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Solanin: A Comforting Coming of Age for The Lost 23-Year-Old
🕑 Added 2024-12-01 04:50:52 +0000 UTCAuthor: Gabrielle Pascal
Editor: Nicole Mejias
Spoiler Warning: Contains spoilers for Solanin.
I had everything a person could need. A roof over my head. Food on the table. A supportive family and friends. I was in graduate school for writing and learning from professors who published books and had successful careers of their own. I’d hear my future was bright and that I had serious potential. I was surrounded by blessings and given so much love, yet it wasn’t filling. None of it felt earned. The guilt that came from this feeling was second only to my constant anxiety. I didn’t know what lay ahead and if I could measure up to the expectations of everyone’s belief in me. I convinced myself I had to prove I was worthy of it and that following my dream was not a mistake. That it may be a difficult journey but was the one I was meant to be on. However, as graduation neared, job rejections piled up, and my writing struggled, I began to doubt. I was in unknown territory, no longer a student and not really feeling like an adult. I retreated into myself, putting on my best face for the ones I loved most because I didn’t want them to worry.
This is when I read Solanin. I found myself on the same journey as its protagonist, and as I watched her tread along, slowly and unsure of every step, I found familiarity. I thought if she could put some of her pieces together, maybe she’d teach me to do the same for mine. What I discovered was not some perfect glue, but comfort in the new journey I was on.
What is Solanin?
Meiko Inoue was bored. Her job’s mundanity drained her by the second, and she knew if she didn’t do something, she’d be another corpse stuffed in the morning train. Quitting seemed to be the right answer, yet right as she left her job, Meiko realized she was still a drifter, just a bit more alive. There’d be time to bask in the midday sun, lounge around her apartment, and do the things she enjoyed, but it was all on a ticking clock. Her savings would run out eventually and she’d have to find work again. There’d be no guarantee it’d be more fulfilling than her previous one.
Meiko often speaks to herself as she wanders. One day, she questions if there can be a different path for her. She asks if “there are a million other opportunities, hibernating somewhere in this city? ‘Jump the track your life is stuck on and be free. It’s like a dark whisper calling to me. But I’m not brave enough to listen.”
Solanin (2006)
Meiko knows she’s not the one with deep passions or big dreams. Her longtime boyfriend, Naruo Taneda, is the one who wants to be a famous musician. But he’s a drifter, too. When he’s not at his freelance job, he plays in a band with old friends, and they have yet to show promise of hitting it big time. The young couple struggle together to find their way out of the unknown.
Solanin is the story of this in-between phase. Along with a cast of sweet friends, the manga unwinds what it means to be lost in the view of ordinary people with extraordinary dreams. The manga, created by Inio Asano, ran from 2005 to 2006 in Shogakukan's Weekly Young Sunday. It was later adapted into a 2010 film directed by Takahiro Miki.
There is much to examine in Solanin, but for this article, I’d like to focus on what I found to be the essential truth of this story. Growing up is hard but also something to look forward to. We may lose much with our youth, but stepping into adulthood does not mean we are empty. We’ve just found ourselves on another stage, carrying all the heartbreak, lessons, and mistakes of the past so we may find the proper voice to sing. I believe this is shown beautifully in the main relationship of Solanin – Meiko and Taneda. And it is when Meiko comes home to him, bearing news of her impulsive decision, that their story begins.
Taneda has things handled. Solanin (2006)
Where Do I Go From Here?
In the aftermath of Meiko quitting her job, her relationship with Taneda enters fragile ground. He initially promised that he would take care of the two of them and that all would be okay, but that quickly proved to be as naive as it first sounded. He doesn’t know the answer to her confusion with life and neither did she. Things turn tense. In an effort for something good to come out of their quiet despair, Meiko tells Taneda to start pursuing his music seriously. Perhaps in Meiko’s mind, if he gave his all to something, that might show her how to do the same. And if it turned out perfectly, there’d be a light in their life again. Meiko tells Taneda to hold on to his dream, even with the hardships of life.
He is hesitant at first, but gives in, with one stipulation. He’ll allow himself a month. After all, he’d been playing music for years, and nothing had come out of it yet. He’s afraid he’s not talented enough and thinks that “living the lukewarm life of a part-timer is so comfortable. When you’re sincere about doing something, you’re stalked by the fear that there’s no turning back. And as time passes, your options definitely narrow. I’ve gotten older.” He and Meiko were only getting old with less room for directionless dreams. So, after more time considering the impact of this choice, Taneda decided to put his all into recording a solid record with his band and if it didn’t result in any serious response, he would hang up his guitar.
Meiko worries about this immediately. His part-time gig at a design firm was their only source of income. When it seems they’re about to start another fight, Taneda soothes her, saying “we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” This shows the complicated reality of chasing a dream. If you don’t have a safety net – wealth or security – it’s always a risk. Failure means more than personal hurt, it can change the course of your life. When it happens repeatedly, there comes a point where you must prioritize survival above chasing passion. You can’t always give it your all.
Meiko and Taneda, Solanin (2006)
For me, this means finding a steady job I enjoy with some freelance pursuits. While I know they will take up most of my writing and photography time, these are things I need. I do not believe in straying away from a “day job” because of that. For one thing, I can’t. I also think these experiences benefit my creativity because they’re another opportunity to broaden my perspective, expand my world, and hopefully be of service to a meaningful cause. Lastly, work makes me cherish every spare hour or day I do have.
Yet, when I got to this point in the manga, I found myself relating more to Meiko’s anxiety than Taneda’s determination. I can’t ever take off a month to just write, but if I could, I imagine the pressure of something extraordinary to come out of it would be crushing. I had some form of this in my graduate program. My peers were all fantastic, experienced, and talented, and I was intimated daily. I struggled to find the balance between real life and my dreams, all the while watching others seemingly find theirs seamlessly. Everyone looked like they were speeding ahead and I felt stuck, strangled by my fears about the future and my doubts about my place in the program. Those things affected my writing, as each submission became harder to do and I got lost in what my book and future were going to be. Each semester went on and suddenly, I was in the last one, still scared and more alone than I’d ever been. However, I kept going. I hung on to writing. I’d rather be scared while doing something than regret having done nothing at all. Taneda made the same decision. For him, this month was a chance to prove his dream could become real.
Eyes shining bright. Solanin (2006)
When Meiko looked at Taneda during one of his rehearsals, I was amazed as she was at the passion beautifully illustrated. She remarked that Taneda’s eyes shone bright like a kid, and I remembered what my writing was like then. I didn’t have the stresses of adulthood weighing on my mind or the doubts if I was good at it or not. It was just something I had fun doing. Meiko thought to herself what it would be like if things were always that way. They should be. I remember putting the book down for a while reading that scene. I knew the answer was no, I would never return to being a kid again when the summer was endless and everything seemed easy.
Things Keep Changing
Taneda’s band gets an offer at Kumagaya Records, a meeting. They say that the band can be a backup for a rising star they’re managing. Before Taneda can answer, Meiko says no. That’s not what Taneda dreamt of and what they’ve sacrificed so much to make real. Afterward, Taneda retreats to the bathroom, where he bumps into the same executive who crushed him.
It turns out he used to be an indie musician who never got far with his efforts. For Taneda though, this man was an inspiration. It was listening to his music in high school that made him want to sing. Taneda asks the musician-now-executive, “why is someone like you acting like a corporate sell-out now?”
A turning point. Solanin (2006)
He responds by saying he wasn’t made to be a backup musician and that the music his record company produced wasn’t real enough for him anymore. Taneda is enraged. He accuses him of settling with money being the only real thing. He’s quickly shut down. For the executive, it was simply a change of priority. His pride was no longer the most important thing. He didn’t mind that Taneda thought he was a loser because he knew he was still fighting, it’s just done on his terms, out of the spotlight. Taneda couldn’t understand that at his young age, but he might when he grew older.
After the record company meeting, Taneda stayed true to his word. He broke up the band. When Meiko suggested that it wasn’t like him, he snapped, crying out “What is ‘like me?’ What should I do?! Everything you say and do just puts more pressure on me. You don’t know what to do so you just do nothing and force everything on me!” Meiko snapped in return. Taneda promised he would always be there for her, no matter the circumstance. He promised he’d take care of things after she left her job and now he’s chosen to give up. However, for Taneda, it was closure. He always wondered what would happen if he gave everything to music. He was only good enough to be a backup. It wasn’t enough. If he couldn’t compromise on his dream, he’d shift course.
Meiko lost in thoughts. Solanin (2006)
The young couple share a night together. It seems things are about to end for Meiko and Taneda. He disappears after he goes out for a walk, and in the meantime, a package arrives with stacks of Taneda’s CDs. Meiko listens, and what she hears gives her closure on their tenuous situation. On the record, Taneda sings “misunderstandings are beyond the sky/we caught a glimpse of our future/but it’s time for goodbye.” It was a break-up song, and she didn’t know it until it played in her ears. Her encouraging Taneda to pursue music seriously may have sounded good in Meiko’s head, but in reality, it was her ignoring her fears about her own life. She meets up with her friend, Kotani, when Taneda’s gone. She confesses that she tried to “change things for the good” by quitting her job, but she still didn’t know what to do. She got a chance to see her future with Taneda, and while it didn’t horrify her, she knew they’d leave things unfinished. Therefore, Meiko put all her faith in finding an answer in Taneda’s music career flourishing, and when it didn’t, she returned to the empty feeling she had at the beginning of Solanin. A drifter once more, only now in danger of losing the man she’d loved for six years.
After more days pass, Taneda finally reappears. He’s gotten a new cell phone and was starting a new full-time job at the design agency he used to freelance for. He’s also, shockingly, keeping the band together. In their time apart, he found clarity. He calls Meiko, saying “I honestly thought I was going to change the world with my music. I thought I’d face down any obstacle in order to reach my goals. But I’ve realized that I didn’t really want to become a musician. I just wanted to play in a band. With the guys, and you Meiko. That’s all I really want.” Taneda didn’t want to be famous or influential anymore. He wanted contentment, and that was made in the time he spent with those he loved. Meiko asked him, relieved, if he would finally come home to her. He was all she wanted, too.
Meiko and Taneda end their phone call sharing that blissful realization. Meiko may not have the purpose she was seeking and Taneda may not be a famous musician, but at least, they had people to love. They had each other. That could be enough.
One final thought. Solanin (2006)
Finally, after all the confusion and fear of what to do with their lives, some things are coming into place. Taneda looked up to the sky, fulfilled, and this is when the most devastating part of Solanin occurs. As he starts up his motorbike, Taneda is hit by a car. He dies alone in the street, and his eyes close thinking of a love song he never sang to Meiko.
After He’s Gone
Two months have passed. Meiko takes up a job at a florist. She doesn’t love it. She only works there to forget, but it’s impossible. All she can do is think of what-ifs. What if she didn’t quit her job or pressured Taneda so much? What if she never went on that first date with him? Her apartment becomes a cold place filled with memories and ghosts slowly chipping away at her. Again, she needs change. This time, it’s not because of purpose or freedom from a job she hated. She knows she must move on from losing Taneda but is unsure how or if she even wants to.
One day, she visits Taneda’s father. He’s just like him. Happy, funny, and warm. The two talk about Taneda and how they were never close. His son grew into a man, and he barely got to see it. In the apartment Meiko and Taneda once shared, his father caught a glimpse of his son’s old guitar. They once fought about Taneda’s love for music, eventually agreeing. If Taneda graduated from college and still wanted to pursue the craft, his father wouldn’t stop him. The only stipulation was that Taneda could never give up. This illuminates to Meiko how difficult Taneda’s journey must have been. Music was something he poured himself into, but with Meiko’s insistence, it became another pressure of life. That was something he was fine with initially, it might have been something he needed, but it was shut down brutally by the business. However, there was an opportunity in that rejection for Taneda. It took some time, but he found something else to cherish and be passionate about. Building a life with Meiko.
Prove he existed. Solanin (2006)
She apologizes to his father. Meiko divulges that she feels she’s to blame for Taneda’s death. His father tries to absolve her by saying she was someone Taneda deeply loved. She wasn’t the cause of his pain. But if she couldn’t get past hers and her guilt, maybe Meiko could live as proof of Taneda’s existence instead.
This effort takes an unexpected form. She puts Taneda’s band together, with her becoming the new guitarist and vocalist. They work hard on learning how one another moves and singing the love song Taneda left behind at a concert they get an offer for. Its name was Solanin. When Meiko reads it, she discovers that it’s also about leaving Taneda’s old self behind, and through her voice, both messages could merge. She’d say goodbye to him through the art he deeply loved. Maybe he’d hear her, wherever his soul ended up in the Milky Way. For Meiko, this goodbye could be a marker for the confusing page in her life to turn.
When the concert day finally arrives, Meiko goes into shock. She’d never played in front of a crowd before. She’d never even picked up a guitar until a few months ago. Now, she was on a stage just as her late boyfriend wished to be. The only thing that snaps her out of that haze is her friends, who are right beside her. Don’t be afraid, they let her know with a smile. Whether they fail or not doesn’t matter. They’re on that stage to give it their all. And so, they do. They sing with all the passion, sadness, and rage that’s consumed them in those dark months. Meiko’s voice cracks and she’s pretty sure the performance was a mess, but when they get to Taneda’s song, Solanin, it is the one they get right.
The final song. Solanin (2006)
When the concert comes to an end, Meiko thinks about what they’ve been through. She’s still not sure what she’s doing in Tokyo without a stable job. But a day like the one she had with her band, even if she knew the song would come to an end, was worth having. Wiped out after the concert, she remembers when she first met Taneda. In the beginning, awkward stages of their relationship, she remembers when he told her how invincible playing music made him feel. He knew that life was hard and that the world was always confusing, but “if I keep playing music and believing in that, I have a feeling that I can change the world, even if it’s only a little.”
I remember having victories like this. There was an evening where I met one of my favorite authors. I got the chance to speak about her for a youth organization I interned with in high school. It turned out that she also wrote for them, years before I had the chance. What meant more than this was the fact that my family came with me. On the way home, they told me they were proud.
Around that time, I had freshly graduated and the uncertainty of my future loomed. It became one of those thoughts I felt physically, like an invisible weight I dragged around. I wondered if I was good enough to be more than a student, if I had made the best use of my time to be ready for the “real world,” and if I’d ever fall in love with writing again. It was a moment too quick to capture, but the feeling remained. My family told me they were proud, and it shocked me. I felt like a failure, but they were happy just to see me smile. I thought, for the first time, that even if I never did anything meaningful, things might be alright. I shifted my focus from changing the world to cherishing mine. I already meant something. I was loved.
Proof. Solanin (2006)
After the concert, Meiko gets another job at a small company in Tokyo. She still plays music every so often with the band, even if she still considers herself a beginner. She moves out of the apartment filled with ghosts to a small one-bedroom in a new neighborhood. It’s a nerve-wracking change, but an exciting one as well. Meiko and her friends say goodbye to the old place she once shared with Taneda. They close the door and walk along the beach. The day is nice with some clouds in the sky.
In the final pages of Solanin, she thinks of what will happen when she can no longer see days like this. If such a time arrives, Meiko thinks with a warm smile on her face, she’d be satisfied as long as she can still be with the people she loves. That’s enough.
This ending is what I loved and learned the most from in Solanin. I dove into it expecting concrete answers on how to get my life together but came out with the understanding I couldn’t find that in words or fictional characters. No one in the real world could give that to me, either.
Cherish every ordinary day. Solanin (2006)
I used to think that adulthood meant having everything figured out. I’d dream of reaching the age where I’d know all the answers and wouldn’t know fear. But I am an adult now, or becoming one. I’m realizing there is no magic age where I’ll piece myself together. That’s daily work. And yes, it is slow, non-linear, and hurts most of the time. It reveals the worst parts of ourselves and the memories we want to forget. It’s also something we experience together. No one knows their future. Everyone has pain in their past. To know I’m not alone in that eases the ache. I was relieved to see Meiko smiling at the end. She never found the answer, made a perfect life, or found a grand purpose but was still content. I think a part of me needed to see that in another lost young person. I was more hopeful and felt less alone.
I break apart and stumble all the time, and when I feel it happening, it’s like a knife in my chest. I get angry with myself when I repeat a mistake or get rejected from a job I saw myself in too much. Sometimes, I turn cold, numb, and unmotivated, and end up losing weeks to the doubts and negativity replaying in my head. I still put too much pressure on myself. But I’m learning it’s ok to let those things rock me because as I do the work that hurts, I’ve found more room for happiness. It’s opened my eyes to the beautiful things around me I’d long taken for granted. The food on my table, roof over my head, and supportive friends and family could fill me if I chose them to.
Now, there’s an excitement for the future I never had before, even if it’s still scary. And I’m dreaming again. I want to have a book of my own someday. I want to hold it in my hands and see my name written in bold letters. While that day feels far away, I know I’m on the path to reach it.
So, I won’t give up. I’ll keep walking, small steps one day at a time, towards my dream. And on the way, I will cherish the days I’m lost in now. I think I’ll miss them when I’m old.
