Thank you, God.

Thank you.

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green (slightly informal review)

I highly recommend The Fault in Our Stars, both to those searching for meaningful literature with a heart for honest, human characters, and those who have never yet felt a deep, personal connection to a novel. If you haven't a copy now, I'd recommend borrowing/buying one immediately.

(And if you know me personally, I should have two signed copies by January 18th.)

The Fault in Our Stars is John Green's (of YouTube's vlogbrothers) fourth solo work, following protagonist Hazel Grace Lancaster, a sardonic and literary teen with stage IV cancer in her thyroid and lungs, who begins begrudgingly attending a terribly depressing support group with a single redeeming presence (this presence being a young man by the name of Isaac, who has "fantastically improbable eye cancer"). Although content to reread her favorite novel, (the unfortunately fictional, as it seems it would beautifully follow the reading of this novel) An Imperial Affliction by Peter Van Houten in her room with little social interaction, Isaac's accompanying guest to support group, an immensely attractive young man by the name of Augustus Waters.

Overall, I have found little to criticize in The Fault in Our Stars. Some may find the characterization of a particular author in the novel (no spoilers) to be over-eccentric or contrived, but I would say to such arguments, that eccentric, angry, recluses existed before they were ever written into novels. As potentially unlikely as this character's inclusion may seem, his presence is not entirely impossible.

It's hard to write this review without giving spoilers. To say the least, I do not doubt for a second that TFiOS has the ability to make the most calculating and skeptical reader break down sobbing. If one has read any of John Green's work prior to this novel, one understands his incredible ability to create beautiful, witty, and brilliant characters. This incredible piece of literature is arguably his best work; Hazel and Augustus do not live simply within the pages of the novel, but are seated beside you throughout, narrating and conversing so honestly and so close, that the story is less like reading a book, but eavesdropping on your best friends. Their insights, on life, death, and love, are not the slightest bit contrived nor unoriginal, but raw, real, and wrought with philosophical depth.

I read the book in its entirety on the day which I received it, yet I would almost recommend taking a few days and a couple of "breathers" while reading, so as to take as much out of the experience of the book. It may only be a personal preference, but I feel as though taking longer to read a beautiful novel like this will produce a more powerful mark on one's thoughts, as Hazel, Augustus, Isaac, and their stories deserve.

How to reconcile the stupid things I do and everything else.

It seems I've lost the self-awareness that I once had. Or, perhaps, I am still self-aware, but my awareness lingers on the negative things I do, or, perhaps, my awareness has transferred to... well, I can't say a lot else. I'm still the same selfish, fallen, person I have always been. Yet I am older, but none the wiser, which I find highly unfortunate.

So again, I question myself. Why did I speak with whom I spoke to today? Do I truly long for friendship as I've ventured to attempt with the opposite gender? Or do I do what I do to satisfy some lesser need?

My meaning in life is to glorify God. And I know he wants us to be social. And I know these things are connected, even if it isn't always as simple as it should be to find the connection. So therein lies the question.

Do I intend to harm this person?

Absolutely not.

Will I harm him?

To be determined.

I feel a slight bit of harmful self-loathing and trapped feeling in this horrific cycle of selfishness, and I know the only solution is to focus on Christ. Perhaps His relationship with us. How sacrificial, how incredible, intense, true, loving, compassionate, graceful... My Lord, He did not live without meaning. He never sinned. He never hurt a human being.

And He still saved us, who have. Very much.

Me, who has. Very much. And to think, He sees us all as pure.

That's incredible.

I'm not. In the slightest. So I ask His forgiveness, and I know it's already been given. And I know I will change. I will. I'm not going to say "I can" or "I might". I have to be sure, now.

Tomorrow, at 8:30 PM, I will be someone with more love in my heart. I will. I will honor my Lord in all things that I do.

Just a thought about skylines.

I was feeling nostalgic as I stared at the skyline of Rochester, Minnesota this morning, and thinking about just how few buildings actually shone in the almost-sunrise, and how Los Angeles and San Diego seemed to go on forever in strings of light. Then I realized the majority of Rochester's morning lights were streetlights, lining the road, illuminating the path of the morning commuters to their destination. The streetlights showed evidence of people just as much as the buildings... people who cared, people who saw in the same, soft light, as they each took their individual journeys, together on one road.

Christmas 2011: Note.

I'm gonna write a series of entries based on/about a real vacation I just went on, and it's going to be done by the end of this week. It's a goal now, on to p of all the more important things I need to do. It might be posted here, or my story blog. Feel free to get on my case about it. Thanks, everyone.

Muddled Perspective[s?] (identity crisis #1 of 2012; disorganized entry, be warned.)

Hey, it's 2012. Happy New Year's.

It's time to start reflecting again. I think I was just so... deflective, trying to channel all my emotions into writing a terribly depressing and hopeless story that I gave no redemptive light. By all means, that one's going to change. The story's still in my heart, but it's going to be different next time around. My goal of one full draft by September of this year still stands. Regardless, I have a lot to write about, in a narrative fashion, but also in a reflective manner. I need to put my thoughts on something that I can look at, give to the internet, or better, on a page. But of course, technology makes me think this is faster, but clearly not more worthwhile. Yet I love all of you who read this blog, who think my thoughts count, who read and are genuinely interested in this indvidual who puts these thoughts up. Who are invested in me as a person, met, or unmet.

So thank  you for this.

I went on a fairly life-changing vacation of visiting my family in San Diego, CA over the past week, and I could write about that for so long. I don't want to put that off for long, but I do have some things I just need to put down here.

My life's been off-track for quite a while. I am a firm believer in Christ, I tried to follow him, but I was slipping up. I was starting to give into the lie that God could not possibly want me, that I was totally incapable of doing anything good for Him (which I am, but He is stronger and He is the one who leads me). I was bubbling with questions about everything, and wondering if/wishing that everything could just be true so I could go to sleep at night without knowing hell existed and that people I know and love and people I don't know and love in "Christian" way would be there. I was wondering if I could just open up my mind a little bit and let in some of these other philosophies mix in with the one I already took when I was four and five and eight.

I'd presume that certain Christians would say no, if it meant altering the Gospel and the core teaching of the Bible; I'd presume others might say there's nothing wrong with it. And I also wondered if there was a real right or wrong other than the socially defined.

So yes, those I know from church, perhaps psychology and sociology contributed to questions, but I thought they were good. See, I always lean on that idea that questions and doubts are good if they cause you to dig to find the truth. But I wasn't doing enough digging. Or perhaps not the right kind of digging. And I asked in my head and heart the question of the problem of suffering almost every week, if not more than that, and I arrogantly talked to my God. I read Orson Scott Card's first and second and a half of the third book of his "Ender" series, and questioned if I was Qing-Jao or Ender in how I saw God and approached him. I wondered right and wrong over and over and over.

I went on that trip, and came home and decided not to stress. And it could just be sleep-deprivation, but I definitely did stress. Rather than letting go, the questions I'd asked but put off just kind of piled in about an hour ago. And while I was on the phone with the ministry leader of the student ministry, Catalyst, that I wanted to start at my school, called me, he gave me the perspective I needed again. He asked me important questions.

What three words do I want to define me?

And so I try to do this now:

Christlike, Compassionate, Listener.

That's for this year. It does say a lot, I think, about me. And I don't want to compartmentalize my life. Everything in it affects everything else. I know that we take on roles and we act differently for each, but now I need to reconcile all those roles. Sociologically, you could say my "master status" is Christ-follower. Not for religion, but for what defines my whole self. Next, come the general roles of daughter, sister, friend, cousin, organization member... etc. Writer. Artist. I want to understand so much. And there's just so much to take in. And I don't want to end up thinking and not ever doing. So that, I suppose are some of my goals for the year. Reconcile the roles, the statuses, the actions, the thoughts behind them. Follow Christ above all.

The moment when you admit you have a problem.

I've had a lot of moments where I've done the above ^ (in the title). Just not always at the right time, or with the right people. Well... generally, I HAVE done such things with the right people at a semi-decent time. It takes longer to do so with certain individuals (like my parents or certain other adults), yet I tend to do it. I'm not very closed (if you haven't noticed by the fact I ever-so-narcissistically write BLOGS about myself) about how I feel. Sometimes I just write a blog post or a poem, or even do that crazy thing where you pull out a small spiral-bound collection of paper between two fancy-cardboard-y panels (AKA, a journal )and write in it. And then I'm done with those. Or not. I might write hundreds of entries about the same subject (not hundreds... just several entries, at least).
Sometimes I'm having a problem because someone else is having a problem and it makes me upset. But most of the time, because I'm a selfish person, my problems are the ones that stem from my own problems, and my own mis-prioritzed life. Like I've written fifty-zillion other times, I cry mostly out of guilt. Perhaps guilt for NOT feeling as bad as I should, or guilt from not meeting an expectation I knew I was capable of, or... well, mostly the latter. And stress, from not meeting those expectations. I suppose taking psychology class makes me understand better the poor reasoning behind my illogical, irrational thought processes and actions.

Nevertheless, I HAVE poor reasoning and illogical, irrational thought processes and actions. I act out these things quite often, in fact.

So gone is another post about procrastination. Tomorrow, I'm talking to an individual who is just as difficult to speak to as he is easy to speak to. He is one of the adults I'm talking about, but he is younger than most adults I would seek mentorship or the like from. But he knows a lot. And I'm really glad that he'd take time out of the day to talk to me. Take from that what you will, but this is another one of those moments for me.

I'm going to present the bigger spiritual questions I've wrestled with, as well as some of the annoying and pervasive identity questions I've brought up every now and then here. And hopefully, I'll have a better understanding by the end of our discussion. That, and good pasta (Noodles and Company).

I'm also going to start attempting to stop taking myself so seriously. I do that a ton.

That's all, folks. You are all deeply loved. :)

Another poem. ("Crumble")

That pressure, pressure,
pressurepressurepresssurepressure....
collapse is imminent.
stack, stack, stack
the bricks.
paste
paste
paste
the Elmer's glue
mortar.
smear it all over
the walls.
they were built years ago,
Collapse is imminent.

built
built
built
on a foundation of sand.

the storm's been brewing
for months.
from this ocean to that.

On the outside,
the building is fine.
Built up strong,
and honest,
true.

take a step inside,
and see...

collapse is imminent.
Definite.
Devastation
if not torn down.
and built back up,
on stone with fresh,
new,
walls.

There's always a lot to say.

Sorry, everyone. I'm flighty and inconsistent, etc. You know me.

I'm just thinking. I've been thinking a lot. Too much, perhaps. On Friday, a rather enjoyable event occurred for me. I believe I may have gone on a date-type-thing. The young man in my Sociology class took me to the movie Tower Heist; fortunately, we both only considered it "okay". Which was awesome. His car was freezing before it warmed up when he drove me home, but he had some similarly "nerdy" likes, such as Avatar: The Last Airbender, and he has an affinity for post-apocalyptic literature which is really cool, in my opinion. So I think I might like him. Perhaps. I'm still figuring it out.

And at the same time, I had two to three disturbing dreams this weekend. And I didn't do my persuasive speech outline, even though the topic is utterly compelling to me and I chose it (educating the public about Mental Illness/Disorder). It was because the outline was late and I wouldn't get the ten points anyway. Motivation dropped. Wrong, yes, but unfortunately the truth.

I'm still struggling with motivation and procrastination, very much with procrastination. I haven't even kept on with NaNoWriMo, which is my favorite part of the writerly year. I wish to place my creativity in such endeavors as my story, Sunlight, but I find myself, rather, wanting to develop a trailer for the book, or storyboards at least in my sketchbook. Draw it rather than write it. Even though the story is not cinematic in the slightest. I always see it as one of those dramas that not many watch, but those who do, love it. It may be narcissistic, but it's the vision I have for the story.

The student ministry at school is failing, kind of. Well, not really. It's working.  Just not the way I saw it going. It's not big. We're not reaching a lot of people. And we couldn't make the big Catalyst Coalition event last Thursday, due to ride issues.

I still don't have my license. And I won't, at least until January or maybe December in California if my mom can arrange that. I don't even know how that's going to work.

And you know what's terrible?

Just the way we never notice what the heck other people are going through... I could write an entire post about that. I might do just that.

Otherwise, this weekend was great. The date-type-thing was pretty fun, and my dearest friends put on a fantastic play, "The Curious Savage". It was awesome.

Anyway, I'd say... I'm at a very uncertain point in my life. I pray all the time. But I usually vent or question, rather than praise. I feel guilty about it, but guilt isn't what should happen... Praise should come naturally, because God is worthy of praise. I know he can take my doubt and my questions, but I'm fearful in the fact that I believe, perhaps this is wrong, I'm not sure, that I should feel more assurance than doubt. And yes, feelings lie. Absolutely, they do. The human heart is a most dishonest thing. I'm having what those of my church might say is a "head-heart" issue. I should read my Bible more. I should listen to praise music and get closer and closer to God... but what I really, really feel, is afraid and like... well, as the past months of youth group have taught me, like a poser. I just don't know, half the time. I don't even know when I'm acting or being true anymore. Half the time, anyway. Which is even more confusing.

And at this point, I just want to go to bed. I don't want to do my homework, which is awful because it needs to be done. And I want to write NaNo, but I just... I want to sleep. I'd rather dream of Damir's awful life circumstances than this strange and common experience of identity confusion. Damir has identity confusion too, especially when all he defined himself by is taken away from him. It hurts to write it sometimes. I seem to draw new things from my own writing every week.

And I know exactly what Sunlight says about me. I don't know if I'd tell you, but if you asked... well... I guess I'm always up to talking about myself.

Those who pray: my friends are in great need of prayer, especially after loss and experiencing their own crises.

Thanks, all. God bless. You are all loved.

So I finally read "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chobsky.

To start, I'll say that I took absolutely, way too long to read this book. It is a slim volume of 213 pages, written in a very simple and direct style, in the form of letters that read more like a diary, but very fitting to the protagonist, Charlie.

This book had been floating around in suggested books for me everytime I looked up anything on Amazon.com, and, like another fantastic novel (Thirteen Reasons Why), I took forever to actually read it, in spite of being interested in it for years. While I've eaten up other books I've procrastinated (such as the aforementioned novel), this one took me a while to get through. I can't really explain why, but I'll say this: this book is surprisingly layered for the style that it is presented.

I'll be honest, I doubted it as I paged my way through the first segments of the story. I thought that Charlie/Chobsky was doing a lot of "telling" and not "showing", and then the further I got in, the more I realized that the "telling" he was doing was very limited. Charlie has a way of distancing himself, and listening, and pondering, and although his words are uncomplicated (something that even he makes reference to near the beginning of the book), there is a lot of "showing" being done. This story manages to capture virtually all aspects of this teen's life. I'm not sure if I would exactly describe Charlie as a "wallflower", and though others may say that he learns to participate throughout the story, I would say that he is sort of participating throughout the entire novel, but in a much more... passive... way. But he is actually very active socially among his friends. It is simply fascinating, though, how much the story manages to say about family, friendships, and all sorts of relationships.

And that ending. I loved the ending. Mainly for the support that was shown by friends and family, and I won't expand on what occurs.

Regardless, I can see why this book is considered a modern "classic" coming-of-age story. I suppose this "review" is particularly vague. My personal summary (I think there are significantly better ones out there, but just in case...):

Charlie is very perceptive 15-year-old, who enters high school without his old friends and with little life experience. He keenly observes all those around him, and frequently ponders the circumstances in which they find themselves, as well as his own. His strengths lie in observation and reading only, until seniors and step-siblings Sam and Patrick take him under their wing. Through them, he begins to make deeper social connections and is swept into that "classic" high school world of sex, drugs, and "rock and roll"... not to mention the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Peering into Charlie's world with his sensitive eyes offers a very striking image of the high school life for an outsider thrust into the life of deep connection to others. And (as per the "coming-of-age" story), in this life, he begins to realize things about himself he never realized before.

I would say that Charlie is a very sympathetic protagonist. And sometimes his passivity is frustrating. Yet, when he does step up, his actions are strong. He is... just someone you wish was real. Someone you'd want as a shoulder, and someone you'd want to be there for.

Also, the '90's. Mixtapes and 'zines, guys. Mixtapes and 'zines.

All in all, I do recommend this book. Read it at least once. Then reread it to see if you can see anything else that you didn't before. I feel like it's a book that you could do this with.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower is my favorite book now, because it was the last one I've read. ;)