[BLUE's corner]: what even are words? #1

 

This blog has been silent as far as blogs should go. Honestly, I have no idea how to keep it alive. 

I have previously stated the role of the books I am reading and have read for the purpose of this blog. But, I'm in a bit of a pickle because my reading progress hasn't been phenomenal as of late. Also, none of the books I'm reading are particularly striking a chord.

Nothing will change though. My reading list would continue to be the major content of my posts. 

But, I did promise to set aside some space for the more non-specific book-related stories of my life. 

Besides, why should the name of the blog even be about blue being blue when she can't post about random stuff that doesn't actually matter most of the time? And let me tell you a secret about her. She's chaotic as heck!

I have already told you about the tale of how I came to love reading. You can read it again if you like just so you wouldn't be out of the loop. It's a bit of an interesting story for me and I like to make it a fun fact about myself that I often, unfortunately, can't bring up unless the conversation allows it. Now I finally can. 

But now, I wanna talk about what I read. Before I dwell on the genres and whatnot, let me start with language--the very words that make up the pages of the book that I can and would like to understand in the future. 

#1 ENGLISH

If you know me, you're probably asking why I start with this and not my own language, which I would like to reveal at a later opportunity (I like suspense that way). There are several reasons for that. 

No. 1, most of you probably and most likely use English often. That's probably why you're reading this because it's written in English.

No. 2, I have just realized how dominant it is in all the media that I consume and produce.  I both feel slightly ashamed and proud about that fact. Slightly ashamed because I, as a citizen of my country, don't read that many books or watch that many movies that are using my national language (more on that soon). Proud on the other hand that I am fluent enough to express myself in a language that dominates the world, which means a lot of people will get the chance to hear me, and I would get more chances in learning the stories of other people. And if you know me, you know that I am head over heels for the tales of everything imaginable, seen, and created.

No. 3, I am in love with this language. Something about it makes me want to write and write and read and read and read. Don't get me wrong, I love other languages too. I can't really say that it's my number one, but it's honestly one of the firsts. Being one of the firsts, it sticks to you. I love its quirkiness, its unpredictability, and its hidden elegance that as a writer, I love to wield. 

Guess that's all the reason... 

Oh, I forgot the last one! 

With this language, I can ramble. I can type on endlessly without stopping and that helps when I want to pour out something that is bothering my head or something that excites it to no end. No breaks. No stops. Pure word vomit. (getting bored by the evident rambling by now?)

So yes, English played a part in the making of me now. It made me more social too. 

I was never really fluent in the language, not until this one specific class back when I was in grade 8. I was fourteen years old then. 

You guessed it! English class. 

We were asked to only speak English for the entire class hour. I wasn't confident enough about that! But I did--became confident! My seatmates were fluent enough to engage me in a conversation without making everything seem awkward and by the end of the year, there you have it! I am an entirely different person(kinda--not much).

My favorite teachers were also mostly English teachers. They're the very people who commended my love of reading and the ones who acknowledged my skill in writing. One specific teacher even left me with her words engraved in my head because of how they resonated with me. Her words were kind of like this: "Literature is life. It is about life." I would add in my head that it also gives life, and that has been so significant to me. 

And there you have it, a ramble in a jumble by Blue. 

Would you read again something as chaotic and random as this?

Imaginary Friend

 

"To keep power you give it away. It doesn’t take violence to kill evil. It takes good."

—— Christopher, Imaginary Friend

[ some trigger warnings: abuse, gore, horror, trauma (loads of it), sexual harassment, violence ]

Where do I even start? This book has been quite a roller coaster that I wanted to start talking about it right after I finished it. But then I didn't because there are just so many things to unpack that I don't even know where to begin. I firmly believe that whatever I'm going to write in this post would not do justice to the real things that happened in the novel and perhaps what comes after it. 

So, let's start?

At first glance, I thought this was a story about a misunderstood child prodigy with some kind of mental struggle. I was pretty much ready for the trauma because I was sure there's gotta be with the way the main character is portrayed. He has difficulties. He's not your ordinary kid, or as the narration tries to paint it. However, what I did not know was how scary this would all turn out to be. The main character is only eight years old, but there is in no way this book with be a suitable read for anyone in that age bracket. I wouldn't want to ruin anyone's childhood with all the revelations in this. 

First off, we have Christopher. He's a pure and innocent boy that would make you think like there is a bright future ahead of him even though he has certain struggles. And you and I would be right about that. However, that would happen in a way that we wouldn't have thought of. Unless you have read the blurb before diving in headfirst (in which case I didn't and just went on blind and clueless), you would never think that the genre would be what it is. 

This is a horror and paranormal novel. This is not a general fiction story... I don't know if I should be glad or annoyed that I did not force myself to have a heads-up about this. I wasn't at all prepared and this nearly shook the freak out of me. But then I kinda also like psychological horror stuff so nothing was lost and I wasn't disappointed in the least. I was genuinely, genuinely so into it.

So, going back to Christopher. 

He's a good kid with a possible case of dyslexia and PTSD. The dyslexia wasn't clearly diagnosed because his mother kinda wanted a break from all the mental illness cases that left her whole family in shambles, but the PTSD was for sure acknowledged and was even treated for a while in a time frame that happened before the main story. 

Slowly and surely, all the problems and conflicts within each character are revealed as this sort of witch entity is introduced through the things Christopher hears and sees. You would initially think of this as some sort of hallucination. I did. But as the story progresses, you'd begin to doubt that though (as you should). 

Christopher is not crazy. He never was. Maybe the townsfolk had a few screws loose, and who wouldn't have given their circumstances. But Christopher was in no way crazy. He wishes he was, but he wasn't and that's what he thinks is the problem. Because if he wasn't crazy, then all those bad things that are happening to the people around him are true. How his mother is suffering because of him. How the sheriff is having nightmares and blaming himself for the death of a girl wasn't entirely his fault. How the librarian has a problem with her marriage. His teacher being a drunkard and is basically wasted every time she teaches in class. How his bullies are basically victims of abuse, the boy being left in the freezing cold inside the dog house every time he does something that his mother doesn't like, and how the girl is being molested by her stepbrother every time their alone in the house. Which is almost always (I forgot the names of his bullies). 

Basically, all the people in town have a problem. These problems are driving them insane, and this sort of entity is making everything worse. Or so the nice guy, the imaginary friend of the story wants Christopher to believe. It's not at all far-fetched. After all, the witch looks evil. She acts evil too. She was portrayed exactly like a monster would be portrayed in children's story books. 

But then we know as adults, or as I'm trying to be (an adult, I mean) that the monsters we knew as a kid are different in the real world. They don't have horns. They don't look evil at all actually. Sometimes they're not even really there. Sometimes they are just there in our heads, whispering, telling us things we probably don't want to hear. 

Wow, I've only just realized that while typing this. Sometimes, you get to piece together important stuff when you look it through a bigger picture, or when you finally review and go over them once again like what I'm doing right now. 

And I'm once again getting off track. Sorry about that. Let's go back then. 

So basically, I may or may have not dropped a major plot twist spoiler right there. For those who have already read this, you probably know what I mean. For those who don't, I pray for your sanity in the course of reading this book. I hope you get to understand Christopher and the people in his new hometown. Also, I hope you get to be like Christopher and be kind. 

He is kind after all, and that's what made him strong. Because of that, he's the hero. Anyone could've been the one to save them all, but it was Christopher who stood up to and for everyone. 

The novel did mention some allegories pertaining to Christ, God, Eve, and the demon, but I don't really want to focus on that. As I've said before, I'm not that much of a religious person (anymore). Not everything is about religion or your theist and atheist beliefs. What I want to focus on is Christopher being a kid, a pure and innocent kid that only wants the good for everyone. Sure, he's selfish sometimes,  but that selfishness doesn't harm anyone. It's not greedy in the sense that he only thinks about himself. It's greedy in the sense that he just wants happiness and to get that, everyone around him should be happy too because they deserve to be. 

We all have that choice and potential. We just sometimes forgot we can and that we even had the choice to begin with, 

Being kind goes along way. 

BLUE'S CORNER:

                Why I wonder, do some of my moments just have to align in a coincidence? it's not that I hate it. Most of the time I actually like it because they are and were mostly good coincidences, like SERENDEPITY. But I just really want to know. why? and how even does it happen?

        It's been long since I read this book. actually, I finished it last November of 2022. It's now January 2023. The new year has come. A lot of things have happened in between of that too. I just didn't have the motivation to start writing about this. Maybe it's because of how busy I've been, or because the story is too heavy for me to think about so I had to take a breather. Or! Maybe I'm just lazy. (That's mostly the case with me...)

        January 06, 2023, 2:06 am. Just wanna put that out so I can remember when I wrote this very part of the post. It's just that this is somehow the best time for me to reflect on the story and where I stand in the middle of that. 

        The voices are hard to beat. they also come when you most don't want them to. I don't want them at all. But I wish they could've at least come when I'm asleep so it'll all be just a nightmare I wake up from. Not a nightmare I'm actually living. That's highly unlikely, of course, and so we endure being awake during all of their unnecessary chatter. 

        We all have that voice. not just me. My head kinda reminds me all the time that by the end of everything, I began to realize that that very thing has become one of the voices that put me down instead of actually making me move. We all have that voice so I should be more understanding, that should've been the whole message. But instead, my brain has warped it into something different. Everyone has a voice inside their heads so don't bother adding up to their problems. Your problems are not as serious as theirs so it's nothing. my brain is super mean just so everyone knows. (Bet you didn't want to. Sorry for the excessive information.)

        It has even come to a point that I'm currently worrying if I should say these things right now. Am I allowed to? is this even okay? am I being what I fear I'm being again? If I am, sorry for the trouble. If I'm not, sorry for being so negative. You should also be warned about that because I might be spreading the negative virus. We don't want that to happen. I extremely don't want that to happen. 

        So, like everyone in Christopher's story, we all have our own problems. Those problems ate at us. They devour us. Now, it's either we are too deep that we need someone to save us, or we just need to realize that we fell so we can stand up again. I, on the other hand, don't know where I actually should be in that spectrum. I feel like I can get up on my own, while there's also a part of me that seems to be waiting for someone. 

        I never thought that I would relate to this story as much as I thought. I thought I would just view it through the bigger picture and in a general sense. however, I see now that I have actually put myself within the pages before I knew it. I am, after all, human just like the characters in the story are. 

        I also honestly relate to Christopher in a way. I'm not saying I see myself as a hero. There's no way I can be that person who saves the day. I am just a bystander. However, I am an empath. having these emotions of people around me be infused in my being is too heavy for me to handle. I read too much into it too, so much that I feel like I haven't been doing enough as someone who is close to them or as someone who cares for them. The way their emotions feel like my own leaves me stuck because i know these emotions aren't mine and if I make it seem like I know how they feel, it'll all be wrong. 

        and so I try. we all are. what I hope is we don't stop.

      

IMAGINARY FRIEND

by Stephen Chbosky 

                                                 PERSONAL 

                                            CONNECTION 

                                                       RATING:             8.5/10

ps. i realized whule i edited this post that i used (i) too much. it must've been annoying to read. it's not even about the book anymore. it has all been about me. i'm sorry. i just needed an outlet to say these things and the story was just the perfect thing for everything. please read it. you'll know what i mean. also! thank you so much for reading this far. i would never expect anyone to read the end, but if you have, thank you! i'll write a different fan writing that would now focus on either of the characters in the story to make up for my endless rambling here. until then, see you!

Dear Charlie,

 

note: you can read my earlier post/review of the book before you proceed for more context.                                                           

Dear Charlie,

    Hi. I don't really know how to properly start letters but I guess that's a normal one. I hope you wouldn't mind. I'm not exactly one to come up with something fancy, I'm just average, or at least that's what I tend to believe. I don't really know what others think about me. I want to ask but I'm not that good at asking questions aside from the ones I ask myself.

    I had read your letters. I'm glad you sent them to me. But I'm even more glad that I decided to read them. I hope I read them sooner. I hope I read your stories a little sooner, Maybe it would've helped me. But I know this isn't exactly about me. It's about you and your honest stories. I would like to talk about those first before I talk about myself. I would like to talk about them because they are far too interesting to be left out. 

Just like you liked telling stories about what others have told you, I think your own stories deserved to be passed along to others as well. Your own stories and the stories of your brother, your sister, and your whole family, Patrick, Sam, and all the other friends you made through them; all of that deserves to be heard and read by other people.

And if I would start this letter all over again, I'd say:

Hi Charlie. My name is Blue. I'm not sure how you've heard about me, but I'm glad you did.

Hi Charlie. It's me. Your friend. There are a lot us. I am one of them. We have read your letters. I had read them. And I want to talk about them.

Most of them have been muddled and squeezed in my head like this solid ball of words that represent you. A ball I would like to call Charlie, specifically named after you. I remember bits of them. Some are my favorites... Others not so much. To be honest, I hated how those things happened. But things happen. We can't change them. I still hate them tho.

It was funny how you got high for the first time at the party. It was funny until it was sad. 

It was cute when you talked about how you loved Sam. It was cute until it was Sad.

It was also cute when you let Patrick kiss you. It was until it was sad. 

It was heartfelt when you talked about your Aunt Helen or visit her in the cemetery. It was beautiful until it was sad. Until it was ugly and messed up and sad.

I realized that a lot of your letters were sad, even if you don't them. I realized how you cried a lot, and even though you don't know why, I say please just cry. I know and I can feel it. Charlie, you're lonely and sad. Sometimes you know it. Sometimes you don't. Sometimes you think it's just normal. But no Charlie, it's not.

Some things aren't meant to happen, but they do. And yes Charlie, that's sad. And no Charlie, that's not what you deserve at all. You are not to blame.

You are far too sweet to get hurt. You are far too selfless to take advantage of. You are far too pure to soil. You are far more special to just be seen as the weird kid, the teacher's pet, or the odd one out in a group.

Bill was right. You are special.

You deserve the love that you had with your family. You deserve the acceptance you have from your friends. You deserve all of that and more.

I'm glad you're doing alright. I hope I could tell you the same about me, but I'm not sure.

I think it would be too selfish of me to write down all my wishes, but since I won't be able to honestly tell you my own stories (I'm sorry about that), I'll just let you know what I would have wanted.

I wish I had older brothers or sisters. I wish they could tell me what to expect about my love life, high school, and college. I wish they could be there when I have it rough. I wish they could drive me places and I wish I could drive myself to places.

I wish I shared secrets with at least one of my parents. I wish to have that secret that would mean something between us, a treasure that only we share.

I wish I had someone like Sam and Patrick. Someone who wouldn't laugh if I tell them something awkward and personal. Someone who's there. Who tells the right jokes in the heaviest moments even when nobody can.

I wish I had someone like Bill. A teacher would make me read books they've suggested and would ask me about my opinion on each of them. I would have a lot of things to say to them and questions to ask them as well.

I wish there was someone who called me special.

I hope all of us have someone who would tell us we're special.

Love,

Your friend

[did you read it as if you were Charlie? or as if you wrote this for Charlie? Let me know ^^]

Perks of being a Wallflower

 

 

"I don't know how much longer I can keep without a friend, I used to be able to do it very easily, but that was before I knew what having a friend was like. It's much easier not to know things sometimes. And to have french fries with your mom be enough."

-- Charlie, Perks of Being a Wallflower

(some trigger warnings: sexual assault, suicide)

I heard the title of this book for a while when I was in high school. I then added it to my reading list as I always do whenever I come across a book title. I have also watched at least a few minutes into the movie but somehow never finished. I guess it didn't hook me as much as this book did. It moved me so much that I even wrote a letter.

But before that, there's a lot about the book that I like to discuss. I actually want to talk about every chapter, but this would be very long if I do that so I would only mention those I truly remember. 

Now, I'll leave a little warning that would be posted on every book/movie talk that I would post here. It'll just be a little reminder just in case so that you guys wouldn't accuse me of spoilers. (My anxiety wanted me to be scared of the negative possibilities as usual.)

 

Before I ever read the book, I already watched a part of the movie. I was generally intrigued by who the Wallflower is in the story. I most often think of myself as a wallflower than a social butterfly and so I was looking forward to the connection I would have with the supposed main character. I didn't expect that it'll tear me apart though. 

The main difference between the book and the movie is that the scenes are introduced through the eyes and mind of Charlie, our main character, more in the book than in the movie. That's just how books are, especially if the narration is written in the first-person point of view.  But the way this book was written is in a form of a letter, or letters to be exact. That makes it more personal to Charlie and more precious for me to read as an audience. The way the reader could get to be a somewhat unknown character in the book just by Charlie addressing them as a friend in every chapter/letter makes you feel so involved and invested and I just like that about this. You're not just an observer or a diary that keeps secrets but isn't actually alive. As a reader, you are a person that listens and was ultimately chosen by Charlie, just as you chose to be his friend by deciding to start reading it. 

Instantly, the connection that I was looking for was resolved with just the first chapter. But that was just the surface because even though I knew that charlie considered me his friend, I still didn't feel like I really was a true friend or that Charlie was for me with just a few opening letters. I still needed to relate to his story. That was all coming in due time.

I knew from the movie what the opening acts would be. I knew about how Charlie was dubbed weird in school and that he didn't have any friends left. (If you've already read this, we know that he had that one friend but I'd like to get that in detail later.) I also knew about how he would meet Patrick and Sam in that football match that night. I knew about the complications in her sister's relationship and I also know about the mixtape that fueled Charlie to make tapes of his own. I knew all up to the point when Charlie went to a party for the first time and got high, also for the first time. I knew the things that happened at the party and the secrets that Charlie discovered and Charlie blabbed about as he was still under the influence. (I genuinely forgot if they were brownies or cookies that he ate.) 

But apart from that, the following events were new to me. My feelings went on a roller coaster ride as I felt intrigued and interested at first, then I burst out laughing because of Charlie's silliness, and then sad because Charlie, why is this happening to you? Then happy again because this precious treasure is laughing and talking about laughing and how happy he was. Then I'd go back to being sad because Charlie just doesn't get it. And I end up realizing that whatever he didn't get in the story, I also didn't get and noticed within some part of my past. Maybe I still don't know them at all.

Charlie once had a friend. That friend died of suicide. I know. Way to go dropping the bomb straight unto the target.

But honestly having your friend disappear like that, must have taken a lot in Charlie's mental health. Especially if you think about how he was his only friend. I would think in this part of the movie and the book that it was the main reason why he is experiencing PTSD and therapy. Of course, I would be wrong. There's just not enough trauma in these kinds of books, wouldn't you agree? (Being an amateur writer myself, I am guilty of this crime and I think I should apologize to every main character whenever this is brought up.)

I don't remember it being explicitly said in the book, but the movie made it as if Charlie unguardedly confessed that his friend died and that he was still in pain because of it. He was laughing, but you just know that he's still hurting. And all of these confessions among all others were first heard by the caring Sam. 

I consider Sam to either be the older sister or mother type of the group, especially with how she deals with Charlie. Although I guess I was too dense to notice how Sam really feels, this whole gap between their ages and personality made it so real for her not to develop any feelings for Charlie, who although was really sweet and caring as well, had the tendency to be so childlike and less of a boy his age. But of course, that innocence that we are seeing here is actually Charlie's charm. It is his main selling point. It is what genuine people see in him that they would want to protect him, and what abusers would target so they could exploit it.

But Charlie's love for Sam was all too genuine as well as naive. It was heavy to take responsibility because you just know that he's not just saying it as a joke. Sam just knows that that love would be a knife that would stab Charlie in the back and she didn't want to be the one to be the cause of that so she would rather pierce him affront with a rejection. At least that you would notice immediately. But complications in dating are something you wouldn't even know unless someone points them out. 

That ignorance by Charlie showed so much in his entanglement with Mary Elizabeth. He couldn't be honest. He couldn't say what he really wanted and he was so bent into following these rules that somebody else had set up for him. He was merely following through until everything falls apart and he realizes he has done something wrong. But he doesn't know what exactly that is.

It was all coming down to the fact that even though Charlie sounded like someone really smart, honest, and caring, all of those things backfired on him because some of it isn't really true, while some are just a byproduct of his lacking something that he doesn't realize or know to exist. 

Charlie is a kid. Obviously, his real age says a lot about where he is in life. But Charlie is supposed to be a teenager. He should have at least known some things, noticed some cues, and figured the right from wrong. But something was holding him back. 

Charlie was selfless so much to a fault. This was the double-edged sword that Sam noticed and blurted out to him just so he would stop and think more about himself. At that moment, I thought I would cry. But then I couldn't because I was out in the bleachers in our university sports complex and there were a lot of people there. They would notice me cry and I didn't want that. 

So instead, I took a second and looked at the soccer field. Then went back and hoped for the best. 

But the best wasn't waiting for me. The worst was.

When Helen was mentioned in the story I thought it was another plot device to show how much of a loner Charlie was. Aside from his friend dying, well we have another dead loved one in the mix. The accident happened when he was just a kid. That was the very core of it all then, I thought. That loss was what drive Charlie to the wall. Because of that he never grew up. He never had the chance.

But the real reason which was revealed later in the story was what broke me. All the things kept adding up and it tore something in me. It's like my head had these pictures that I wish never happened at all. That maybe everything would have been different.

It was bad enough that he saw a girl get raped when he was barely even recovered from childhood trauma, bad enough that he knew how the female in her family was treated by their partners, and then this thing was brought up. It all made sense that Charlie himself started connecting the lines that were lost in him. Why he was like he was and why he was afraid of so many things; of being honest, of being selfish, of having sex, and being in an actual relationship. 

I'm glad he had therapy. I'm glad he had the help he needed and I would just hope that he had that until the end. I don't doubt it though. The graduation scene was enough for me to confirm. 

But what I really want is for Charlie himself to get out of it. I think he will. His last letter was a good start to it. It was really good actually. 

but now... i don't have any idea where to stop talking. so i'll just leave this little section you'll probably see more often starting now.

Blue's corner:

        

        When I was reading that part about Sam, I mentioned I was on a soccer field. Sitting by the bleachers to be exact. It was morning and we had an event I wasn't interested in. So that was why I was reading. I finished the book right at that spot actually with no one by my side aside from strangers. My classmate was sitting with our other classmates. I don't know why but I couldn't sit along with them. It just didn't feel right.

        Have you realized it too? 

        The coincidence is just coming into me now. I might have actually cried if I realized it then. 

        Charlie was alone when he met Sam and Patrick. It was a football game and he saw them there. They met and Charlie's adventures began. He started to belong somewhere. 

        I was in the bleachers as well. I was trying to watch the games below but couldn't because they felt too far away. No one was there with me at that moment until my classmate called back to find me. I was glad she called out to me.

        For some unexplainable reason, I am always out of other people's line of sight. They would always try to shout my name as they look for me even though I was just close by. They also always wonder how I could remember the little things that have happened or said. Like how a classmate belonged to this group and not the other. How our professor once said he belonged in this department and not this. I have no idea how they get stuck in my head, but they do. 

        But anyway, I just want to say that I connect so much with Charlie that when I reached the last part and he said he was okay and he wishes the reader was too, I stopped. I didn't know what to say. But at the same time, I also had a lot of things to say.

           It was at that moment that I wrote a reply, a letter of my own, for Charlie. I tried my best to tell him everything, but I'm bad at cramming every single thing into a blob that would be understood by others. That's why I'm quite scared of doing so because there's a fear that they wouldn't get it. Or worse, they'd hate me because of something that I said. I don't know about Charlie, but I really don't like the feeling of being hated. Maybe he thinks that way too actually and we'll just bond at the fact that we have been people pleasers all our life. 

        But anyway, yes, I wrote a letter. 

        Don't worry, you'll be able to read it in my next post. 

        Until then, see ya!

  

PERKS OF BEING A WALLFLOWER

by STEPHEN CHBOSKY

                                                 PERSONAL 

                                            CONNECTION 

                                                       RATING:             9.0/10

Ps. I rambled again... I'm sorry about that. If you have reached here, thank you. You have been very patient and you deserve my thanks. That;'s just how it is actually. I made this blog so I can ramble because I do not want to bother anyone with my ramblings. But if you have stayed till here, then that means you chose to and I am not being a bother anymore. It just means you are a really good listener(reader). Thanks again!

Pps. I've just checked to see that Charlie is an INFP. I'm an INFJ. 

--- mock-up book cover used made by yours truly.

This is sort of a "HELLO!"

"A book is a gift you can open again and again and again." 

-- Garrison Keillor

 

 

I could not understand why, but I felt like a quote about how rewarding it is to read a book should be the right starting sentence to use to open up this blog. 

"What is a blog?" I asked myself. 

I haven't really tried truly making one. What do people usually write there? How do they write? What's their format and how do they make everything interesting, fun, and exciting?

Well, I tried to read about those things and here I am. But that doesn't mean I learned anything or even remotely remember what I have read about. Besides, that has been ages ago. I may or may have probably forgotten all about it. 

But that's not really my main concern about now. If it was, I wouldn't have decided to start this as this is. I would have properly written this in a more formal way using a lot of metaphors that would dry out my creative juices once I finish. I haven't been writing much these past months and so I'm afraid that it would drain a lot of me if I try to do it that way. Let's just keep things casual. 

I'm your friend and you are mine. I'm just a passing acquaintance wishing to tell you my stories in the hopes that you would enjoy reading them as I enjoyed writing about them.

So I guess as those things are out of the way, it's time for me to introduce myself. You can go ahead and read my bio if you want to. I won't stop you. (I have actually forgotten what I wrote there once upon a time.) Or, you can just continue reading this one and find out who this nobody-trying-to-blog is.

I call myself Blue. It also has its own varieties now, like a Japanese translation and a username meant for my art dump accounts that have the word 'blu' in it. I have other names as well that I use on the net, but let's not mention them for now. 

It has been more or less six years since I have used Blue as a name in the writing community.   I started out as this amateur writer in high school who was only thirteen years old. I was simple during those days. I didn't think about the quality of my works nor was I wary of the number of readers I've got because I knew that I'm still a beginner. It didn't matter because I was just starting out anyway. It's to be expected to have those results. But now... Let's just say that I don't want to talk about how busy and lazy I have been to keep up my writing. 

But enough about me being a wannabe writer. I'm not really here to talk about that. (for the most part at least.)

What I really want to talk about is how much I really, really love reading books! Yes, that's right. That's the reason why I started this post with a book quote.

Really, everything about this, including my love for writing and even my current course started out with books. But maybe to be more specific, it's about my fascination with words and wonderful stories. 

Let's go back to the story of baby Blue (me) told within the proud words of my mother. 

I forgot what age it was she was referring to. I was still in elementary after all when she told me this. I'm not even truly sure if she ever said what age I was back then. All I know was that I was a kid. I was a little baby who was still innocent, pure, and as dumb as a little kid could get. That also means that I still don't know how to read. But for some unknown and unexplainable reason, I already liked books as they were. 

It all started with little Blue taking this Bible under her pillow before going to sleep. "I tried removing it from where it was," my mother said, "but the next thing I knew, it was back there again!" These weren't her exact words, but you get the idea. I think I sheepishly laughed when she said that. I can't really remember. 

And yes, it's the Bible. I'm not even religious per se at the current moment, and yet my younger self decided to take the most religious book she could find. Or maybe, it's really the only nearby book she could find. I don't know. 

So! From then on, little me started to get curious about books. I opened them even though I can't read them yet. I stared a lot at the pictures that popped up on every page. I stared at them again every time I opened them for the nth time. Same books, same process. Same fascinating curiosity.

But when I started being able to read, that's when the fun began. 

I read everything, from textbooks to magazines. I read from the table of contents to the glossary. I even read through all the instructions of various textbook activities. The most hilarious thing though (and annoying for my mother) was that I often read those things out loud. I read them using this confident voice that I wish I still have now. 

Now here we are, a decade and some years later and I am now obsessed with these magical objects that are books. I consume them like how I binge eat food when I'm hungry. But the difference is with books, I am always hungry. I breathe it like air, like it's the thing that I need to survive. This probably won't stop. 

Which then brings us to the whole point of this post. To give you guys a warning on the spoilers I would have to give on each upcoming post.  Lots of them. 

I'm gonna be talking about the recent and past books that I have read and tell you what I thought about it and felt about them, what they made me do and what they reminded me of from my past. That means stories about books and stories about me! Story after story after story. We never should be tired of them. 

I would also like to include movies, drama anime, and visual novels in the mix (like manga and manhwa).

I might also post some special blogs where all I would talk about are the things that are happening in my life. Nothing too special. Maybe just boring stuff here and there. I'm hoping that they won't be a lot.

Which ends my first post for this blog!

Oh, and before I forget. 

Hello! 

Nice to meet you. ^^

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ps. You saw that pixel art and the chibi Blu? I made those! Do you like them? I hope you did. 

Pps. Have you realized this sounds like a letter? Well, that's the idea. I'm writing a letter to you ;)