I’m reading Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami.
It has made me think about how much of our identity is shaped by the people who once accepted us, and what happens when that connection suddenly disappears without explanation.
Do we ever fully move on from rejection, or do we simply build a new life around the unanswered questions?
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Some friendships don’t end. They just become ghosts that occasionally knock over a chair in your head.
This brought back an old friendship I still don’t fully understand. I moved on, but I’m not sure I ever stopped wondering what really happened.
Sometimes the hardest part is not the rejection itself, but never knowing what was real, what changed, or whether we misunderstood the whole relationship. I haven’t read this Murakami yet, but now I’m definitely curious.