Murakami at Heathrow Airport...

     I enjoy reading authors that write complex plot lines, characters with lives that try to discern mysteries begun in past generations, years and sometimes decades or lives ago.I enjoy the fact that sometimes, a lot of the times, a chance meeting, a scrap of conversation, or a movie that once caught my eye will come back.

     The magic of life that I so often encounter in literature, is in fact a fact of life, paths, connections, and closed circuits, everything seems to connect. Although depending on the level of skepticism in my day I find myself teetering between two alternatives is it that everything is recurrent and causes a ripple, or that we follow sequences and are changed by every bit of knowledge in such a way that we cannot avoid re-discovering them again. Andre Breton once said, "Perhaps I am doomed to retrace my steps under the illusion that I am exploring, doomed to try and learn what I should simply recognize, learning a mere fraction of what I have forgotten" and sometimes, I feel exactly what he means, I think I learn or discover something new and a shade of disbelief runs by, have I really? then why does it feel familiar, like I have been there before, it more like a sensory or thought deja vu. Other times I feel as if this emotion comes from discovering a knowledge my soul has had before...

     Between a search for authors I came across a name, Murakami. I looked it up and found that he had written a novel called "Norwegian Wood". Today, although unknown to me I was to pursue a trail left by myself and a chance encounter months ago. Almost half a year ago, I was waiting for a thrice delayed flight back home. Having arrived early only to find that the flight had ended up being delayed. We now had about seven hours to spend in Heathrow Airport, thus me and Moriarty had much time to kill. We spent between a bookstore where I was able to find a copy of The castle in the Pyrenees by Jostein Gaarder. Then we went into a video store, where I found a movie called Norwegian Woods,  which first called my attention because of its title (I'm a Beatles fan), but the summary seemed interesting as well. Yet, seeing as I was currently a broke wanderer I could not buy it (it was seven pounds over my tiny budget of three pounds), I left it and made a mental note to see it when back in my continent. Sadly, the movie was not available. 

    Today, I stumbled into the author's name, looked for the book on my dear friend amazon, and ordered it. After almost half a year, five months and a few days actually, this search, this tiny example of reoccurring, has continued, hopefully to be followed by an interesting book.