Mono No Aware
18 Sep 2011 5 Comments
in Hindsight Tags: books, change, mono no aware, movies, sadness, self-reflection
Mono no aware is the bittersweet realization of time passing, sometimes tinged with the feeling of it not being enough. The phrase is Japanese, sometimes symbolized in cherry blossoms because of their short blooming times. I researched the concept and its tie-in with cherry blossoms before deciding they would be part of my first tattoo. The cherry blossoms in my tattoo symbolize for me the importance of capturing the beauty of life as it’s in front of me because I know it will not last.
Lately, I seem books and movies with the theme of mono no aware are drawing my attention. I often don’t realize the theme until I finish the book or movie. I suppose that explains why I recently reread Never Let Me Go. Kazuo Ishiguro‘s work in general holds that theme and I’m slowly working through his collection of novels. Haruki Murakami‘s work is also reflective of the theme but I finished all of his books a while ago. He needs to write some more! Tonight I watched Miranda July’s latest movie, , which also embraces mono no aware.
I am finding that treating mental health can often be about self-reflection, understanding one’s story that led up to the illness. I have reflected so much on my life experiences that sometimes I feel like I’m an old woman sitting alone hanging on to old memories, aware that her life has passed her by. Sometimes I think about all the pain I’ve been through and think that I’ve reached my full potential — that this is as good as it’s ever going to get. It’s all downhill from here. Then, I have to look in the mirror and say, “Erin, you are only twenty-six! You still have your whole life ahead of you!” Then I feel even crazier for talking to myself.
Has anyone else experienced that kind of sadness about their life passing? I’m guessing that it’s somewhat universal, that we all start thinking that way once we reach our adult years. None of us are getting our childhood or our teenage years back. I’m fairly certain that those of us in therapy feel it more intensely. What do you think?
Never Let Books Go
09 Sep 2011 3 Comments
in Book Reviews Tags: books, coping, writing
It’s been less than a year since I last read Kazuo Ishiguro’s latest novel, but upon re-watching the film adaption of the novel the other night I had to pick up the book again. Ishiguro has such a tight rein on the English language that he doesn’t waste a word in his stories, building a tension alongside his ability to both capture and let go of time as it passes. My inner author faints in his work’s presence.
I realize I write a lot about books in this blog as well as mental health, but for me the two go hand-in-hand. I have always felt separate and alone in the world, not always in a bad way, but in a contemplative and passionate way. Mental health is about being real with your emotions and accepting that everyone is dealing with a similar roller coaster of trying to understand life while living it. There is no better way to try on another’s mind, as if it were a hat, than by reading. It is my ultimate comfort.
I have a pull towards literature that merges innocence with darkness. is a great example of this, telling the story of Baby, a girl who has to survive abuse on the streets of Montreal. Never Let Me Go tells the story of children who grow up to learn that their fate has already been decided for them, and that their lives will be unjustly cut short. They have no say in the matter, yet these children carry on because they have to.
I could have called this blog “Innocence and Darkness” instead of “Daisies and Bruises.” Anne Sexton used the latter in her poem titled , explaining that “words are both daisies and bruises.” For me words equal life and literature can both enrich your life and help you escape it.
Never Let Me Go does not have a happy ending, but there is little despair involved. Sometimes the greatest reward a book can give you is confirmation that your story matters too, even if it is not a happy story. After all, no one’s story is one hundred percent happy. It’s time that story is told. Share yours or if you can’t do that yet, read, read, read and gain courage from books.
The Need to be Liked
28 Aug 2011 4 Comments
in Book Reviews Tags: books, CBT, core beliefs, mindyourmind.ca, negative thinking patterns, pugs
Excuse time: I’m pug-sitting for a few days while my parents’ are out of town. As you can see, it is pure bliss to hang out with Milo so much. Now follow my lead:
Look deeply into those pug eyes. Deeper, deeper. Okay, now tell me something intelligent!
IT CAN’T BE DONE. Never underestimate the power of puggular gazing. Therefore, my posts have been sporadic this week.
Anyway, I have been getting some things done despite the puggular gazing. Christine at mindyourmind asked me to review a book called by Dr. Roger Covin and reading it is giving me a crash course on cognitive-behavioural therapy as well as teaching me some interesting information on why we feel the need to be liked in the first place.
Of course, Milo keeps interrupting me to tell me that the need to be liked is never a concern if you have a pug with you at all times. True enough. That said, unfortunately we can’t have pugs with us 24/7 so read on to learn more about the book that helps to fill in those gaps.
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Awakening Truth
21 Aug 2011 2 Comments
in Book Reviews, Hindsight Tags: books, childhood, dissociation
Although there are several titles I have saved up in my head that I would like to purchase, instead I bought a young adult novel today at Chapters called The Whole Truth. I came across the title on amazon.com, the silhouette and bold colours catching my eye. Then of course, I saw Kit Pearson as the author and it was as good as sold. For once my closest book store had many copies in stock, as they should for such a phenomenal Canadian writer.
I’m twenty pages in and already I feel myself in the safe haven that Pearson’s provided for me from the moment I picked it up at the age of nine. From then on it was practically my bible and I always had it with me, especially when things were at their worst. It enforced some of my favourite survival methods while giving me a friend to share them with. At one point I even named my private journal after the main character in the novel, Theo, and would begin each entry as if it were a letter to her alone.
Theo was the only other girl I had heard of that also withdrew into silence to survive. I’d mastered what I thought to be an art at the time – dissociation – but Theo made me feel okay about it. I began to consider the world and its troubles as material instead of pure pain and by planning to use it as a future writer I mastered my fate. For every thing the world took from me, I could bring back on my own terms.
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