Hello, how are you, I hope your week has been good and your life fine and your autumn pretty and I hope you love Novembers as much as I do.
I hope no tragedies happened around your house, your garden, your mind palace, your sweaty palms, your not empty, but kind hearts. I hope people didn’t burn, fireworks eating away their souls.
I’m full of tragedy saying this and maybe you will find me pathetic and unnecessarily hypocritical, but a tragedy happened in the past week around my house. Around my garden. Around my fields. Around my autumn. Around my last days of October.
I’m fine, thanks. Nothing happened to me, maybe because I’m well guarded. Maybe because I’m not significant enough. But other people aren’t anymore.
No, I didn’t forget the word “fine”. They simply aren’t. They are gone. Vanished. Sudden combustion. And I didn’t know any of them. And it happened in the capital, not in my small town where nothing ever happens. And I’m so sad.
And so furious, DAMN I AM FURIOUS SO SO SO FURIOUS.
They were all young, you know. A rock concert in a way too small club. Fireworks stupidly put inside and everything went crazy. They burnt. 150 or so are in hospitals as I’m writing this. 33 aren’t anymore.
And people dare say they deserved it. People dare say it was the way God did His justice. People say they were satanists and they were peculiar and they died in an inferno because they were not pure.
And I stay here wondering if I got transported back to the Middle Ages.
Because, damn it, I don’t know how you can transform a type of culture into a sin.
HOW DARE YOU SAY, STUPID MIDDLE AGED WOMAN, THAT A 20 YEAR OLD STUCK IN THE FLAMES DESERVED HIS DEATH BECAUSE HE USED TO WEAR BLACK AND COMBAT BOOTS AND HIS HAIR A LITTLE BIT TOO LONG FOR YOUR CONSERVATIVE STANDARDS?
How dare you.
It is sad, really. Very sad and even more terrifying is how some have the impulse to transform it into a joke. How my Facebook newsfeed is improbably full with messages full of hatred and grammar mistakes. How people on TV BLAME ANYTHING BUT the things that deserve to be blamed – the system, the fact that such a risky business was run in the middle of the biggest Romanian city.
I am not writing here to blame anybody.
You probably don’t care, either way.
I just needed to talk to somebody and get out the frustration. My little secret rebellion, painted here in black for all those people. I’m not going to say they were beautiful or the hope of the new generation, I’m not going to say ( as everyone seems to do around me, making me shiver) that they were flowers that were not meant to bloom. I refuse to say that it was God’s message, because God is, as far as I can tell, confused as I am and uncertain about life as I am, God is all about f o r g i v e n e s s. So I pray for them. For all those 150 stuck on a hospital bed now, fighting. For the ones that aren’t anymore, the ones that went with the wind it this world. I’m thinking of you, even if I don’t know you.
So. I thought, because I am in such a dark mood these days and because I feel comfortable with sadness and all , my third 7 Books and Bookish Things list – not posted on Sunday, but posted, and that is something – is to be about death. I read quite some books about death. So I shall list some – not because they are good, not because they made me cry or anything, not because the writer does and admirable job of making the sadness readable and touchable. None of those.
They simply focus on the complex and beautiful and endearing topic of death. Not going to write much about them, tho, because I don’t have the time and I am terribly sad.
1. “Love Letters To The Dead” by Ava Dellaira
This one is sort of peculiar, mainly because it is so so so similar to “The Perks Of Being A Wallflower”. But it is very sad, and sort of touching and sort of incredibly pathetic. Read it last summer and didn’t have the power to cry. I just stood there, Kindle in my hand, sun rising outside my window, after 5 hours of shivering and crawling in my bed, hollowed. Damn, it was not that good. It simply was so, so sad. And sort of puerile. And cliche on a very profound level. Still sad,tho, and still about death, so it fits in here.
“What I told you about saving people isn’t true. You might think it is, because you might want someone else to save you, or you might want to save someone so badly. But no one else can save you, not really. Not from yourself. […] You fall asleep in the foothills, and the wolf comes down from the mountains. And you hope someone will wake you up. Or chase it off. Or shoot it dead. But when you realize that the wolf is inside you, that’s when you know. You can’t run from it. And no one who loves you can kill the wolf, because it’s part of you. They see your face on it. And they won’t fire the shot.”
2.”I Was Here” by Gayle Forman
I’m pretty sure you all heard of this one. Hyped, wasn’t it? It made some very valid points of death, you know, and some even more interesting on suicide, making me shiver. Because they made all the sense in this world, if you ask me. They were right in their very twisted way. What fundamentally bothered me, tho, and this is not the first time somebody says it, wad the love story, that was even more morally twisted than all those long pages about deciding for yourself ans suicide and all. I end up not liking this book, not really, despite the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed the family part and the descriptions of ordinary American life and its hardships. Pretty good from this point of view, if I give it a second thought. But it had macabre parts and dark themes, so it shall have its spot.
“I was reminded just why God wants us to forgive. Not simply because it’s the key to a better world, but because of what it does for ourselves. Forgiveness is God’s gift to us. Christ forgave us. He forgave our sins. That was his gift. But by allowing us to forgive each other, he opened us up to that divine love. The article had it right. Forgiveness: It’s a miracle drug. It’s God’s miracle drug.”
3.“My Heart And Other Black Holes” by Jasmine Warga
This is a book about two kids that want to commit suicide so badly, they decide to find partners that shall take care of the thing actually happening. So they find each other. And, o f c o u r s e, they sorta fall in love with life and each other. It was kind of cute, but, I might be a little bit macabre right now, but how I wish they actually died. It would have been nice tragedy. It is full of pretty things, but too full of hope for a thing called “My Heart And Other Black Holes”.
“Depression is like a heaviness that you can’t ever escape. It crushes down on you, making even the smallest things like tying your shoes or chewing on toast seem like a twenty-mile hike uphill. Depression is a part of you; it’s in your bones and your blood.”
4.” Me, Earl and The Dying Girl” by Jesse Andrews
This one was so fun to read. It legitimately was funny. Made me snort. It also had bad jokes. Made me roll my eyes. Didn’t make me sad because of the death that occurred , but rather because of the failed lives and the sad social picture. As cliche as it sounds, it was about the death of not so physical things. Nice, but kinda bad.
“There was just something about her dying that I had understood but not really understood, if you know what I mean. I mean, you can know someone is dying on an intellectual level, but emotionally it hasn’t really hit you, and then when it does, that’s when you feel like shit.”
I think I have more to write about. I don’t feel like it. No. Also, I think I could call all of the above under-hyped – you might have noticed already, but no “The Fault In Our Stars”, “Looking for Alaska” or “If I stay” here. I read those as well and I certainly liked them then, but I feel like I have nothing new to say about them.
Honorable mentions, more notorious and high quality literature in which death passes by – “Dead Poets Society” by N. Kleinbaum, “Anna Karenina” by Lev Tolstoi, “Lord of the Flies” by William Holding, “Little Bijou” by Patrick Modiano and “Harry Potter” by JK Rowling, of course. Harry Potter is all about death.
One last bookish thing, tho, I don’t know it’s number, but I know it is there, near black transitions from form to form – candles and flowers.
Candles and flowers for all.