear Sensei,

 Your last response comforted these wrinkles of worry in my heart, and for that, I wish to express my gratitude. But for you to bring up the topic of my misbehavior that time when I cried for not finishing the practice test on time is a bit embarrassing. Nonetheless, your (attempt at) humor made me laugh.

I’m glad, Sensei. I’m so glad that you are willing to listen to all that I have to say with such patience and benevolence. That alone is a kind of virtue I can never even hope to accomplish. But I hope I won’t be abusing your offers of listening to my qualms by writing to you so frequently.

 Quiet honestly, I don’t understand how you manage it. I think I’ve driven away all too many people out of my constant need of reassurance. It’s not that I wish to be needy; it’s just I feel that I’m not strong enough to support my own dreams.

 They said college is going to make me more independent. But I just feel lonely. Sad and alone and lonely and hungry. Sensei, I miss high school.

 I miss being able to go home to the freshly cooked meals mother made for me every night. I miss waking up to see her busily making breakfast for me on a winter morning. I miss the taste of hot cocoa she so often brews for me as I come into the kitchen after a long night of studying on a cold night.

Even as I write these words, though, I think of the way you said to me last year, when I first expressed these worries to me, “you’ll be fine”.

These words, I treasure greatly. I keep them neatly tucked away in the bottom drawer of my heart, and take it out when I’m feeling the most defeated. Such simple words can convey such depth of strength…I’m awed by that power.

You, too, must have many things of concern, Sensei. As wonderfully capable as you appear to me, I know that must be the case for all people. I wonder how people cope with these upsetting thoughts.

Recently, I’ve been taking walks to relieve myself of negative emotions. It’s beautiful outside. You once said autumn is your favorite season, and I think it must be mine as well. These days, I’m noticing how beautiful the leaves are. They come in all variety of warm colors, different shades of red, orange, and yellow everywhere—it’s truly a most delightful scene. I’ve included a couple of pictures in this letter. Hopefully you’ll feel the pure joy that filled me with courage when you see them.

Keep yourself warm, Sensei. Please don’t forget your scarf in the mornings.

Sincerely,

Reimi

[sasamegoto]

Body Language Cheat Sheet for Writers

As described by Selnick’s article:

Author and doctor of clinical psychology Carolyn Kaufman has released a one-page body language cheat sheet of psychological “tells” (PDF link) fiction writers can use to dress their characters.

[sasamegoto]

The Basement's Laundry Room

I thought I saw your face in the spinning cylinder of the dryer that day.

Your features were reflected in the glass, where mine should have been, your eyes ambiguously blurry among the rush of colors refracted from the half-clean laundry. 

"Say something," you seemed to be implying with your impatient expression.

Okay. I went on about nonsensical fragments of my life. About how I noticed that graduate students have sharp eyes. And that the sea of emotions coming in each wave hits the nerves of my central executive in damaging but oddly enjoyable ways. That people have made up lies far bigger than the space between my skull and my networks of neurons. The taste of bitterness between my tongue and verbal words as I converse with such people. And somehow, all these thoughts numb me slowly as I watched the dryer in the stuffy basement tumble around with your face being the only static thing in the center of that machine.  

I'm beginning to lose the discretion to understand whether the things I touched and seen are in my head, some intricately devised data fed by a computer, or truly something my brain registered into my body parts with care. 

So I stop gazing at you. 

You asked me why I went away. 

So I told you with all the honesty I can muster, that in this second of my life, to bear the pain and burden of daily life is becoming too heavy a price to pay for being alive. So, because I don't want to hurt you with my words, I will turn the sharp edge of the sword back to myself, to my heart. 

"You are too cold and callous," you grumbled. "You are selfish and think only of your own desires." 

Oh, but tell me, how much of my thoughts have you seen? Or is it that I'm the actual materialization while you are the real person, living in the world? That my shadows are dimmer than yours, and therefore do not deserve complexity and humanization? 

I guess so. After all, you never saw the scenery I did, and never seen the imprints of my footstep against these countless roads I once traveled. 

And you never wished to, because I was simply an illusionary projection of a human being, a mere concept. 

[sasamegoto]

I used to talk to him during the hours when a sense of numb loneliness hits me. These hours occurs late at night, when the room suddenly seem to be much colder, the light much dimmer, my mind much emptier. When my heart is immersed in the memory of past times, re-experiencing the grooves of each scar left from ages, years, months, weeks, minutes, seconds ago. 

He is an outsider to my mind. Yet he is a competent outsider. He listened to my endless lists of sorrow, all paraphrased and packaged into careless, garden-variety wounds. Somehow, seeing his name in my chat box made my heart a bit warmer, melted off the glaciers that had frozen over my motivation to reach out for social interaction. Because he can so easily and casually drop phrases that make me laugh. 

It's not that he's someone who I'll show the depth in the ocean of thoughts I reside in, but I gave him the bird-eye view of the water that was sinking me. 

Yet, I started to find an edge to his replies. I started to detect hollowness in his responses. So I was cued to close up again. 

Because, in the end, I don't want his sympathy or empathy. I don't want him to attempt to comfort me. So I'll go back to blocking out other people's voices. 

I simply don't want to be bounded down by his ideals of social obligation. I'd rather be free in my ocean; free and drowning, then to be forced upon a boat that will decide my destination. 

This thought should have colored my mood slightly more melancholy, but my mind is too empty to process emotions. 

Too tired recently, to function to the full capacity and range of feelings. 

So I let go of the driftwood I held onto for all too long of a time. 

[sasamegoto]

"She had a smile that held infinite warmth, free from any trace of impurity. A girl capable of that kind of smile must have a beautiful heart.

'Welcome home, Aki,' she murmured as she guided me in hitting a few jingling notes.

How naturally and easily she included me to their family, as if I was supposed to be there all along. It was almost as if she held some special power in her simple words and childish hands, casting a shimmering spell over my still healing heart.

I heard that some people in the world are tied together by the red strings of fate. Maybe, just maybe, that was the case with Haruka and me." 

Excerpt from Last Note of Autumn, Chapter 1 of Part I

Artist. 

[sasamegoto]

[sasamegoto]

Aki's poem to Haruka, from Part II of Last Note of Autumn

[sasamegoto]

The Hermit's Dwelling

Why do I write? 

I constantly ask myself this in times like now, when I'm uncertain if I can still keep producing page after page of work. Why should I agonize over each word I place into the sentences, or the sound of a phrase, or the meaning behind a character's speech. Is it really worth it, to torture myself over the project of a story that possibly no one would bother reading? 

I still don't have an one hundred percent satisfactory answer to my pondering. I just know, somewhere inside my heart, that in order for me to be sane, I need to express myself on paper. I need the comfort of seeing letters from the alphabet slowly form into a dwelling for me. 

My hermetic lifestyle-my writing is the dwelling place for my soul. 

Only in my private, secluded dwelling place may I find peace with myself. Only there can I self sooth and tell myself it's okay to fail, it's okay to not be comparable in achievement with my peers. It's fine to have little, harmless guilty pleasures. That I shouldn't beat myself up over each and every little mistake I make. I realized, through my writing, that though I dislike the me that is me right now, I refuse absolutely to want to become anyone else. 

My fate has been sealed into my genes, into the temperament that I was born with, into the knowledge I selectively chose to absorb, into the interest that I slowly explored and gained. 

So in my dwelling, I can learn to be honest to myself. And only through that, can I better myself. 

That's what writing means to me. These invisible words forms into a small world, a place only I alone can survive in.

I will only share that world with a few people. 

The friends who give me stories to record.

And the two people who are my fuel. They are the two who inspired me, who lit the flame in my heart that never ceased to burn. They generated that warmth that traveled through my veins, engraving the desire for writing in the morning light each day. 

For these people, and for myself, I will continue to layer on stories to built my dwelling place. 

I will...be happy.

Eventually.

In my very own home. 

[sasamegoto]

Pining

Leftover words cloud my vision as I pined for an emotion that will never return. Eyes half closed,  heart half open, I listened  to the the sound of the wind in the pines. 

Your silhouette  leaves shadows in my heart, accompanying me into the night; yet, why do I seek you still? 

Tired. Back to sleep where your voice will find me once again. 

[sasamegoto]

Alone. In the Ocean.

[Alone]

I noticed that a lot of people I know say they feel that it is difficult to get closer to people. 

And I suppose it's normal for everyone to feel that way. No one wants to reveal the inner self they've kept tucked away neatly to just anyone they meet. That part of you should be reserved just for the special friends. 

And being human, you know that your innermost part is not consistent  It might not be an exaggeration to say that inside every one of us, there is a hint of madness. Maybe dissociative disorder?

I want to be liked, but I say I hate people. I sometimes desire to feel the intimacy and closeness I save for the few people important to me, so I grudgingly hold back the overflowing affection or emotions I have for someone who I may not know well enough yet to call a good friend.  

Ah, I say I want to be left alone, but there are occasions when, in my mind, I actually really wish the other person would worry enough about me to ask if anything's wrong. 

I probably won't answer honestly, either way, but I would keep the appreciation I have for these words for a long, long time. Keep them at the inner part of my chamber, like a lucky charm. If I were to get mad at the person, I would play back these moments I've once felt immense gratitude towards them. 

And I'll be able to feel better. 

I promise, I actually don't hate people to the extent I claim. The only reason I so often claim so is because I like wrapping myself up in my words, tying up my emotions tightly so they won't seep into my heart and distract me.

This act has been kept up for years. But it's not an act in the sense that I'm pretending; or at least, I hope not. It's an act in the fact that I don't want to behave this way; I just do because I'm so, so selfish. 

I hate bothering with other people's business, I hate spending time when I could be bettering my own academic achievements. I want to be eligible to apply for scholars, for the dean's list. 

And that thought had consume my mind, especially recently.

[In the Ocean]

I keep probing my heart, asking myself why I pushed my mind into such a narrow corner. 

And I realized it's because I never felt like I had anything to hold onto. I'm drifting in an ocean, but I have nothing to hang onto for security. People's motives and actions and unstable, people's love change like the season. I know that because I'm the same. But my grades depend on me alone. 

So if I held onto that with all the strength I've got, I won't have to worry about drowning. 

I'll be able to breath. As long as I discipline myself enough, as long as I beat myself up enough over the times I waste upon doing non-academic activities. 

So I continue to take in oxygen. Am I living? 

Of course.

I'm living, breathing in pain and emptiness, but at the same time, vain pride over my self-control. 

How pitiful. How pitiful that I think myself to be special for that. How pitiful that I'm so shallow. How pitiful that I can't speak these words to the people who matters. 

I can only watch each letter I write form into words, string into sentences, stack up into paragraphs.

Only then, can I see myself reflected in my ocean. 

Except, my image is too distorted in my eyes. 

Maybe, in the end, I'll make it to the shore with my egocentric nature. But by then, how much of the me I had tucked away will be left? 

I would probably have left my spirit in the ocean for the fishes to feed on. My very essence, it would be. Lost? 

Oh. Let me stay alone, then. Alone. In the Ocean. 

[sasamegoto]

Reading: Chinese version of 1Q84

[sasamegoto]

Nov. 6th, 2011. 11:36 PM

After that whole “Koji Date goes and form a group with Kato Kazuki” thing, and I thought about it and digested the news over the weekend, and I finally calmed down over it. That may have been a bit dramatic to say. But I was super surprised when I first found out.

I kind of blamed Koji for going against his original dreams and intentions. But then again, I don’t know him personally. Everything I believe of him is derived from his action and words. He seemed like, and most likely is (or was) the type that’s super stubborn and want to distort the idea of “mainstream”. And that was what I loved the most about him. I’ve never seen an “idol” so persistent on doing what he wants. Maybe he’s just spoiled because he’s from a well off family, but I’ve always seen the determination in his eyes whenever I see him sing.

I don’t know what he’s thinking. All I know from personal experience is that I often find myself going along with the flow because that’s the only thing I can do to save myself from completely being outnumbered and being alone. Given that most of the time I try to stand up against popular views, but it gets tiring going against the flow after a while.

Koji must be in a similar situation. He wants to be successful, too. It’s only natural. It’s nothing to be ashamed of or feel bad about. He must have sacrificed alot to give up his favorite singing style and act as a background wallflower for Kazuki. And for that, he deserves recognition. I’ve always wished Koji got more credit for his talents. He never did, because of his personality. I hope one day, he can surpass Kazuki. Even though that’s not likely. But I believe in him, Koji Date.

I love that kid. He’s the one who writes songs that make me want to cry. He’s the one that remind me of a typical older brother from next door. He’s the one who made me feel warm inside on my worst days. He’s the one who I felt an instant connection with the first time I heard the song. I accept him as he is. Even when people criticized him for his stubbornness (that whole Tenimyu “scandal”), I’ve always believed in him. I just want to stand by his side.

And about the “scandal”, I just want to say, the people who truly appreciate Koji for Koji, and not for his role of Choutarou or his supposedly “yaoi” with KenKen…These are the people who can call themself Koji’s fans. Please stop hating on him for being brave enough to stand up for himself and saying what’s on his mind.

I’ll support him, until the very end.

Gambatte ne, Koji-chan. 

Until the very end.

[sasamegoto]

Nov. 4th, 2011. 11:19 PM

Koji Date is my idol. If YUI is my favorite female singer, than Koji is my favorite male singer. He is so different, so non-mainstream, so stubborn, so talented. He’s the type that never follows what the society wants, he writes what he want to and sings what he wants to. He’s super good looking yet never put emphasis on his looks because what he really want to convey is his music.

He’s not very well known because he stopped acting after playing the role of Chotarou for Tenimyu. He said he feel like he’s lying to his fans by acting; he hated acting because when he acted, he didn’t feel like him. It’s so rare to see anyone this…honest now. His songs always touched my heart in a special way. He’s such a weird person, that I actually feel like I can connect with him.

But recently he changed his name, once again. And formed a group with Kato Kazuki. I love Kato Kazuki; he’s amazingly gorgeous, a great singer and actor, and all around better adapted than Koji. But it makes me sad because Koji’s talent is singing. By grouping with Kazuki, Koji’s skills can’t shine through. The music is written and composed by Kazuki (it’s a super good piece), which gives Koji no chance to show his ability. The PV for the song showed Koji playing his guitar for Kazuki the whole time. He didn’t even sing one single word.

It makes me question how much he has changed. And also his apperance. I’ve never seen him looking hotter than he did in the PV. But it’s not the Koji that he had shown for the past few years.

It makes me sad. Koji Date is even going to go along with the flow now? Is it because, only with Kazuki’s fan base that he can get the fame he wasn’t able to before? It’s such a harsh thing to think, but that’s what crossed my mind. It only feel weird because it’s Koji-chan I’m talking about. And it makes me sad to see how skinny he got. Like, we are talking drastically skinnier than before. I’d rather see the Koji who had the somewhat messy hair, always wore the plain white shirt and faded jeans, with his guitar on his shoulder.

People always come to a stage where they realize they can’t stand alone anymore, and end up just conforming to society. Even if the person is Koji Date. The one who had so stubbornly pursued what he wanted without a thought to what his fans wanted. (That’s not to say he’s inconsiderate; he’s very kind. It’s just that he was so childish and determined about what he wanted before.)

He signed into a new company. Which probably means he’s getting re-packaged (as if that wasn’t evident through his new appearance) and he’s most likely not going to be able to compose and write his own folk music anymore. So it’s really time to say good bye to 伊达晃二. Or, 伊达孝时.

But I’ll always love the kid, even if he does become different. He is still Koji, nonetheless. He was, and is, the Koji I will always love.

Nice to meet you, 伊达幸志.

About him, Koji Date.

[sasamegoto]

[sasamegoto]

A Room Full of Words

[Getting Rid of the Bare Walls]

I just had the most random idea as I was browsing the Norwegian Wood tag and came across a quote from the book I posted a few weeks ago-to just write up every single passage I loved from Haruki Murakami books and post them all around my room. So whenever I look up, I'll be reminded of the things I hold the most dear to my heart. I'll be able to bring back every single memory associated with his prose with lightening speed, and use that thin strand of comfort to find my fading courage that seems to weaken day by day. 

Words have become the most important thing to me through my first few months of college, and I will forever be in debt to the person who showed me that. He, over the course of a whole year, shined lights over all these dark, cold, shadowy spots in my heart, drawing out the essence of these evils into simple words that filled jar after jar. He did so indirectly, unknowingly. 

But I'm grateful. I didn't realize the importance of that back then, for I was too preoccupied with the pain and embarrassment he caused for me by forcing me to see myself without filters. 

He made writing into a habit for me. A hobby. A dream. A future. 

A passion. 

An outlet for all these dark clouds I keep locked up within myself through the endless nights in my lonesome dorm, where I sit alone in front of my laptop, typing with stinging eyes and shaking hands. Oh, how could I have survive these feelings of self-destruction that so often visited me on these dark nights without all that he pointed out to me? How could I have held onto what's left of my sanity without all these stacks of stories I managed to produce? 

No matter where I reside now, in the future, far far into the future, I'll make sure the room I'm in every night become a room full of words. 

[Thanatos] 

Sigmund Freud came up with a theory that there is two conflicting central desires within all human: Eros, the life drive. Thanatos, the death drive. 

It's interesting, though, isn't it? Looking through a list of famous authors, so many commit suicide.

Why is that? I often wondered. 

Because all artists, at least I think, have some attraction or fascination towards death. 

Writers, at least, all seem to be people who retain too heavy a burden of regrets. That's what fuels them to write such piercing and heartbreaking words. These works are beautifully melancholy in too many instances. Yasunari Kawabata expressed it wonderfully in his work Beauty and Sadness. 

I often think, oh, let me be a true writer. Let that passion burn scars in my heart, let that desire destroy me, let that drive ruin me. So long as I can be named as a writer, let it be. Let me be. 

Let Thanatos take over my entire being. 

It's not that I want to die. It's just that I don't know how to live.

[Let My Silenced Murmurings Reach You] 

I wonder if you can hear me. 

Because somehow I know you can't. Right at this instant, I don't exist for you. 

But it's okay. I've found someone to balance out the Thanatos and Eros in me. Let me be driven by both. Let me not be taken over by one, to the point I wish to self destruct. 

You brought out my sense of Thanatos. You restored my desire for Eros. 

Hey, did you know? Through all these billions of words, all the ink I've wasted, all the paper I've left scribbles upon, the things I truly wish to express is very simply.

I've been waiting to see you. Waiting, for a long, long time. 

So next time, listen more carefully, please. Hear my whispers, even if they may be merely...silenced.

Murmurings. 

[sasamegoto]

Lingering Dream

You reached me through a dream crafted by the bricks of words (was it fiction, maybe?) Outline blurred, intention unclear, you pushed open the door to my chamber one second past midnight.

Nearly transparent beauty emitted from your every step. Transfixed, I could only allow you to take the seat next to my new upright piano.

Oh, what wonderful power you posses to play pieces that reduced me to tears in the prelude. ‘It is at your wish that I perform for you, maiden,’ were the words you left behind.

The moment you exited through the doors of my chamber, your pale, cold fingers brushed upon my cheeks. Farewell, you did not speak.

I would think you fantasy if not for the lingering tingles of infatuation in my heart; if not for the scattered images of longing in my mind; if not for the trembling feelings of melancholy in my veins.

Yet my impatience cannot survive outside of my chamber. That’s why I had to, with unnatural difficulty, grasp the pieces of the lingering dream, if only to ensure that you would come visit me another night.

Reality and fiction mingled as I noticed that solitude is something that can be heard and touched.

[sasamegoto]

Book List

When I first started writing, my teacher said to me, "good writers are always good readers." I've always kept that phrase near my heart whenever I start typing or scribbles on my little notebook. 

Reading is probably about as important to me as writing. Honestly, I think the happiest times I had this year was during the summer, when I had so much time on my hands that I just read and wrote all day long, with a cup of coffee. From morning to night. 

This is definitely not a comprehensive list of the books I've read since I've started reading, but it does contain the numbers of texts that left an impression on me (so I still happen to remember the name)or is among one of my favorites. I'm open to any book suggestions since there are so many books out there that I don't even know exist. 

*Note: I attempted to categorize the books by my own set of genre. Regardless of accuracy of my organization, it's just for my personal convenience. This is by no means a complete list of books I've read/would recommend  for I am still updating it as I go along my writing and reading career. And of course, as I read more, I will also add to this list.  

Anglo/Euro Literature: 

Asher, Jay

Thirteen Reasons Why 

Chbosky, Stephen

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Collins, Suzanne

The Hunger Games

Catching Fire

 Mockingjay

Dessen, Sarah

What Happened to Goodbye

The Truth About Forever

Along for the Ride

Just Listen

Someone Like You

Green, John

The Fault in Our Stars

Looking for Alaska

Paper Town

Wilde, Oscar

Dorian Gray 

Shakespeare, William

Twelfth Night

Hamlet

Romeo and Juliet  

Julius Caesar 

Twain, Mark

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn 

Dickens, Charles 

A Tale of Two Cities 

Fitzgerald, Scott F.

The Great Gatsby

King, Stephen

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon

Lee, Harper

To Kill a Mockingbird

O’Brien, Tim

The Things They Carried

Rowling, J.K.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Westerfield, Scott

So Yesterday

Uglies

Pretties

Specials

Extras

Orwell, George

Animal Farm

Golding, William

Lord of the Flies

Shelley, Mary

 Frankenstein

Joyce, James

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Hawthorne, Nathaniel 

Scarlet Letter

Brashares, Ann

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

The Second Summer of the Sisterhood

Girls in Pants

Forever in Blue

Meyer, Stephenie

Twilight

New Moon

Eclipse

Breaking Dawn

Friend, Natasha

Perfect

Bounce

DiCamillo, Kate

Because of Winn-Dixie 

Conrad, Joseph

Heart of Darkness 

Contemporary Asian Literature: 

Kirino, Natsuo

Out

Real World

Murakami, Haruki

1Q84

After the Quake

Sputnik Sweetheart

After Dark

Norwegian Wood

A Wild Sheep Chase

Kafka on the Shore

Dance Dance Dance

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

The Elephant Vanishes

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

South of the Border, West of the Sun

Hear the Wind Sing

Ogawa, Yoko 

The Diving Pool 

Yoshimoto, Banana

The Lake

Kitchen

Goodbye Tsugumi

Hardboiled & Hard Luck

N.P.

明晓溪

泡沫之夏（I，II， III）

会有天使替我爱你

明若晓溪：水晶般透明

明若晓溪：冬日最灿烂的阳光

午后薰衣茶   

饶雪漫

唱情歌

沙漏（I，II，III）

离歌（I，II，III）

雀斑

微雪

曾炜

喜欢你

梦想飞行里程之：蓝色换日线

梦想飞行里程之：你是我的终点站吗?

可爱陶

那小子真帅（I，II）

狼的诱惑（I，II）

致我的男友（I，II，III）

顾漫

杉杉来吃

何以笙箫默

Pre-modern East Asian Literature: 

Murasaki Shikibu 

The Tale of Genji 

Wu Cheng-en (trans. Waley, Arthur) 

Journey to the West

Katsu Kokichi (trans. Teruko Craig) 

Musui's Story: The Autobiography of a Tokugawa Samurai 

Sei Shonagon 

Makura no Soshi