Now it does

 

This is the actual copy of the book I read back in 2008. I was twenty-three, in my first real love, and I remember having this vague sense that it was a wonderful book—just one whose teeth never quite sank into me.

Lately, I’ve been fascinated by listening to audiobook versions of Murakami’s works. I always tell my friends that once I’ve encountered Murakami, it’s hard to read—or even care about—other authors. With my eyesight declining, rereading on a screen, like an e-book, isn’t really an option anymore.

In that sense, listening to the audiobook version brings me so much joy. It’s a way of revisiting and reimagining the stories I first loved, reliving the feeling of those earlier reading days, and reconnecting with the memories of being completely absorbed in his worlds. 

Now, I am listening to the audiobook of Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, I’m realizing how little I actually retained. Beyond remembering that it was long (those three volumes combined into one felt endless), I don’t think I had the readerly maturity for it at the time.

Murakami’s characters are undeniably weird and absurd, but this time around the absurdity feels different—sharper, more familiar. Maybe because I finally have enough of my own life’s absurdities to hold it up against. That blurry line between the unreal and the real doesn’t feel like fiction anymore; it feels like recognition.

Back then, the last thing I remembered clearly was Toru pondering inside the well (as i personally have an experience stuck in a well when I was a kid, long story). I didn’t even register the theme of betrayal. And honestly, why would I have? I was in my early twenties, still in love with Julio, floating in my first wonderful relationship. I wasn’t jaded yet—still giddy with romance, still busy romanticizing romance itself. Everything felt soft and sensual and hopeful. No wonder the darker threads of the novel slid right past me.

After all the heartaches, the brokenness, the emptiness I’ve lived through since, the book finally has weight. Its essence is no longer just palatable—it’s digestible. It makes sense now in a way it never could have back then. Now it does.