I walked into the examination room and asked if I could place my personal belongings, including the book I was reading, on the desk. Since January of this year, I have been obsessed with Murakami. I’m still going through all his books. The book I had with me that day was A Wild Sheep Chase. It is equal parts absurd, haunting, and somehow relatable.

When I start to write, I don’t have any plan at all. I just wait for the story to come. I don’t choose what kind of story it is or what’s going to happen.

— Haruki Murakami

I also started reading about him and his process. I always had this idea that conditions have to be perfect for me to write; Murakami disagrees. I adapted my writing based on three things he mentioned. First, Murakami says to write whenever, and write whatever, and see where it takes you. Second, he doesn’t have a grand scheme when he starts a book; he writes characters and then thinks about what this would character do in this given situation. The last is that he thinks in titles. He says before he knew what Kafka on the Shore was going to be about, the title flashed in his head. The title thing I used to do anyway, and the other two I’m trying to incorporate.

Fernando Pessoa, strictly speaking, doesn’t exist.

—Alvaro de Campos

Pessoa, on the other hand, gave me a golden key to the world of writing, which is creating a pseudonym. He wrote under dozens of pseudonyms. I’ve always feared judgment and failure. Handing my fake alias the weight of all the failures has allowed me to write more freely. Whenever that personality fails, I can create another one just like that. I recently got the idea to create more personalities beyond writing. I could get another number and pretend I’m my own secretary. That way, I can’t blame myself for mistakes or stumbles my secretary made.

He wrote under dozens of names, a practice – or compulsion – that began in his childhood. He called his most important personas “heteronyms,” endowing them with biographies, physiques, political views, religious attitudes, and literary pursuits.

—Richard Zenith

After placing my stuff, the nurse took my vitals. The doctor was pacing the hallway in what seemed to be an intense conversation. Still, I couldn’t entirely focus on my curiosity —I’d just left the office after 10 hours, and I still had to go back after the appointment. My brain was barely functioning. The nurse apologized for the delay, and I responded that it was OK because the longer I’m here, the longer I’m away from my desk at work. My entire body was held together by stress, about to fall apart at any given moment.

The doctor suddenly walked in after finishing the phone call. He immediately saw the book on the desk with my stuff. He introduced himself, and coincidentally, we had the same name, but it didn’t register in my mind. He then rapidly switched to asking me about Murakami—and again, I didn’t catch his question and asked him to repeat it three times. Getting desperate, he pointed at the book with his finger and said, “THE BOOK.”

After I finally understood what he was asking about, I was still a little unsure what to say; no one had asked me about Murakami before. The only reason I was introduced to Murakami was that the love of my life recommended Kafka on the Shore to me and then proceeded to block me afterward. I still think about her and why she chose that book specifically. She is very well-read, and she also chose the perfect book for me. I adored it. It hit every emotion, from discomfort, horror, lust, and grief all the way to ecstasy. It was also relatable to our own relationship, which is why I really needed to talk about Murakami with her, something that will never happen in this lifetime.

I have been complaining about not having a social life for a while since I moved back to Riyadh and that there aren’t enough people with the same interests. Yet recently the universe might have finally opened the dusty suggestion box I’ve been placing index cards with demands. In return I get more random encounters with interesting people.

Now the ball is in my court, and hopefully, I won’t choke.