December Night

I am hard to put something in faith such as serendipity even I was longing for that thing to happen. But tonight I found this line with a song from Nat King Cole that makes me believe...there is no such thing as coincidence. One who reads, will live in a book one likes...

One December day near Christmas, Shimamoto and I were sitting in her living room. On the sofa, as usual, listening to records. Her mother was out of the house on some errand, and we were alone. It was a cloudy, dark winter afternoon. The sun’s rays, streaked with fine dust, barely shone through the heavy layer of clouds. Everything looked dim and motionless. It was nearing dusk, and the room was as dark as night. A kerosene space heater bathed the room in a faint red glow. Nat King Cole was singing “Pretend.” Of course, we had no idea then what the English lyrics meant. To us they were more like a chant. But I loved the song and had heard it so many times I could imitate the opening lines:

Pretend you’re happy when you’re blue

It isn’t very hard to do

The song and the lovely smile that always graced Shimamoto’s face were one and the same to me. The lyrics seemed to express a certain way of looking at life, though at times I found it hard to see life in that way.

— Haruki Murakami - South of the Border, West of the Sun