I Consider You A Living Miracle

Here he suddenly busted out laughing, with noticeable tears streaming down his face, “I am sorry, Shogo. Don’t feel offended by my laughter, but I simply can’t help it. When I think you haven’t done any single work as a writer, but you always tell me the same thing that you don’t have any time to waste because you have to write a book. But you don’t write anything, so I always wonder what Shogo is doing in the daytime? And you always come back to the apartment as dignified as Jesus Christ, as though you had fed a multitude of beggars at Mamita Beach. Sorry, I must stop it here.”

He wiped his tears with both of his hands and composed himself. And then he resumed, “What I’m trying to say is: Most people would have already given it up if they were in your shoes, including myself, because people simply can’t believe in themselves fully like you. But you optimistically believe in yourself without any fear. Even though you haven’t produced anything for your past efforts, you conscientiously believe you would start writing and become a writer someday. I consider you a living miracle.”

I lit a cigarette afresh. “Henri, what I know is only one thing: I want to be a writer – that’s all,” I said frankly, “I still don’t know how. However, each day I’m trying to improve myself, so that when the right moment comes, I can smash under the world’s chin with all my might to make myself known. It seems to everyone that I’m frittering away my time, because I don’t take a job, but I just walk on the streets leisurely and go to cafés to read books every single day – I look like I’m doing nothing to everyone’s eyes: a lazy bastard, but not to me. To be honest with you, I’ve constantly been writing a book in my head and constantly been trying to understand myself. I admit I haven’t written any books yet, but I’ve been developed by life itself, day by day.”

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