Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell

Jadi gini... UN selesai, dan kemarin udah nyelesain The Fault In Our Star by John Green, and that book is just awesome, I have nothing to do with that. Terus nyelesain Eleanor& Park tadi pagi.

Okay, before I begin, I'll just share some quotes from that book.

Bono met his wife in high school, Park says.
So did Jerry Lee Lewis, Eleanor answers.
I’m not kidding, he says.
You should be, she says, we’re 16.
What about Romeo and Juliet?
Shallow, confused, then dead.
I love you, Park says.
Wherefore art thou, Eleanor answers.
I’m not kidding, he says.
You should be.

'Oh, yeah,' he said. 'You know me.' 
I don't, she thought to herself, not really.

'I just can't believe that life would give us each other,' he said, 'and then take it back.'
'I can,' she said. 'Life's a bastard.'

There's no such thing as handsome princes, she told herself.
There's no such thing as happily ever after.

...

Okay, so.. Eleanor is not that lucky girl, I can say. Singkat cerita, dia ketemu Park, half-Asian-boy, di bus, pas mau berangkat sekolah. Jadi, Eleanor itu semacam anak pindahan. Pas baru datang gak diperlakuin baik sama temen-temennya. She looked for her seat, but the seat is already taken by everyone, as usual. Cuman si Park yang duduk sendiri. Yes, he have an 'extra' seat.

'Sit down,' he said. It came out angrily. The girl turned to him, like she couldn't tell whether he was another jerk or what. 'Jesus-fuck,' Park said softly, nodding to the space next to him, 'just sit down.'
The girl sat down.

Every morning, they were sitting next to each other since then, but never talked to each other. Never. Until finally, Park caught Eleanor reading the comic book that he was read. The next morning and after school, she always did it. Sneaking at his comic, 'till he feels like he should to turn the page slowly.
Dan akhirnya, Park bawain buku-buku comicnya, and he putted it on Eleanor's seat. You can borrow it, he said. Thanks, she said. The next morning, she returned 'em to him, and he already brought the new packs of the book. And it always go on and on and on. Without saying a word. Again.

'Do you like The Smith?' Park asked as he looked at the list of The Smith songs on her book. 'I don't,' she replied. 'Then why you wrote their songs on your book? So that people think that you love them?' 'Short of. I've never even heard any of their song.' 
By the night, Park made a tape of The Smith songs for her. He didn't know why he did it, but he did it anyway. The next morning, as always, he putted the books on Eleanor's seat. But with the tape.

'I can't take it. I don't have the player to hear it,' Eleanor said.
So then, he shared his earphone and let her to hear those songs from his ipod. And then love, start to bloom since then.

It was all fun and game, you know. Like a fairy tale. Like in a movie. They went together, and blah-blah-blah, as you can imagine, BUT THEN.

But then the ending, crashed the beautiful story to... I don't know, alas. but I hate the way it ends!
I mean, along those ending that can possibly occur, why do it have to end that way?!

Yak, si Eleanor ceritanya kan tinggal sama ayah tirinya yang galak. Sampai akhirnya dia kabur dari rumah. Anyway, rumah dia sama Park itu satu kompleks. Dia ketemu Park. Dibantulah dia kabur dari situ. Mau ke rumah pamannya, katanya. Posisi mereka di Omaha. Pamannya ada di Minnesota. He drove her to his uncle's house. Dimana malem itu mereka udah senang-senang di taman, and it was actually their first real-date, di malam itu juga, pas Eleanor pulang ke rumah, her step-dad and her mom were fighting, sampai akhirnya Eleanor harus pergi, dan akhirnya dia kabur gitu...

Sampai di Minnesota, everything was fine. She remembered his phone number. Of course, Park knows her uncle's address because he drove her there. And this is how I hate the ending.
She remembered Park's number, but she never called him ever since she was at her uncle's house. Park sent her gifts. Letters. Everything. She left the letters unopened, unread. Never replied it.

Seriously tough, what the fu--, Eleanor?! GIRLS!

Been months. He kept sending her those things. Until he stopped himself. And then he went to the prom-school, and kissed this one girl, named Cat. (Whhhyy?!)
Eleanor feels like it is not good for them if he keep sending her those things, but she found it worst when he gave her totally nothing. Until finally, the next day after prom, as Park woke up from his sleep, he got a postcard. And that was from Eleanor. The End.

Now tell me, why should I love the ending? It just frustrating, you know. It happened too fast. The life changing things. It just.. Too. Freaking. Fast. :"


But oh-well. Oh well.

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman by Haruki Murakami

Akhirnyaaa, selesai juga bacabuku ini :))
Ini tuh buku kumpulan cerpen. Dan bukannya persiapan buat UAS besok, gue malah baca buku ini yang ±150 halaman (total 500-sekian-halaman) dari malem sampai tadi subuh. Eh gak baca terus-terusan ding. Baca-ketiduran-lanjut baca XD
Ini sepertinya bakalan jadi buku terakhir yang gue baca sampai UN deh :D Mau fokus UN dulu masbrooo. Tuh detik-detik udah dibeli dari kapan tapi belum diisi sama sekali XD
Yowes lah, as always, ini kumpulan quotes-quotes yang gue ambil dari novelnya Haruki Murakami - Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. To be frank, I don't really love the book as I love the Perks of Being a Wallflower. Maybe it's all because this kind of book is not my genre-love-to-read book. But at any rate, it's a good book, tho' :]

"No matter what they wish for, no matter how far they go, people can never be anything but themselves. That's all."

"It's like being in an elevator when it breaks down and you're trapped inside with strangers."

It was eleven o'clock in the morning. He'd woken up at nine, worked for a while in his room, and then said he felt sleepy. He went to the kitchen, made some coffee and drank it. But the coffee didn't help. "I think I'll take a nap", he said. "I hear a buzzing sound in the back of my head." Those were his last words. He curled up in bed, went to sleep, and never woke up again.

"People think of all kind of things at three in the morning. We all do. That's why we each have to figure out our own way of fighting it off."

Reality began to melt away in the darkness. Everything began to feel as if it were happening a long time ago, in a world far away. Or was it happening in the future, in a different far-off world?
Outside, people were digging a hole, trying to reach them. It was like a scene from a movie.

But I don't know, what's so bad about talking to yourself? It's natural. It's just words coming out of your mouth.

Then she said, "I sometimes think that people's hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what's at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while."

Of course we were ignorant, conceited kids. We had no idea what life was all about. In the real world there was no such thing as Mister Clean and Miss Clean. They only exist on TV.

The older you get, the more boring travelling alone becomes. It's different when you're younger—whether you're alone or not, travelling can be a blast.

But the world outside isn't like that. It's a big world there, and we have to get ready for it.

"I'm so very very scared. Life is frightening. In a few years, I'll have to go out in the real world and it scares me.."

"I like to have someone read to me," she explained. "It's been my dream ever since I was a child—to sit in a sunny place, gaze at the sky or the sea, and have someone read aloud to me. I don't care what they read—a newspaper, a textbook, a novel. It doesn't matter. But no one's ever read to me before. So I suppose that means you're making up for all those lost opportunities. And besides, I love your voice."

There are millions of reason floating around the world for millions of results. Millions of reason to live, and millions of reason to die. Millions of reasons for giving reasons.

And I would sing in praise of the brilliant glow of the sun in the green bottles, sing in praise of the broad sea of grass below, sparkling with the morning dew.

".... So then I began to wonder: how come I'm alone so much? In fact, I probably average a little over twenty-three hours a day alone. I live alone, I hardly ever see anybody in connection with my work, I take care of most of my business by phone, my girlfriends belong to other people, I eat out ninety percent of the time, the only sport I ever practice is long, lonely swims, my only hobby is listening to these more or less antique records by myself, and the only way I can ever get my kind of work done is to concentrate on it alone. I do have a few friends, but when you get to this age, everybody's busy, and it's impossible to get together all the time. You know what this life is like, I'm sure."

I want you to understand my position, though. At the time, I didn't want to get involved with anyone.

... he thought, Life: I'll never understand it.

Everyone ended up alone sooner or later.

He never made any real friends, but this did not cause him pain. He found it natural to be by himself: it was a kind of premise for living.

They never seem to tire of talking with each other, as if they were filling up each other's emptiness.

Sometimes I even forget that warmth ever existed. I'm still able to cry, though. I'm completely alone, in the coldest, loneliest place in the world.

"Interesting," he said. "Life can be pretty scary, can't it?"
"Exactly," she said, and held up a mischievous finger. "Life is a scary thing. More than you can ever imagine."

His heart felt enclosed by something formless, surrounded by a deep, soft mystery. He no longer had the faintest clue where his life was headed, and what might be waiting for him there.

Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it.

It was just like she said—every time I struggled to find the right words, they slipped from my gasp and sank into the murky depths.

"If you have to choose between something that has form and something that doesn't, choose the one without form," she repeated.

"I didn't want to explain things," he said, cutting her off. "I wanted people to understand me, without having to put it into words. You, especially."

"... maybe chance is a pretty common thing after all. Those kinds of coincidences are happening all around us, all the time, but most of them don't catch our attention and we just let them go by. It's like fireworks in the daytime. You might hear a faint sound, but even if you look up at the sky you can't see a thing. But if we're really hoping something may come true, it may become visible, like a message rising to the surface. Then we're able to make it clearly, decipher what it means. And seeing it before us we're surprised and wonder at how strange things like this can happen. Even though there's nothing strange about it..."

At one point the thought dawned on her: What I need now most of all is time.

"... I'm expected to attain perfection right from the start. No mistakes allowed. Perfection or nothing. No in-between. No second chances."

"If you were distracted, you could lose your balance, and that might prove to be an obstacle to your career."

What matter is deciding your heart to accept another person completely. And it always has to be the first time and the last.

"Like you love somebody but he loves somebody else. Like there's something you want very badly but somebody else just grabs it. Or there's something you want to be able to do, and somebody else is able to do it with no effort... Those sort of things."

————————————————————————————————————

To sum it all up, what I learnt from this book is—people come and go, unexpectedly. And to be alone is not a choice. Sometimes it's a definite things that happen in life. I don't know. Life is a scary thing, isn't it?

John Green and David Levithan: Will Grayson, Will Grayson

I LOVE THIS BOOK!
This is about... Well, frankly it's not always about Will Grayson, tho. There is this dude named Tiny Cooper as Will Grayson's bestfriend and he is gay. And this girl named Jane who finally become Will Grayson's girlfriend. And finally they meet the other guy which is gay and also have a name Will Grayson (written on all-low-caps). And in the other will grayson's life, he have Maura which—uhm, you have to read the story. It's quite long if I explain it over here. Oh but, one more spoiler: Tiny Cooper ended up with will grayson.

Okay, so.. As wikipedia said, John Green written the Will Grayson character's life while David Levithan writtern the will grayson's part. And the way they met is so... I don't know man, it just awesome like how can they create such a masterpiece?

So here's the quotes from Will Grayson, Will Grayson.

———————————————————————————————————

To begin with, you cannot possibly pick your friends.

Honestly, none of them ever seemed to like me, but they were around, which isn't nothing. And now they aren't around, leaving me utterly bereft of social peers.

I don't really understand the point of crying. Also, I feel that crying is almost—like, aside from deaths of relatives or whatever—totally avoidable if you follow two very simple rules: 1.Don't care too much. 2. Shut up.

I respond the way I always do: by looking down and walking straight and fast. I know they're kidding. I know part of knowing someone is being mean to them or whatever. So I shut up, and I don't care, and I keep walking, and soon it's over.

i am constantly torn between killing myself and killing everyone around me. those seem to be the two choices. everything else is just killing time.

i do not say 'good-bye.' i believe that's one of the bullshittiest words ever invented. it's not like you're given the choice to say 'bad-bye' or 'awful-bye' or 'couldn't-careless-about-you-bye.' every time you leave, it's supposed to be a good one. well, i don't believe in that. i believe against that.

it's like those people who become friends in prison even though they would never really talk to each other if they weren't in prison.

i have no idea why anyone would want to become a teacher. i mean, you have to spend the day with a group of kids who either hate your guts or are kissing up to you to get a good grade. that has to get to you after a while, being surrounded by people who will never like you for any real reason. i'd feel bad for them if they weren't such sadists and losers. with sadists, it's all about the power and the control. they teach so they can have an official reason to dominate other people. and the losers make up pretty much all other teachers, from the ones who are to incompetent to do anything else to the ones who want to be their students' best friends because they never had friends when they were in high school. and there are the ones who honestly think we're going to remember a thing they say to us after final exams are over. right.

when i look at the guys and girls at the other tables, i wonder what they could possibly have to say to each other. they're all so boring and they're all trying to make up for it by talking louder. i'd rather just sit here and eat.

if anyone ever uses lol with me, i rip my computer right out of the wall and smash it over the nearest head. i mean, it's not like anyone is laughing out loud about the things they lol. i think it should be spelled loll, like a lobotomized person's tongue does. loll. loll. i can't think any more. loll. loll!
or ttyl. bitch, you're not actually talking. that would require actual vocal contact. or <3. you think that looks like a heart? if you do, that's only because you've never seen scortum.
(rofl! what? are you really rolling on the floor laughing? well, please stay down there a sec while I KICK YOUR ASS.)

'cause friendship should not be as easy as that. it's like people believe all you need to do is like the same bands in order to be soulmates. or books.
omg . . . U like the outsiders 2 . . . it's like we're the same person! no we're not. it's like have the same english teacher. there's a difference.

Some people have lives; some people have music.

At 3:30 the next afternoon, the eight period bell rings, and for a nanosecond, I feel the endorphins sizzling through my body that usually indicate I have successfully survived another school day without anything happening, but then I remember: day ain't over yet.

"Why would you like someone who can't like you back?" The question is rhetorical, but if I wasn't trying to shut up, I'd answer it: You like someone who can't like you back because unrequited love can be survived in a way that once-requited love cannot.

I'm sitting here thinking, God, I swear I will take a vow of silence and move to a monastery and worship you for all my days if you just this once provide me with an invisibility cloak, come on come on, please please invisibility cloak now now now.

all sorts of yayness floods my brain. love is such a drug.

this is a game we play. most of the time we're not serious. like, there are different ways it could go.

i can imagine living them. i don't even picture it. instead i'm in it. [...] that peace. it would be so happy, and it makes me sad because it only exists in words.

Maybe I am a robot after all. I have no idea what to say, so I go ahead and say the worst possible thing.

at this moment, i want to jump ahead in time, or, if that doesn't work, i'll settle for travelling back in time.

"I don't know," I say finally. "People are pretty fucking weird, if you haven't noticed."

"Do you believe in epiphanies? Like, do you believe that people's attitudes can change? One day you wake up and you realize something, you see something in a way that you never saw it before, an boom, epiphany. Something is different forever. Do you believe in that?" "No. I don't think anything happens all at once. I mean, anything that happens all at once is just likely to unhappen all at once, you know?"

"... I think you're great, and very cute—and by cute I mean beautiful but don't want to say beautiful because it's cliche..."

Not that smart. Not that hot. Not that nice. Not that funny. That's me: I'm not that.

I know it's immature, but I don't care. Sometimes you need your best friend to walk through the doors.

they don't know what they've got till it's gone.

I just think that if you don't say the honest thing, sometimes the honest thing never becomes true.

"But with friendship, there's nothing like that. Being in a relationship, that's something you choose. Being friends, that's just something you are."

"I'd pick you. Fuck it, I do pick you. [....] We've been friends too long to pick, but if we could pick, I'd pick you."

you'd think that silence would be peaceful. but really, it's painful.

you know there's no such thing as a complete lie. there's always some truth in there.

weltschmerz. it's the depression you feel when the world as it does not line up with the world as you think it should be.

in my kind of falling, there's no landing. there's only hitting the ground. hard. dead, or wanting to be dead. so the whole time you're falling, it's the worst feeling in the world.

because we can't stop the weltschmerz. we can't stop imagining the world as it might be.

———————————————————————————————————

Can't believe that I only pick a little of lines. Well, I drowned on the book, alas. Like I did when I read the Perks of Being a Wallflower. :))

But, here's how Will Grayson follow his rule to shut up:

and this is how's will grayson shut his mouth:

And I found it amazing because they can actually stand to ignore people THAT MUCH and I have no idea how that could be. :))

Quotes from the Realm of Possibility, David Levithan.

our town is so many miles with nowhere to go. nowhere but the woods, where leaves block out the haze of the city blocking out the stars.

i light matches for candles for sitting in my room and wanting a flicker of life, a flicker of mood.

we talk about growing up, about college. jed talks about the foreseeable future and how little there is that we can foresee.

i could make a life out of this. i, who have never been prepared.

i realize i have already made a life out of this. i am capable of making a life.

there is negative noticing and there is positive noticing.

and i hate myself because i can't help caring, looking to see if they notice and what they think.

then he says i worry about you. and i tell him don't. and he says that's exactly why.

why don't they leave me alone? don't they realize i have a tinder heart and a paper body and that any spark will turn me straight to ash?

i score the silence. i tread through air. i feel gone. i feel like the shadow behind the shades.

and i stand there and i wonder what i am doing, i wonder what i should do, and i don't know i don't know i don't know what to do. i don't know whether to take, to hold, to stay, to walk away, and i think that is it—that is everything.

all the feelings are dead inside me and i want them to be alive.

I had to wait some time for something more real.

I see the hurt. I see the mark. I see the signs. There's nothing I can do.

I've lost track of where friendship ends and falling begins. (this is the foolish refrain of the hopelessly devoted.)

teenagers are never joking, when seeking to prove a point, principals and teachers should remember that teenagers are never, ever sarcastic or ironic. if they say, "I wish someone would drop a bomb on this school right now," that means they have arranged for a nuclear arsenal to be emptied onto the school and should be immediately suspended and ridiculed.

if you look over his shoulder, you will see that everything he writes is always about you.

Did you see how lonely that girl looked at lunch? What we are saying is we did see. And what did we do? We acted blind, and we moved on.

when you break someone's heart, you also break your own.

but I have lived with myself for too many years. I know exactly how hard I am.

despite all the thoughts that run through your head, you're never really ready to let go, are you?

hours cannot measure what I feel. housed inside me like a caged tiger. how strange it feels to talk about it. how was I planning to get through this alone?

I do not cry. I have had enough of that. I speak these words as a way of controlling them instead of telling me everything is okay, instead of wallowing and saying life sucks.

realizing she is going to pretend I am not here reaping, rebuffing, redrawing, reflecting, regarding, regressing, rehearsing, reiterating, reliving, remembering, reopening, repaying, repealing, replying, retracing, returning, revoking.

right at this moment, I cannot imagine it being any worse. right here, I have been turned into nothing. Right now, I am negated.

the life you lead can be detoured. the moment you know cannot be taken back.

the opportunity has passed. the past is inopportune. the question all grow from why. the reality will always be contended. the sadness will ebb. the trouble is the time it might take. the ugly words cannot be erased, only discredited. the versions are never the same. the wonder is that we make it through. the x is the unknown variable. the yesterday cannot be repeated. the zenith is the point when you look down and realize you're no longer below.

he says, you'll get through this. you live each day one at a time. you live every day all at once. you live with the possibility of good-bye. you move on. you ponder in this darkness and see you're not alone. you realize you never felt alone. you subtracted one from your life, that's all.

your heart is not as broken as you think, he says. you're not as dumb as you look, I reply.

He wanted to be strong, because in this world you have to be.

She wasn't just lost in space. She was space itself. Waiting to disappear.

I felt alone again, with so many question and no one to ask. I found that with love, you need someone to talk to about it.

What's lonelier than being on a team where you no longer belong?

To get something, you must give something away. To hold something, you must give something away. To love something, you must give something away.

Instead of turning the page I just start writing on the desk. All that open surface. Right there. Nobody notices. Nobody cares. The words just start to fall there. And I feel some satisfaction from that. I've never written just for myself. And I've never written for anyone else. I write for the release of it. For finding out what will be there when I am done.

THERE IS NO MEASURE TO VOLATILITY. VOLATILITY. VOLATILITY. COMMISERATE WITH THE COMMON. COMMISERATE. YOU ARE UNABLE TO COMMISERATE. YOU ARE HAPPY EVEN IF YOU ARE AFRAID TO ADMIT IT. YOU ARE FOOLISH IN YOUR HAPPINESS. I KNOW THIS IS NOT A SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE THING TO DO. YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU BELIEVE YOU ARE. YOU WEAR TOO MANY MASKS. PLEASE. PLEASE. YOU SHOULD NOT HIDE. GIVE HER A CHANCE. YOU SHOULD NOT WALK AWAY QUITE YET. PLEASE. PROTECT ME FROM WHAT I WANT. LIVE UP TO YOURSELF. COWARDICE. DESPAIR IS NOT THE ANSWER. YOU ARE IMPLICATED.

I write YOU ARE HAPPY EVEN IF YOU ARE AFRAID TO ADMIT IT. And it make sense. Because how many times have I heard everyone complaining and complaining and complaining? As if sitting back and acknowledging that things aren't all that bad is somehow wrong. Then I write YOU ARE FOOLISH IN YOUR HAPPINESS.

You were Alice, I was the Hatter. You were the sun, I wasn't even the moon.

I believe in having a code of ethics, and mine was basically: If you jerk me around, then I will jerk you right back, harder.

I tried to be a vigiliant person. Keeping watch, confronting people with the truth, even if it hurt them.

I felt foolish, yes. Foolish because I felt alone in this. How may times had I told someone The truth hurts. Without ever really knowing what it fell like.

Being a bitch is easy. It's finding the alternative that's hard.

I should talk to him. I know I should talk to him but I do not talk to him. I watch him afar and love him.

Here's what I know about the realm of possibility—it is always expanding, it is never what you think it is. Everything around us was once deemed impossible.

As hard as it is for us to see sometimes, we all exist within the realm of possibility. Most of the limits are for own world's devising. And yet, every day we each do so many things that we once impossible to us.

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P.S. If you wonder about the all up or low caps... Well, it is how the book is.

Stephen Chbosky: The Perks Of Being Wallflower

So, after I finished The Diary Of A Young Girl, I then read The Perks Of Being Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. And I love it. I highly love it. I SERIOUSLY LOVE IT! I finished it within 2 days cause --you know, it's pretty addicting. So this boy named Charlie... I don't know how to describe him but the thing is, I love the way he think. And of course, again, I picked some lines from the book:

So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.

The people in the photographs always seem a lot happier than you are.

The outside lights were on, and it was snowing, and it looked like magic. Like we were somewhere else. Like we were someplace better.

But now I'm trying not to think about it too much because that makes it worse. It's kind of like when you look at yourself in the mirror and you say your name. And it gets to a point where none of it seems real.

And I just open my eyes, and I see nothing. And then I start to breathe really hard trying to see something, but I can't. It doesn't happen all the time, but when it does, it scares me.

I probably shouldn't writing about this too much because it brings it up too much. It makes me think too much.

I don't know if you've ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That's why I'm trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.

I feel like a big faker because I've been putting my life back together, and nobody knows.

The problem with things is that everyone is always comparing everyone with everyone and because of that, it discredits people.

Things change. And friends leave. And life doesn't stop for anybody.

I was in my bed trying to figure out why sometimes you can wake up and go back to sleep and other times you can't.

The reason I am thinking so far in advance is because school is terribly lonely. I think I've said that before, but it's getting harder everyday.

I hope you have a very nice life because I really think you deserve it. I really do. I hope you do, too.

Maybe it's good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there.

Okay, so, that's it. That's just it. I don't really picked many lines. And to be honest, I enjoyed the book so much. But as long as I read it, I was keep asking like, "To whom he wrote those letters?" then, when I finally reached the last page, it said, "We don't know where Charlie lives and we don't know to whom he is writing. But Charlie's haunting letters, addressed only to "Dear Friend," bring readers straight to the heart of his struggles to fit in, to find the will to "participate" in life, and to cope with the realities of the larger world as he learns how to grow up."

So yeah, I found out that no one know to whom he wrote it. But it then make me think, as I read that last page, I feel like this Charlie does exist. And if he truly exist, was that okay if Chbosky collected all the letters and made a book of it? I mean, I'm speaking about the copyrights. Or maybe, Chbosky has met Charly and he permitted him to book it? Well, it could be, I guess. But that last page says that "We don't know where Charlie lives.." So mind blowing.

But by the "fiction" label, maybe Charlie doesn't even exist. Maybe he's just a fiction character. Maybe it just Chbosky made it like Charlie is truly exist on the last page. So I don't have to mind about the copyright, like seriously.

Okay, this is brain-aching, but the thing is, if Charlie ever exist in my generation, I'd love to be friend with him. Or maybe being his best friend. And by the way, alas. Bill was right. Charlie is a special person. 

Speaking of letter, I made this for Charlie. I don't really mind if he wasn't exist in a real life. Just assume that I'm a friend of Charlie who wrote him back...

Dear Charlie, 

Charl, there's one thing that I wonder about "participating" in life. I mean, Bill said that we have to "participate" in life, didn't he? What if, life doesn't want us to participate? Life doesn't want us to in? Have you heard a line from Dr. Seuss who said, "Why fit in when you were born to stand out?" Have you think about it? Well, it might be end up with we're standing in nowhere, Charl...

Maybe what Bill meant was to participate in life, in the right place, and in the right time. Therefore, I don't need to think about it anymore, I guess. But how can we know that we're in the right place and in the right time? What if we feel like it's a right place and a right time but it's actually not?

I shouldn't think about it too much, should I? Okay, so, just skip this letter, and I really hope things are really good with you, Charl. And even if they're not, they will be soon enough.

Love always,

Friend

Anne Frank: The Diary Of A Young Girl

So I FINALLY finished read this book 3 days before, after I read it since months ago (I think it was since Ramadan month). It's not like I read it like 1 page/day. But it was all because I was too busy to read it --nah, it's bullshit, ha ha-- the true reason was, I think, the way how Anne described the situation was way too specific. And I actually I got bored in the middle of the story so I was quite lazy to read it. But, hey, don't get me wrong! It is still a good book to read, though. I love how tough this girl named Anne Frank was.

So I picked some lines from this book, and as always, I want to share it with you.


The reason for my starting a diary, it is I have no such real friend.

I have my own views, plans, and ideas, though I can't put it into words yet.

This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But this is, perhaps, the end of the beginning. (Churchill said)

Leave me in peace, let me sleep one night at least without my pillow being wet with tears, my eyes burning, and my head throbbing. Let me get away from it all, preferably away from the world.

After the terrible day yesterday, at last something good again and-- hope. Hope for it to end, hope for peace.

"Go outside, laugh, and take a breath of fresh air," a voice cries within me, but I don't even feel a response any more.

I don't know and I couldn't talk about it to anyone, because then I know I should cry. Crying can bring such relief.

A person can be lonely even if he is loved by many people because he is still not be the "One and Only" to anyone.

Alas, I know it's dull for you, but try to put yourself in my place, and imagine how sick I am of the old cows who keep having to be pulled out of the ditch again.

I made special effort not to look at him too much, because whenever I did, he kept on looking too and then --yes, then-- it gave me a lovely feeling inside, but which I mustn't feel too often.

"Leave me in peace, leave me alone," that's what I'd like to keep crying out all the time.

Don't think I'm in love, because I'm not, but I do have a feeling all the time that something fine can grow up between us, something that gives confidence and friendship.

I didn't want to trust anyone but myself any more.

Go outside, to the fields, enjoy nature and the sunshine, go out and try to recapture happiness in yourself and in God. Think of all the beauty that's still left in and around you and be happy.

I've found that there is always some beauty left --in nature, sunshine, freedom, in yourself; these can all help you. Look at these things, then you find yourself again, and God, and then you regain your balance. And whoever is happy will make others happy too. He who has courage and faith will never perish in misery!

When shall I finally untangle my thoughts, when shall I find my peace and rest within myself again?

We don't tell each other everything, because we are always together.

Let the end come, even if it is hard; then at least we shall know whether we are finally going to win through or go under.

Stupid people usually can't take it if others do better than they do.

I must have something besides a husband and children, something that I can devote myself to!

I can perfectly well remember that there was a time when a deep blue sky, the song of the birds, moonlight and flowers could never have kept me spellbound.

Alas, the sacrifice was all in vain, as the moon gave far too much light and I didn't dare risk opening a window.

You must work and do good, not be lazy and gamble, if you wish to earn happiness. Laziness may appear attractive but work gives satisfaction.