Human Imperfection

'In his final hours, he had tidied up the manuscript so that his wife could find it. Below it, around it, inside his two computers, on old floppy disks in his drawers were hundreds of other pages—drafts, character sketches, notes to himself, fragments that had evaded his attempt to integrate them into the novel. This was his effort to show the world what it was to be “a f***ing human being.” He had not completed it to his satisfaction. This was not an ending anyone would have wanted for him, but it was the ending he chose.'

http://thepenguinblog.typepad.com/

I was reading a novel by Murakami, and the story was about human imperfections, and that the protagonist was a 15 year old boy, Kafka, who ran away from home and who met with characters who were like him, who ran away and try to discover themselves. The story juxtaposed with another one, an elderly handicapped man, Nakata, who could converse with cats, on account of an incident that occurred when he was a young boy, where he was unconscious for a long time, and when he woke up, he experienced the lack of memory where he could not remember a thing about himself, his family and everything else. But he could talk to cats.

There is something perfect about human imperfections. It is not an apology or an excuse, but an insight of the human condition that describes the reality of humans are.