All good

FICTION

YESTERDAY

BYHARUKI MURAKAMI

(page 2)Until I graduatedfrom highschool, I spokenothing but Kansai
dialect. But all it took was a month in Tokyo for meto becomecompletely
fluent in Tokyostandard. I was kind of surprised that I couldadapt so
quickly. Maybe Ihave a chameleon type ofpersonality. Or maybe mysense of
language ismoreadvanced thanmost people’s. Either way, no onebelieved
now that I wasactuallyfrom Kansai.Anotherreason I stoppedusing Kansai
dialect was that I wantedto become a totallydifferentperson.When Imoved
from Kansai to Tokyo to start college, Ispentthe whole bullet-train ride
mentallyreviewing my eighteen years andrealized that almosteverything
that had happened to me waspretty embarrassing. I’m not exaggerating. I
didn’t want to remember any of it—it was so pathetic. Themore I thought
about mylife up to then, themore I hated myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t
have a few goodmemories—I did. A handful of happy experiences. But, if you
added them up, theshameful, painfulmemories far outnumbered the others.
When I thought of how I’d been living, how I’d been approachinglife, it
was all so trite, so miserablypointless. Unimaginativemiddle-class
rubbish, and I wanted to gather it all up and stuff itaway in somedrawer.
Or elselight it onfire and watch it go up insmoke (thoughwhat kind of
smoke it wouldemit I had noidea). Anyway, I wanted to get rid of it all
and start a newlife in Tokyo as abrand-newperson. Jettisoning Kansai
dialect was apractical (aswell as symbolic) method ofaccomplishing this.
Because, in thefinal analysis, thelanguage wespeakconstituteswho we
are as people. At least that’s the way it seemed to me at
eighteen.“Embarrassing? What was so embarrassing?” Kitaru asked me.“You
name it.”“Didn’t get along with your folks?”“We get along O.K.,” I said.
“But it was still embarrassing. Justbeing with themmade me feel
embarrassed.”“You’reweird, y’know that?” Kitaru said. “What’s so
embarrassing aboutbeing with your folks? Ihave a goodtime withmine.”