Kitchen

by Banana Yoshimoto

The fact that time continued to pass in the usual way in this apartment where I grew up, even though now I was here all alone, amazed me. It

on this truly dark and solitary path we all walk, the only way we can light is our own? Although I was raised with love, I was always lonely.

In this world there is no place for sadness.

It’s so great, I thought, having tea in the afternoon with someone you really feel at home with.

Never again. I don’t care for the loaded sentimentality of those words or for the feeling of limitation they impose. But just then they struck me with an unforgettable intensity and authority. I intended to think them over dispassionately. Jostled by the motion of the bus, I was determined to keep that dirigible, so far off in the sky, in sight no matter what. But then, overpowered by their enormous weight, I found that tears were pouring down my cheeks and onto my blouse.

Wow, sei bem como é esse sentimento . Não sabia que esse era um livro sobre luto da neta.

a person hasn’t ever experienced true despair, she grows old never knowing how to evaluate where she is in life; never understanding what joy really is.

I felt that I was the only person alive and moving in a world brought to a stop.

Was that what it means to be an adult, to live with ugly ambiguities?

A moment before, my heart had seemed to stop. Now that feeling voiced itself in my mind: If Yuichi is with me, I need nothing else.

We all believe we can choose our own path from among the many alternatives. But perhaps it’s more accurate to say that we make the choice unconsciously.

In places where a loved one has died, time stops for eternity.