JAM JEN

I was completely immersed in Sayuri's life until the ending. I was astonished that she still had deep feelings for the Chairman and would do anything to gain his affection. At the young age of 9, Sayuri meets the Chairman, and this moment is forever ingrained in her memory.  I found the memory extremely distasteful because Sayuri appears obsessed, but the story says it's true love.  The book tries to frame this decision as Sayuri finally taking control of her destiny, but I view her actions as cruel and unnecessary. I can't help but think of Nobu; his life appears to be a tragedy. He lost his arm in battle and is covered in burn marks, leading others to give him the nickname "lizard". Despite this, he shows Sayuri loyalty, protection, and genuine care. In the end, he loses not only the woman he loves but also the trust of his closest friend and business partner. Nobu’s suffering feels quietly dismissed by the narrative, making his fate one of the most heartbreaking aspects of the novel.

I had hoped Sayuri would ultimately take control of her life in a more independent way. I imagined an ending where she does not return to Gion, but instead opens her own teahouse in another city. Alternatively, she could return to Gion on her own terms, establish her own okiya, and ensure that no girl would endure the kind of tragic childhood she experienced. Such an ending would have represented true autonomy and growth.

Instead, Sayuri moves to New York and becomes the Chairman’s danna. This ending is meant to feel romantic and hopeful, symbolizing a peaceful new chapter in her life. However, it did not leave that impression on me. Rather than empowerment, I saw fixation. Rather than destiny fulfilled, I saw emotional dependence carried into adulthood. The novel’s final message left a bitter aftertaste and ultimately tarnished what had otherwise been a compelling and immersive story.

This is the type of story that would be fascinating to watch, but reading endless details about the scenery made it extremely difficult to finish. I understand the author wanted to create a suspenseful story with a narrator who can’t fully reveal what he saw on paper. This shows the seriousness of the narrator's(Professor William Dyer) experience and why he is desperately trying to stop explorers from visiting Antarctica, because even he fell victim to curiosity.

“Half-paralysed with terror though we were, there was, nevertheless, fanned within us a blazing flame of awe and curiosity which triumphed in the end.”

It brings into question: if William recounted his exact experiences, would this scare people away or entice them to explore themselves?

William believed what they found was too dangerous and needed to be kept hidden forever. This caused him to not be honest even in his writings.

“We were the first human beings ever to see them—and I hope to God we may be the last.”

This moment captures the paradox at the heart of the story: discovery feels triumphant, yet it immediately becomes a burden.

This is similar to Dr. Frankenstein and how he destroyed his life's work because he feared his creation. He needed to keep his knowledge hidden forever so it would never be replicated. 

I am curious what William believed would happen if the general public fully understood what he witnessed. Would governments and/or scientists take advantage of the Elder Things? But due to the message of the story, we can only speculate.

Since I am currently obsessed with Stranger Things, I couldn’t help but connect Dyer’s fear of knowledge to the government’s exploitation of children with supernatural abilities. The show raises the same ethical question: should dangerous knowledge be used, even if it leads to destruction? Like Dyer and Frankenstein, the scientists in the show pursue understanding without fully accepting responsibility for its consequences. 

Overall, I did enjoy the message of wanting to deter curious minds away from dangerous studies to prevent potential disasters. It reminds me of the debate about the atomic bomb: would society have been better off if scientists kept their knowledge hidden? 

Winter Burrow is the perfect cozy game for lighting a candle and sipping hot chocolate. I absolutely adored the character designs and the joy of exploring its snowy environment. I felt completely in sync with the world it created since it's been snowing all week where I live, which gave me plenty of time to relax indoors and fully sink into the experience.

The soft crunch of walking through snow and the subtle sound of the cold breeze made it easy to become completely absorbed in the game. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting my fellow critter neighbors and earning new crafting and cooking recipes by helping them out. These small interactions made the world feel warm and lived-in, despite the frozen setting.

One of my favorite storylines was the relationship between Bufo the toad and Pollywog the tadpole. Their dynamic was genuinely heartwarming, especially as you help them reconcile their differences. I deeply understood Bufo’s struggle with apologizing, as it can be difficult to admit when you’re wrong, especially when words aren’t your strong suit.

Bufo’s way of making amends is by building Pollywog a wooden house. The house represented what Pollywog truly wanted. In the end, Bufo showed growth by setting aside her pride and honoring Pollywog’s wishes, demonstrating remorse through action rather than words.

Overall, Winter Burrow tells a charming and emotionally resonant story, but it’s one that desperately needs more storylines. The world feels ripe with potential, and I found myself wanting to spend even more time getting to know its characters.

Firewatch immediately grabs your attention with its emotional prologue, quickly pulling you into the tender love story of Henry and Julia. Their relationship feels warm, ordinary, and deeply human until everything changes. Julia is diagnosed with early-onset dementia, and her life begins to unravel. She loses her job, struggles to care for herself, and, most devastatingly, Henry slowly becomes a stranger to her.

The emotional toll on Henry is overwhelming. He is forced to watch the person he loves disappear while still physically present, and he copes in unhealthy ways. He turns to alcohol, clinging to late nights at bars as a temporary escape. His drinking eventually leads to a DUI, and overwhelmed with shame, Henry confesses to his sister-in-law, leading Julia’s family to believe that Henry is unfit to care for Julia. They mutually agree that Julia will no longer be in Henry's care. 

This loss completely fractures Henry and he needs to escape reality. He decides to become a firewatcher after seeing an advertisement.

After a two-day hike alone, Henry arrives at his post, surrounded by mountains, trees, and silence. The calm is unsettling. Then, for the first time in the game, a voice breaks the quiet. Through a walkie-talkie, Henry meets his supervisor, Delilah. This moment feels intimate and grounding, and as a player, I was immediately drawn to their dynamic. Their witty banter and easy chemistry made me laugh out loud. At one point, I even thought this could turn into a Hallmark-style romance; two lonely firewatchers falling in love without ever seeing each other.

But Firewatch is not that kind of story.

As the game progresses, strange and unsettling events begin to occur. Henry and Delilah start to believe they are being watched. Equipment is tampered with, private conversations are recorded, and the sense of isolation becomes terrifying rather than peaceful. Together, they develop a theory that they are being studied and their relationship and behavior are part of some larger experiment.

While playing, I fully believed this theory. I became just as paranoid as Henry. Every walk through the woods felt tense, as if someone might be following me. The eerie soundtrack only amplified this feeling, especially when Henry uncovered new “evidence.” The game masterfully pulls the player into Henry’s psychological state, blurring the line between reality and fear.

Eventually, the truth is revealed. There is no grand conspiracy. Instead, the mystery leads back to Ned Goodwin, a former firewatcher who had been living in isolation for years.

Ned had brought his twelve-year-old son with him to the tower. During a climbing accident, his son tragically died and he was unable to face the grief or return home to bury him. Instead, Ned chose to pretend the accident never happened and he remained hidden in the wilderness, avoiding reality entirely. When Henry arrived, Ned’s paranoia took over. He feared discovery, and he began manipulating events to scare Henry away. In doing so, he realized he was slowly turning Henry into a version of himself, someone unraveling under isolation and fear.

Ned eventually confesses, but not face-to-face. Instead, he leads Henry to the truth: his son’s remains and the evidence hidden in his shelter.

I felt an unexpected sense of relief when the mystery was solved. Not because the truth was comforting, it wasn’t, but because the paranoia ended. With clarity came understanding and I began to see how closely Henry and Ned mirrored each other. Both were men running from unbearable grief, choosing escape over acceptance.

At that moment, I wanted Henry to return to Julia. Not because it would fix anything, but because facing reality, no matter how painful, is the only way forward.

That, to me, is the true message of Firewatch: you cannot outrun grief forever. Avoidance may feel safer, but it ultimately traps you.

As someone who just graduated college and is currently navigating the uncertainty of a job search, this message resonated deeply. I’ve been struggling with the reality of growing up. A part of me wants to stay comfortable and simply play video games all day, while putting off interview prep, and avoiding risk. But Firewatch reminded me that growth requires confrontation. You have to face what scares you, even when it feels overwhelming, because that’s the only way to move forward. While it is okay to escape for a bit, you can't let escapism consume you.

I’ve been in a nasty slump lately and have been strategically avoiding my hobbies. Sometimes I can’t even take myself seriously. Like, why did Little Nightmares III come out (a game series I absolutely adore), and I told myself, “I’ll play it later, I NEED to watch the new season of Love is Blind first.”

When did I start caring about Love is Blind? What is wrong with me? And why did I go and watch season 8 after finishing season 9? I am insanely annoying sometimes.

My slump has consisted of me greedily consuming one Netflix show after another. Honestly, I’ve watched more shows in the past two months than I have all year. I used to be good at pacing myself, but it slowly became part of my daily routine. Last week I stayed up until 3:00 a.m. watching Wayward. Each time an episode ended, the “Next Episode” box would appear, and I could never stop it. I kept doing this night after night, only shutting my laptop when my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.

It’s honestly unhealthy, the amount of shows I’ve consumed, especially since I can’t name them all off the top of my head. It wasn’t until I started Monster: The Ed Gein Story that I felt gross while watching. I realized I was stuck in a cycle, going from one show to the next, not letting any of them marinate in my mind. What did I love? What did I hate? I couldn’t even say.

My cycle reminds me of how I used to play video games when I was younger. When I was stuck on a level, I never tried to analyze the environment, I would simply spam all the button on the controller until I magically figured out the solution. I never tried to be creative to get out of my predicament and solving a puzzle never felt rewarding. Once I realized I was living my life like how I used to play video games, I knew I needed to start reading again.

Last year, I was an avid reader and loved writing reviews on Goodreads. I read 23 books. This year? Only two (now three, look at me go). I honestly don’t know how I went from reading almost every night to barely touching a book.

Once I recognized the awful cycle I was in, I made myself go to the public library. I didn’t know what I was looking for; I just knew I needed to consume a different kind of media, something that didn’t leave me feeling like a sleep-deprived zombie. As I was scanning the aisles, one book caught my eye. It had The Great Wave on the cover and a rainbow font. I’d seen it on several must-read lists. After skimming the summary, I thought, Yeah, I might actually enjoy this. The book was Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin.

Now let’s get into why I loved this book and why I spent roughly four hours of my Sunday tearing through the final 200 pages.

I’ve never read a book that portrayed friendship so authentically. I’m honestly jealous of how Sadie and Sam always managed to mend their wounds. I’ve never had a friendship where a shared passion continuously brought us back together.

The author captures the intimacy of friendship perfectly in this line:

“There is no more intimate act than play, even sex.”

That quote hit me because it made me think about how disconnected I’d become from play. Not just in video games or reading, but in creation, that feeling of losing yourself in something purely for joy. I’ve spent so long chasing “productive” hobbies or perfect outcomes that I forgot what it felt like to play just for the sake of it.

While I haven’t experienced a friendship with the same longevity as Sadie and Sam’s, I’ve had a few where I truly revealed myself, mostly childhood friendships I wish I’d kept alive.

When I was younger, I was extremely close with my neighbor. I remember when my mom got a new iMac with the Photo Booth app. We’d spend hours recording ourselves pretending to be chipmunks, aliens, and bugs. In those moments, I could say anything around her. She was the kind of friend you could be completely silly with and never feel judged. I miss that feeling.

Looking back, I’ve realized I struggle to maintain friendships because of different schedules and lifestyles. I haven’t seen my two closest friends in three weeks, and I fear I might not use the word “closest” to describe them soon. One recently graduated and works at a local elementary school; the other is a baker who works night shifts. Meanwhile, I’m in my final semester of college. I can’t even schedule a successful online game night.

I fear that one day we might go six years without talking, like Sadie and Sam. But unlike them, I don’t know if our lives would intertwine so seamlessly again. And yet, that’s one of the most beautiful ideas in Zevin’s book, that connections can be paused, broken, and still somehow replayed when the time is right.

On the bright side, I now have more time to be creative on my own. This book reminded me not to fear creating something imperfect. I’ve spent so much time chasing perfection that I forgot how freeing it feels just to make something, anything.

I recently let out my creative side by drawing my mom a card for her birthday. I was extremely close to buying a generic birthday card from the Dollar Store because nothing I was creating was good enough. But luckily I read this book, and enjoyed the process of creating rather than the final product.

I am extremely grateful that I randomly picked up this book at the library, because it gave me a new perspective: not everything you create will be successful, and that’s okay. You shouldn’t fear failure because you can always start again and you have an endless number of tomorrows to try.

Reading Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow felt like hitting “play” after being stuck on pause. It reminded me that meaning doesn’t come from constant consumption, it comes from creation, from play, from trying again.

“If you’re always aiming for perfection, you won’t make anything at all.”

I recently finished reading No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai and there is one part of the book that I can't stop thinking about. It's the part when Yozo and Horiki are playing the antonym game. They are trying to answer the question, "What is the antonym of crime?"

I want to attempt answering this question myself, and found it best to do so in an interview format.

Person A: Interviewer

Person B: Respondent

A: What do you think is the antonym of crime?

B: Injustice.

A: Can you explain?

B: I see injustice as a more open-ended concept. It leaves room for personal interpretation, you're not relying on the law or the police to define what is and isn’t a crime. Instead, you decide for yourself what is unjust.

I once had a professor who discussed the trolley experiment. And if you are unaware of the thought experiment, it is about a trolley that is heading towards 5 people tied to the tracks. You can pull a lever to divert it onto another track, where only 1 person is tied, or not pull the lever. The dilemma is whether to take action and sacrifice one to save five or do nothing. Philosophers use it to explore utilitarianism, morality, and the value of life.

But my professor put a twist onto the experiment. In this scenario you see a murderer sitting on top of a bridge. A trolley is about to pass underneath and you have two options:

A: Push the murderer off the bridge, where he’ll be run over by the trolley.

B: Do nothing.

He added different rounds to this scenario too: in the first, the murderer had killed one person; then five; then ten.

This forces you to make an intensely personal decision, especially as the death toll rises. You're left to decide not only whether the murderer "deserves" to die, but how it would affect your own mental state.

Would it bother you to kill someone, even if they were a murderer? Would it make a difference depending on how many people they had killed?

Personally, I would walk away in all scenarios. I don’t think I could live with killing a person, even a murderer. But for others, they might make that choice and feel no emotional consequences.

You can also look at Yozo’s answer in No Longer Human. He says the antonym of crime is punishment.

In the book, Yozo reflects on Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. This raises the question: Do some criminals not expect punishment because they don’t view their actions as crimes? Thus, making punishment the opposite of crime.

I also want to note how I was surprised in No Longer Human when Yozo is arrested for assisting in a suicide after attempting to kill himself with a woman(Yozo was saved, but the woman passed away). I never saw him as a criminal, and I doubt Yozo saw himself that way either. But Horiki, his "friend," did. He’s the one who said the antonym of crime was the law.

Yozo’s interpretation and Horiki’s show that the way you answer this question says a lot about who you are.

Going back to Crime and Punishment, at first, Raskolnikov(MC) believes he’s morally justified in murdering a pawnbroker. But later, he’s filled with guilt. Why? Was it because he also killed the innocent sister of the pawnbroker who walked in on him during the act? Or would he have doubted himself anyway if the sister had never appeared, perhaps because of her grief? Or the way society and the police reinforced the idea that his actions were immoral?

It’s hard to say. But it’s fascinating to think about.

In the end, I believe it really is up to the individual to define what crime is. That’s why I think “injustice” is the perfect antonym because what we perceive as unjust reveals more about us than any law ever could.

End

I had a lot of fun making up this scenario. Thank you for reading! Also, if you have any thoughts, I'd love to read them!

Here is a link to my summary/reflections pt. 1 of the book, No Longer Human.

Epilogue:

The story ends with two individuals discussing the notebooks that Yozo wrote about his life. One is a writer and the other is a barmaid who knew Yozo when he drank excessively. Yozo sent the 3 notebooks to the barmaid, and she allowed the writer to read them.

You might be wondering why Yozo sent the notebooks to the barmaid, but it is never explained. Did he not want to be forgotten, or did he want someone to understand his suffering?

After the writer reads them, he talks to the barmaid to understand her perspective of Yozo. Unfortunately, it has been ten years, and she barely remembers him, but she does have one thing to say about him.

"It's his father's fault," she said unemotionally. "The Yozo we knew was so easy-going and amusing, and if only he hadn't drunk-no, even though he did drink-he was a good boy, an angel." (pg. 177).

Now this is quite contradictory. How much did Yozo exaggerate within the notebooks? Or did he really not understand that he was loved? This is the tragic part of the story, especially since we will not know the answers to these questions. We can speculate and assume, but we will never know Yozo's true answers.

I want to include another quote from the epilogue that was hard to read. Here, the writer is asking the barmaid for her opinions on the notebooks.

"No, I didn't cry . . . I just kept thinking that when human beings get that way, they are no good for anything." (Pg. 176).

This stings. But, I must point out that the alternative title of the book fits here perfectly: Disqualified as a Human Being. The barmaid reaffirms Yozo's view of himself, that he is no longer human because of his sufferings.

While there is no happy ending, it is important to remember to keep pushing forward because everything passes.

I ended up writing about my own answer to the question, "What is the antonym of crime?"

Check it out here!

The 3rd Notebook: Part 2

Yozo's mental health has taken a turn for the worse in this part. One of the first scenes involves Yozo and Horiki playing a word game Yozo invented. One of them says a noun, and the other responds with the antonym. It’s all fun and games until it takes a serious turn. Yozo’s word is crime, but he doesn’t like Horiki’s answer. Yozo thinks deeply about the correct antonym. He reflects on Horiki’s initial answer, law, but that can’t possibly be right.

“Imagine saying that the law was the antonym of crime! But perhaps everybody in 'society' can go on living in self-satisfaction, thanks to just such simple concepts. They think that crime hatches where there are no policeman.” (pg. 145)

But why does Yozo think that answer is incorrect? I believe he’s trying to look at it from the criminal’s point of view. Horiki even points out how Yozo is a criminal (he was taken into custody for assisting with a suicide). But it was never Yozo’s intent to be labeled a criminal; he was simply doing what he desired. Why does the law get to decide what counts as a crime? Why do people blindly follow laws instead of trying to understand the criminal?

This situation reminds me of one of my favorite animes, Psycho-Pass. In this show, which takes place in the future, there are high-tech scanners that can read a person’s brain and determine how likely they are to commit a crime. If the likelihood is high, they are sent to confinement or even executed. It’s disturbing to think someone could be punished not for committing a crime, but for possibly committing one. The major theme of the show is: should you blindly follow the system and obey, or question and resist?

Yozo recalls Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, a story about a man who commits murder but is tormented by guilt. Yozo believes that maybe punishment is the true antonym of crime. I think he’s saying that people commit crimes because they don’t expect to be punished, and that’s what makes the crime possible. In Dostoevsky’s novel, the main character kills two women, one known for exploiting people, and the other an unintended victim. He follows through only because he convinces himself he won’t be punished. So doesn’t that make punishment the true opposite of crime?

“Crime and punishment—absolutely incompatible ideas, irreconcilable as oil and water.” (pg. 147)

Later, Yozo becomes addicted to morphine. It’s the only way he can work—he can’t survive without it. He racks up debt at the pharmacy but doesn’t care. It gets so bad that he writes to his father asking for help, but never receives a reply. He starts seriously contemplating suicide again and attempts to overdose on sleeping medicine. He survives, and the doctor rules it an accident. Soon after, Flatfish and Horiki show up. They know he is suffering, and they take him to a mental hospital.

He stays there until his brother and Flatfish return with news: his father has passed, and Yozo will be receiving an inheritance.

Yozo leaves the hospital to live in a house purchased by his brother. He is still struggling. One day, he asks his servant to buy him sleeping pills, but she purposely buys him laxatives. Yozo is unaware of this when he tries to overdose. When the effects kick in, he realizes the mistake and can’t help but laugh. He sees it as a darkly comical moment.

After the laxative incident, Yozo shortly reflects on his life, and I think it ends on a bittersweet note:

“That is the one and only thing I have ever thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell. Everything passes.”

There’s a flicker of hope in those final two words. While life may be full of suffering, everything passes eventually. It's definitely what I need to hear today.

I only have the epilogue left and will post one more time about the epilogue and my overall thoughts on the book. Thanks for reading! ❤️

Part 2 link https://www.tumblr.com/ghostja/788986117021220864/no-longer-human-by-osamu-dazai-pt-2?source=share

The 3rd Notebook: Part 1

In the story, we meet a man named Shibuya who is nicknamed Flatfish due to his appearance. He acts as a guardian for Yozo after the unfortunate situation with Tsuneko. One night, they are having a discussion about Yozo's desires, but Yozo cannot admit what he wants. He wishes Flatfish would tell him what to do, but Flatfish wants Yozo to take charge of his life.

Eventually, Yozo musters up the courage and tells Flatfish he wishes to be a painter. Flatfish's reaction completely dismisses his dream.

Flatfish’s dismissal of Yozo’s dream reminds me of my own experiences with discouragement, particularly from my brother. I remember when I told my brother I wanted to pursue something art-related in college, and he told me it would be difficult and I wouldn't make any money. Did this mean he believed I could not do it? I'm not sure, but when someone you love does not have faith in you, it is deeply unmotivating. After that conversation, I decided to pursue a business degree instead, something more “practical.” I will be obtaining that degree this winter, but part of me still wonders what would have happened if I had received encouragement instead of doubt.

Another memory that stands out is when I created the bat-mobile and bat-bike out of cardboard. I was quite proud of my creations and eager to show them off. When I shared them with my brother, all he said was, "How long did it take to create that?" His tone wasn't curious or impressed; it was critical, as if I had wasted my time. It wasn’t just the words, but how he said them, that made it feel like my effort was pointless. His reaction hurt. Maybe one day I will prove him wrong and return to art, but for now, I’ve been lacking motivation.

Because of moments like these, I completely understand Yozo's reluctance to express his dreams, especially when those dreams have been belittled. It’s difficult to be vulnerable when the people you hope will support you respond with judgment. I understand the importance of taking risks and pursuing your dreams, but I have yet to fully overcome the fear of being judged.

Yozo’s fear doesn’t stop at sharing his aspirations—it extends to people in general. Throughout the story, he speaks of his fear of others, and this passage is a great example of what goes on in his head:

"Though I have always made it my practice to be pleasant to everybody I have not once actually experienced friendship. I have only the most painful recollections of my various acquaintances with the exception of such companions in pleasure as Horiki. I have frantically played the clown in order to disentangle myself from these painful relationships, only to wear myself out as a result. Even now, it comes as a shock if, by chance, I notice in the street a face resembling someone I know, however slightly, and I am at once seized by a shivering violent enough to make me dizzy. I know that I am liked by other people, but I seem to be deficient in the faculty to love others. (I should add that I have very strong doubts as to whether even human beings really possess this faculty.) It was hardly to be expected that someone like myself could ever develop any close friendships, besides, I lacked even the ability to pay visits. The front door of another person's house terrified me more than the gates of Inferno in the Divine Comedy, and I am not exaggerating when I say that I really felt I could detect within the door the presence of a horrible dragon-like monster withering there with a dank, raw smell."

Yozo's words are intense, but they reflect a real experience: the anxiety of social interaction, the exhaustion of trying to be liked, and the deep loneliness that follows. Yozo does not allow himself to open up to others because he does not want to develop relationships, likely out of fear that they will fall apart or bring pain. This is something I’ve struggled with as well. I’ve had friends who eventually became strangers, and the loss of those connections still lingers. It's an awful feeling, and sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if I had been able to maintain those relationships or if I’d let myself be more vulnerable in the first place.

Ishida from A Silent Voice - his past actions haunt him, preventing him from forming meaningful relationships

Later in the story, Yozo shares a monologue about society and judgment. It began with Horiki lecturing Yozo about how he treats women, saying, "You must stop your fooling around with women. Society won't stand for more" (Pg. 119).

Yozo is baffled by this comment. He starts to question who “society” even is. Does Horiki mean himself? Why would society care about Yozo’s private actions? He wonders aloud, “What is society but an individual?” (120). This line really stood out to me. It captures the realization that we often give “society” too much power, as if it's some big, looming force, when really it’s just made up of people like Horiki, reacting based on their own views and values.

This moment marks a small turning point. Yozo begins to feel more at ease around people due to his realization that society is made up of individuals, not a single, unified entity passing judgment. It is not all of society that will judge you, but a person. And just as one person can tear you down, another can choose to understand you.

Like Yozo, I am learning that while the judgment of others can be painful, it doesn’t define my worth. Perhaps the first step is daring to express my truth, even if it scares me.

Thank you for reading! I will add a link when I read the next part! ❤️😊

Link to part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/ghostja/788109378367651840/no-longer-human-by-osamu-dazai-pt-1?source=share

This entry covers the Second Notebook of No Longer Human, where we begin to see Yozo’s masks slip and what happens when someone sees the real him.

The second notebook begins with a fellow classmate, Takeichi, seeing through Yozo’s antics. This initially terrifies Yozo, but he soon befriends him. Why is that? I think it’s because he finally has someone around whom he doesn’t have to put on an act.

It's the best feeling when you find that special person who never judges you, but it hurts the most when they leave.

Elio from Call Me by Your Name

Takeichi is the only person Yozo shows his self-portrait to, but it’s not a typical one. Instead of depicting his body, it represents his soul. It’s how Yozo perceives himself, and he offers it to the only person who has seen through his lies. Unfortunately, Yozo seems to cut Takeichi off after receiving approval for the painting. He expected disgust, but instead was met with acceptance. That wasn't the reaction he was prepared for. He could have had a real connection, but maybe that is what scared him most.

Self-portrait by Osamu Dazai

I understand the fear of becoming close to someone, especially when you overthink. What if everything goes wrong? It’s an awful way to think, but it’s the way of the overthinker.

Later, in college, Yozo meets a talkative man named Horiki. They become friends, and Yozo appreciates how Horiki never allows silence. He can talk for hours and has been a helpful guide around Tokyo. For someone as timid as Yozo, having company in unfamiliar places can be comforting.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower - Charlie, a shy teen, becomes friends with two extroverts, Sam & Patrick.

"I was afraid to board a streetcar because of the conductor; I was afraid to enter the Kabuki theater for fear of the usherettes standing along the sides of the red carpeted staircase at the main entrance; I was afraid to go into a restaurant because I was intimidated by the waiters furtively hovering behind me waiting for my plate to be emptied."

I hate that I occasionally feel this way. It’s all because I overthink, just like Yozo.

On some of their nights out, they hire prostitutes. Yozo initially enjoys this because it provides a form of escape. Prostitutes aren’t ones to judge, and their status as social outcasts makes them feel less threatening.

But Yozo has an effect on these women; they become emotionally affected by him. Why is that? I believe it’s because of Yozo’s quiet, passive nature, which allows them to let their guard down. Most of their clients are probably aggressive or transactional. Yozo is different. That vulnerability makes them see themselves in him.

Basically, they look at Yozo like a mirror, and it causes them to break down.

Unfortunately, Horiki also notices Yozo’s effect on the prostitutes and comments on it. After that, Yozo can no longer view them as a safe escape.

Throughout the story, it is evident that Yozo's bitterness toward women is strong. It all goes back to when he was a child and the horrors he faced because of the maid. I do wonder what kind of person he would have been if the event had never occurred or if he had the courage to seek help.

"She rambled on, but I have never been able to get interested when women talk about themselves. It may be because women are so inept at telling a story, or for some other reason. In any case, I have always turned them a deaf ear." (Pg. 80)

It's heartbreaking to read his disdain towards women. In the quote, when Yozo thinks, "or for some other reason", I believe he is alluding to his childhood trauma. It is also interesting how Yozo never explicitly says he was sexually assaulted, but walks around those words. Is he so ashamed and embarrassed that he can't even say it in his thoughts?

Yozo would go on to encounter a woman, Tsuneko. She was also extremely depressed, and one day they decided they would end their lives by drowning. Yozo would be saved, but not Tsuneko. This tragic event leads to Yozo being taken into custody for assisting with a suicide. While in custody, he has coughing fits, and he incorrectly allows the guards to believe he is coughing up blood(the blood on the handkerchief he coughs into is from a popped pimple).

He decides to overdo his act, and one of the officers notices. This will be the second time someone catches Yozo acting.

"Even now, the recollection makes me feel so embarrassed I can't sit still. It was worse, I am sure, even than when in high school I was plummeted into hell by that stupid Takeichi tapping me on the back  and saying, "You did it on purpose." Those were the two great disasters in a lifetime of acting." (Pg. 93)

I was surprised to see him mention Takeichi again and only express annoyance toward him. Did he see their potential connection as dangerous? Or was he too embarrassed to ever become friends?

The 2nd Notebook really showcases Yozo's sufferings. He is a timid overthinker who wants to please everyone. And when he can't, he crumbles into despair. It's tragic to feel this way and to have no one you can trust.

Sometimes I hate how much I understand Yozo. We are both timid overthinkers, always trying to control how others perceive us. It's reassuring to know I'm not alone in feeling this way, and hopefully, sharing my thoughts can help others realize they're not alone either.

Thank you for reading! This has been part 2 of my summary/reflection of No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai. Once I finish The 3rd Notebook, part 1, I will add a link! ❤️

Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human is considered a classic of postwar Japanese literature, exploring themes of alienation, identity, and despair. I first read it two years ago and related to the narrator more than I’d like to admit. Now, I’m revisiting the novel to see if I still relate to Yozo, or if I simply understand him.

I am hoping it is similar to my experience with reading The Catcher in the Rye. The second time I read the story, I began to realize the annoyance of Holden's constant pessimistic views.

I’m planning to review each chapter as I go. So far, I’ve completed the Prologue, and Chapter 1 — Part 2 will follow once I continue reading. (I am reading the version translated by Donald Keene - released on Nov. 15th, 2022).

Prologue & Ch. 1 Reflection/Summary:

The prologue introduces you to the main character, Yozo. When you look at photos of him, it appears he does not understand how to express emotions. He stands out, but why is he like that? Why can't he express his emotions naturally?

His smile looks forced in photos, something many of us can relate to when told to “say cheese."

Dazai is pictured 2nd to the left(this book is suspected to be a semi-autobiography)

I think the unnaturalness of his photos also has to do with being an overthinker.

"It is almost entirely impossible for me to converse with other people. What should I talk about, how should I say it? - I don't know". (Ch 1, pg. 26)

The thing I find odd about Yozo is that he hates things that have a practical purpose. He doesn't like bridges because they make traveling easier. That's absurd, and I am having a hard time understanding his point of view. Maybe he rejects things with a purpose because he hasn’t found his own. It's easier to criticize what’s meaningful when you feel meaningless. 🧐

Yozo also says he can’t stand up to others. That hit hard. I remember a moment at a previous job where I completely froze while being yelled at over a simple mistake. I didn’t defend myself, and it made me furious afterward, especially when that manager told my coworkers about it. I felt humiliated and betrayed.

"It is true, I suppose, that nobody finds it exactly pleasant to be criticized or shouted at, but I see in the face of the human being raging at me a wild animal of its true colors, one more horrible than any lion, crocidile or dragon" (Ch 1, pg 28).

To cope, Yozo becomes the class clown. He uses humor to fit in, a mask he wears to distract others from who he really is. I get it. I recently had a work lunch and was able to make everyone laugh. It made me feel good about myself and helped ease my nerves. That social validation can be powerful, especially when you’re anxious.

But behind the humor is pain. Yozo doesn’t trust people, and for good reason. He reveals he was taken advantage of by adults when he was a child. It adds another layer to his self-loathing and inability to connect.

Prologue & Ch. 1 Review:

It’s heartbreaking to read about someone who sees themselves as broken beyond repair. From the start, Yozo is full of shame and devoid of hope. The signs of trauma are clear, particularly the implications of sexual abuse, and they shape his worldview.

I understand the criticisms of the book and how Yozo is too depressing. Similar to Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye. It's not always enjoyable to read about someone who is depressed. Some might find Yozo’s pessimism exhausting, similar to the criticisms of Holden Caulfield. But I think if a reader finds it unbearable, it might mean they haven’t experienced that kind of hopelessness themselves, and that’s not a bad thing.

I'll be adding a part two later! 😊❤️

Link to part 2!

I recently traveled to India and was able to go to the Elephanta Caves which has multiple carvings of Lord Shiva. After visiting, I wanted to learn more about Hindu gods and one that stuck out to me is Lord Shiva's son, Ganesha.

After I saw a picture of him, I was instantly reminded of when I was younger. My mother and I were dropping my great grandma off at her retirement home. She left a Ganesha figurine in the car, but at the time I had no idea who it was. I do remember picking up the figurine and being memorized by his cuteness and tininess. I assumed she accidently left it there but after learning more about the son of Shiva, I no longer believe that. I now believe she put him there to protect us.

After reading about Ganesha, I learned it is common to put him on car dashboards because he offers protection during journeys. I now treasure this memory of my great grandma even more.

Unfortunately the statue my great grandma put in my mothers car is long lost, so I decided to recreate the statue to the best of my ability.

Here he is before I baked him

Recently, I had the opportunity to visit the Taj Mahal. Overall, it was a great experience. I vividly remember walking closer and closer to the mausoleum and being amazed by the intricate details. I was in awe when I entered inside and saw the sarcophagi of Mumtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan. The fact that this was created hundreds of years ago adds to my appreciation of the Taj.

close up image I took of the Taj Mahal

I wasn't aware of the uncleanliness of the city the Taj Mahal occupies until I visited. I incorrectly assumed it would be a beautiful city, but would later learn most tourists visit Agra for a day while staying at a hotel in another city.

When I arrived, I was bombarded by children desperately pleading with me to buy magnets. I had no idea individuals heavily rely on tourism for income until I researched the causes of the city's lack of income afterward.

When I approached closer to the Taj and put on my shoe covers, I did not expect to look out and see trash scattered about by the Yamuna River. It was disappointing to see, and I researched the river after my visit and discovered even worse close-up photos of the river scattered with trash.

What I saw looking out from the Taj Mahal