No Longer Human Osamu Dazai

THE SECOND NOTEBOOK

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On the shore, at a point so close to the ocean one might imagine it
was there that the waves broke, stood a row of over twenty fairly tall
cherry trees with coal-black trunks. Every April when the new school
year was about to begin these trees would display their dazzling
blossoms and their moist brown leaves against the blue of the sea. Soon
a snowstorm of blossoms would scatter innumerable petals into the
water, flecking the surface with points of white which the waves carried
back to the shore. This beach strewn with cherry blossoms served as
the playground of the high school I attended. Stylized cherry blossoms
flowered even on the badge of the regulation school cap and on the
buttons of our uniforms.
A distant relative of mine had a house nearby, which was one reason
why my father had especially selected for me this school of cherry
blossoms by the sea. I was left in the care of the family, whose house
was so close to the school that even after the morning bell had rung I
could still make it to my class in time if I ran. That was the kind of lazy
student I was, but I nevertheless managed, thanks to my accustomed
antics, to win popularity with my schoolmates.
This was my first experience living in a strange town. I found it far
more agreeable than my native place. One might attribute this,
perhaps, to the fact that my clowning had by this time become so much
a part of me that it was no longer such a strain to trick others. I

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wonder, though, if it was not due instead to the incontestable difference
in the problem involved in performing before one's own family and