Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatte Iru - Volume 10 - Chapter 6.1

The Second Notebook

…Or it could be unique to everyone.

As I read along, I suddenly realized something.

If I was being honest with myself, there was something that had brought me back.

This book really did feel close to me. I’d even thought that it came very close to who I really was—and the word you’d probably use for that disposition is bad-natured.

But this was different.

I didn’t give up, and I didn’t lose interest, picking up a different book to continue my search. I read both No Longer Human and “Run, Melos!” over and over.

But they were definitely different.

Neither a literary master nor these famous books had come close to me.

When someone has spoken to you, shown they have empathy for you, and then turned out to be something completely different—it’s pure despair.

Those similarities, resemblances, are why the differences bother you so much. It throws them into relief. You can’t wave off those differences because you’re so very similar.

I couldn’t forgive myself for getting my hopes up, for thinking I understood, for thinking I’d been understood.

I’m sure I’m smaller, lesser, and more cowardly than the person depicted in No Longer Human. I’m troubled by problems so petty even Dazai wouldn’t notice them.

So then, aren’t I no longer human—or something even less? Aren’t I even more suspicious and alone than the wicked and ruthless king?

Furthermore, I was disgusted with myself for using authoritative literature for the selfish purpose of gaining the answers to my incredibly personal problems. How shallow, foolish, and ugly. I had not picked up these books for reasons of purification or education.

I just wanted to be denounced by the truth. I wanted something to see through this clown of self-aggrandizement.

And I wanted it to come from the outside.

So I’d gotten my hopes up.

Maybe this book, I’d thought. Or maybe this person, who was far more sensitive to wickedness than others; maybe she would find me. Maybe she would see through me.

But even though she could see so close, even though she could see through everything else, I was the one thing she wouldn’t look at.

It was worse than a lecture or contempt. It was more painful than anything.