Even though I was in such a chaotic state, the decision to begin searching for something, anyway, was for me a reality. Ever since the war I had been unable to believe in anything and as a result life had been meaningless. Now I had at least begun to look for something. On that dark night when I had tried to end my life in the sea, a part of my life ended and another part began.

In spite of wanting to die, I don’t think I had taken death seriously enough. Death ought to have been the most important thing for me. That night when I was facing the solemn imminence of death and the vinegared rice had tasted so good, I had thought, “When a man resolves to die he is unexpectedly serene.” Later, I decided I had not even been serious about death. And if I could not even take my own death seriously, how could I take everyday life seriously? Although I had been so negative until that night, I had thought that I was at least being serious about human existence, but I found out that I was mistaken. 

After the defeat of Japan in 1945, a tuberculosis patient searches for meaning.