Mila's logs

If there is one thing my friends could tell you about me, it must be that I am not a fan of Dazai. I’d like to think I can be allowed to have this opinion, given that I’ve read his works the most, even more than Dostoevsky.

No longer human appears to be garnering a lot of attention and popularity these days, and it isn’t necessarily that I don’t understand why. People must be drawn to the raw way he writes, the self-deprecation and innate humanity in his actions that doesn’t sugarcoat. Yet, to me, I cannot help but feel a chill go down my spine every time I read his attempts to justify, to excuse, and to paint Yozo as a victim… But I’m going off on a tangent here. Today, I’m writing about a work by Dazai—perhaps the only one—that I’ve enjoyed.

Tazunebito is a short story by Osamu Dazai that begins with a man attempting to find a woman. The story is centered around the man and his family’s sokai (concession) to the north of Japan’s mainland during the war. The young woman, through the story, ends up saving the man and his family—and it is why he searches for the anonymous woman in an attempt to convey his gratitude.

The one thing I love about this story is the focus. In all the various great stories worldwide, there is an abundance of adventures with twists and turns that leave many enthralled. Tazunebito, on the contrary, depicts an unedited view of a regular citizen’s life during a crisis without added flair or drama. It feels as if one is looking at an uncut film recorded by an amateur rather than watching a big screen filmed and touched up by dozens of professionals. In the best way possible, I promise.

More so, the story is a reminder of the fragility of peace. Each day passes by routinely, the boxes of checklists crossing themselves out with ease. I can go where I please and lay my head on the same pillow every night. I know what happens tomorrow, rest well knowing it will be the same as the day before. The mundane that I am privileged to soak in could be changed easily into a world foreign to the likes of me. Forced to run and hide should the tides of politics shift in a certain direction. It is almost therapeutic to read a piece so apocalyptic, because it does not do to forget the true nature of being—impermanence.