I Had That Same Dream Again

In hindsight I wish I had read I Had That Same Dream Again sooner, rather than letting it sit on my bookshelf for years. Beyond my wildest imagination did I not expect this book to be so impactful and become so important to me. It has been a long time since I cried from reading a book.

Some authors are capable of writing in such a way as to allow the reader to form a strong emotional connection with the characters. This greatly elevates the emotional impact of any tense scenes. Or in simpler terms, some authors write sad/romantic/stressful scenes so well that you feel sad/romantic/stressful and cry. But what Yoru Sumino has written was not emotional to me because of the characters or the situations themselves—rather, and this is possibly the last thing I ever expected to read, they wrote a character that reflected some of my deepest, most personal, most fundamental beliefs so crystally-clear it is almost like I was reading a memoir about my past self.

I probably spend too much time thinking. One of the results of this is a love to indulge on the topic of human psychology. I never set out to learn psychology explicitly. Rather, my knowledge has amassed from snippets of things I have read online, and observations and analysis of other people that I would mostly describe as ‘pretty obvious.’ But knowledge of human psychology is a double-edged sword—the more I have learnt the more frustrated I have become. I am someone who loves ordered system. I love deconstructing everything into logical statements. I love thinking in layers of abstractions. And from this perspective, so many human behaviours are just so fucking stupid. It is unbelievable how many aspects of our behaviour are completely not suited for the modern-day environment, how many aspects of our behaviour are counter-productive in such an inter-connected society, how many aspects of our behaviour cause more grief than gain. And the frustrating part of this is not the behaviours themselves, but rather the powerlessness to do any change. We are talking about behaviours that are either literally instinctual or might as well be; they are too ingrained for change. Besides, even if they could be changed, the average person would have no interest. These beliefs come partly from what I believe to be “objectively”¹ correct, partly from arrogance, thinking I somehow know better.

So when I started reading this book, which described a character that reflected these beliefs so closely, I almost could not believe my eyes. One of my biggest gripes with numerous works of fiction I have read is, excuse the wordplay, the character of the main character. Too often they are embarrassed they are embarrassed. Too often they act spineless. Too often they are cowards. Meanwhile, here is a character who is none of these. A little girl who gives zero fucks about how others judge her. A girl who has not even one iota of patience to hearing stupidity. A girl who is only concerned with doing what she thinks is morally right.

As I read this book, I did not even initially realise how much the thought process of this girl mirrored my thoughts; I was too engrossed for the majority of the runtime. But towards the end, the story took a turn. Thinking back on it, I think I subconsciously knew that this twist would happen. Whilst the girl is trying to understand happiness, and conversing with other characters, they begin to point out the flaws in her thinking. Even if you think that people behave like sheep, lack critical thinking, have no clear moral grounding, rejecting them all leads to isolation. And this hit me strongly, as I had come to these same realisations myself, long ago. Recalling the past, I remembered the disappointment I felt when these realisations came to be. Yes, if people were not so emotionally driven, if people were more aware of their psychology, if people were more inclined to think logically, then this world would have less problems, and my life would (probably) be easier. But this hypothetical is akin to wishing for utopia, impossible by definition.

That is just life, I suppose. I have come to these realisations years ago, and I have accepted them, yet I can not fully get over how illogical it all is. That much is clear in the fact that I still get irritated when my mind wonders on the topic of psychology for too long. Nevertheless, I am thankfully occupied with enough stuff that my mind rarely has the time to monologue philosophically. I am most interested to re-read this novel in a few years and see how my views have changed by then.

On a separate tangent, finishing this book left me really pissed off. The whole story is about the girl trying to understand happiness. Multiple characters in the book give their thoughts on it. The epilogue concludes with the girls view on it. And yet I feel I have not learnt anything at all. There are plenty of positive emotions I can vividly picture: satisfaction, contentment, excitement to name a few. But what is happiness? Is it all of them combined? Is it something completely different? Is it one of the plethora of conflicting definitions I have read elsewhere? I have pondered this definition many times yet it still continues to elude me.