How I am not a Murakami character, even though I wish I were

I am full.

Apart from one tutorial, all I did today was eat. I started my morning off with some Nutella and went on to pleasure myself with tuna salad with sweet corn, continued with chicken in tomato, garlic and just a spoonful of yoghurt sauce. In the end, Bolo suggested we cook something sweet and so we did some meringues. This was not enough...so a cake with cinnamon, bananas and other randomly mixed ingredients is waiting for us in the oven, two cakes to be more precise. So yes, I am full. Why is it that I feel such trivial things become paramount under the influence of my burning tongue covered in indian snaks? I don`t know. Does it matter? It does not.. It`s just that the smell of a possibly good cake is bursting out of the oven, and at this point I just feel that the sound of wallnuts cracking in your bare, bruised hands is finally worth it. We`re students, we can`t be expected to have anything as sophisticated as a nutcracker...

This day of eating reminds me of the novels of Haruki Murakami. Often times, his lonely characters resolve to eating as much as they can. They describe the process, they describe the ingredients, the cooking, the infusion of multiple flavours on their taste buds. These characters are usually standing on the verge on stepping in another world, that is not readily comprehensible, nor is it human in nature. This alter-world usually invades the individuals in their isolation. Since they are taken by surprise (and yet they don`t know that they`re slowly overstepping boundaries), they have to cling to anything that is worldly to them.

The above paragraph does not describe me, even though I sometimes feel I imerge myself in my own alter-world. By all means, this is not something that I would describe as being negative. Not even by a margin. By definition, we have to go away sometimes and then return upon having had our own epiphanies. But my day of eating has not been a step towards an epiphany. It was just a short break from the hugely commercial life that I am leading (by pure choice, true satisfaction and hedonistic desires and not by outer stimuli).

From time to time, I will resort, however, to clingging. This may seem as a rupture. It`s not one. I will keep on hanging on to the shaky floor in the Ritz and to the smell of beer that lurks around the upper floor. How could I not let the music in Tiger Tiger get glued on the clothes I so much love. It would be amoral not to allow alcohol destroy at least 50.000 neurons every time we meet. It would be stupid not to indulge myself to the night bus and to put it bluntly I could not give up the smoothness of Dunhill Finecut.

So now, while sipping on chocolate milk after having eaten half a mango, I realize that it is true that I do the clingging, but I could not be further away from a Haruki Murakami novel. If characters tend to hold dear to their hearts common actions, it seems that here, the common actions hold me dear to their hearts...