Weird flex but ok
But my real comment is this. Writing a narrative is a struggle to make a legible form out of disparate fragments. This is obviously a chapter of metacommentary on life as a narrative arc (beginning middle end) that everyone is normalized into thinking life is supposed to be lived. From different conversations there is plenty of reflecting on the past, past decisions and their consequences, past desires for the future and the horizons that open and close along the way. We are constantly attempting to self narrate our life in order fit into a legible form, an arc that stretches toward some recognizable future (arts or sciences, a homemaker or a office worker), and this narrative gives meaning to all the fragmentary and episodic instanced that we have experienced. Or at least we hope it will give us a sense of meaning. But sometimes life remains incoherent and noisy, like radio interference, as Makio says “the world is too loud.” By the end of the chapter, after struggling on, and especially after talking it out with others, the writer finishes the narrative, makes sense of the world and their place in it, albeit briefly. Life is a struggle oftentimes to find meaning in living, writers write despite going into slumps, to see where the story goes. I guess we got to keep living just like writers, to see where the story goes.