Books I’m reading and time I’m wasting

I haven’t posted in over a month and I am quite sorry. But, you see, my life was pretty busy. Mainly school related stuff. Term papers and freaking out. Maths and crying. Chemistry and Mendeleev’s wonderfully colorful table. Such great things.
Christmas is coming, though, and that is cherishing.
They say writing is therapy. They say writing is salvation. I sorta agree with them. So I’m going to write today, because I need therapy and salvation. Don’t I?
First and foremost, I figired that my life is sort of pointless. If “.” ( this wonderfully simple sign) is considered something necessary in one’s life, then I sure as heck don’t have it.
But my lamentations are not and will never be anybody’s source of inspiration, so I ain’t going to continue.
So. I’m going to get onto the real purpose of this post. As you may have already noticed, this blog is all about books and frustrations ( Mine. All are mine.) WARNING. LOGICAL STATEMENT AHEAD.
I’m goinf to talk about my winter tales. About my winter bookish projects and the fact that autumn was too short. Passed too fast, lasted less then I’ve expected it too. Unfortunately.
I’m currently reading quite a number of books. Four, I think. The sad thing is, I am not activelt reading any. I am not forgotten somewhere inside any of them. And I profoundly despise that. Truly, deeply hate myself for it. But it happens.

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That is a very artsy, nice and wonderful picture of one of them. Truly wonderful cover, if you ask me. That is the Romanian variant, which I own, very nicely photographed near a vanilla candle and a greenish ornamental thing that is, if you ask me, really pretty.
That paragraph was a true session of self preservation through boosting my self confidence as an evoluated monkey with an able camera.

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Also currently reading “All the light we cannot see” by Anthony Doerr, which is a book that has all the things that I like. All of them. But I can’t seem to stick with it. In any way. Which is weird.

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Also currently reading – and I am really far into this one, but I seem to have lost my interest somewhere along the way – “Winter” by Marissa Mayer – the fourth and final book in “The Lunar Chronicles”. Don’t get me wrong , it reaally is awesome. I just can’t seem to find the right mood to get into it in a hardcore way.
Also currently reading, but I don’t have the book with me in this wonderful place where I’m writing for, Dostoyevski’s “Crime and Punishment”. Which is great, for that matter, but, once again, I can’t find the right way to go into it. And that for sure disappoints me. Greatly.

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Also on my on-going currently reading list , ” The Tales of Beedle the Bard” by the wonderful, majestic and inspirational J.K. Rowling. I love them. Greatly. Love, love, love them. But I’m really trying to read it slowly. Like a story every night. Because I don’t want it to end so soon. I am hopeless.

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ALSO .(Told you I am crazy. Crazy. ) “The 5th Wave” by Rick Yancey. I’ve been reading this for like two months. Not like one page a day or something. More like fifty pages today, another two in one month or so. Just me things. I enjoy its idea and I pretty much enjoy the way it’s written but the way the plot functions has the tendency to piss me off quite a lot. So I left it aside. For a long while.
This is the proof of my wonderfulness for today. Hope you enjoy reading it. I really hope. Also, I am thinking about doing some sort of rule to post daily during the Christmas holiday. Hope I will keep up with my own expectations.
Till then, have a nice life, you all!

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“All the Bright Places” by Jennifer Niven – Book Review

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“We are all alone, trapped in these bodies and our own minds, and whatever company we have in this life is only fleeting and superficial.”
Jennifer Niven, All the Bright Places

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I’ve just finished this book. And I feel like my coherence has slipped away at some point, in the process of taking in things , of analyzing them.

This is a spoiler-free review, a short and full of rambling one. This fact doesn’t stop me,tho, from talking about the final part. I saw it coming, I expected it, I would have been deeply disappointed if it hadn’t gone this way, but it shattered my very cold heart. I shed a tear and screamed internally and I currently have the very strong urge of saying everybody I know and I love that they count and have a place in this world and life is fine. Life can get fine. I feel like sending virtual hugs to the whole planet.
Is this book full of cliches? It is. I mean, for God’s sake, Theodore is this gorgeous, blue-eyed, tall, lean, muscular, full of culture, playing the guitar, writing songs, quoting Virginia Woolf extensively type of guy who also matters to be on the point of getting expelled and also happens to be obsessed with death ( I can make a whole PowerPoint presentation with interesting facts about death and suicide and the most accurate methods to end your life only using quotes from this book, who also has a troubled family history and parents that failed very hard at parenting.
Violet has just lost her bigger sister, aspires to become a writer, is an ex-cheerleader, friends with the most popular people in school, ex-girlfriend of the baseball prodigy, owner of an online magazine that mostly focuses on nail polish and the right shade of blush and , on top of it all, is one of the prettiest girls in school.
Cliche? Yes, I suppose.

“I am on the highest branch.
We are written in paint.
I believe in signs.
The glow of Ultraviolet.
A lake. A prayer. It’s so lovely to be lovely in Private.”

But nice ones, familiar ones, intelligently used ones. Beautifully written ones.
The whole book is written beautifully, swiftly, coherently. Sincerely.
It took me three tries and a huge amount of determination to get past the first 10%. Because it didn’t seem like something to use my time on. But I believe it was worth it, at least to me, as I am the type of person that greatly enjoys stories that involve mental illnesses. This book deals with suicide and being bipolar in a graceful and poetical way, not failing to give a distinct warning and to make one understand how precious and valuable life is, how small things matter.

I usually try to keep very calm while reading such things ( still having my internal fights about the quality of the literature I read and still struggling with trying to leave YA – especially  contemporary romance – behind and move to better and revelation filled books)  because I am this type of weird hipsteresque attitude regarding culture. This was hyped and romance. ” Not my thing”, I thought.
But I  figured I might be the person that needs some sort of an inspirational  romantic pseudo – deep story once in a couple of years. It was “The Fault In Our Stars” back in the winter of 2013 that, as basic as it sounds, made me rethink things. Didn’t blow me away, but made me appreciate stuff more.
“All the Bright Places” may or may not have the same effect. It is raw and sort of edgy, but if sticks a Post-It to you brain.
A Post-It on which it’s written

“APPRECIATE IT”.

On life and not completely understood rebellions

I’m going to start this off by saying that people in Romania have started protesting. Massively. All over the country.

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Almost 30 000 people on the 4th of November, Bucharest

Even in my “nothing ever happens” town. Students march. Things have started moving. And I am excited. Because it feels and smells like change. Because the government has resigned. Because people have understood that corruption kills. Because the flames of that club have surrounded the whole Romania. And, as cheesy as it sounds, it will be reborn out of its own ashes. Phoenix-like. I hope, God how I hope that things are going to get better.image-2015-11-4-20554874-0-protest-memoria-victimelor-clubul-colectiv

In honor of this and because of my great excitement and because I love words and quotes and all of it, here are some of my favorite quotes about deep things. In no particular order, mainly focused on freedom of thought and social issues. A post full of beautiful words and exuberant phrases and the idolization of beauty shall be written another time.

“THEY TRIED TO BURY US, THEY DIDN’T KNOW WE WERE SEEDS.” – Mexican proverb art-by-dan-elijah-g-fajardo

I first read this on a Mexican protester’s poster. Kept it in mind ever since.

”War is peace.
Freedom is slavery.
Ignorance is strength.”

George Orwell, “1984”

“Let her sleep

For when she wakes,

She will move mountains.”

Napoleon Bonaparte ( I know no context for this one, but I love it greatly)

“I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.”
This is all, I think. I’ll write a 7 list thing tomorrow, I hope.
By the way, I’m in with the NaNoWriMo. I think. But I didn’t really write anything yet, so I need to keep up.

Not Properly Counted Books and Bookish Thigs about Death

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.

7 Books and Bookish Things For Fall

I shall start by apologizing for my tardiness and breaking my reasonable promise. When I said I had the very intention of writing weekly, choosing my favorite things in the world and throwing them in lists with differently nice topics, I meant it. The problem is, I kind of had a huge lack of time . School stuff, mostly. Also ( and this is freaking pathetic) my laptop went down in flames, not literally, so I had no object to write from. But things are back to normal now and I have all the time in the world today. To write and such.

I promised “7 Books and Bookish Things For Fall”. So here we are 🙂

First and foremost, I want to say that I love fall with all my heart. I love crisp air in the morning, I love leaving the house while it’s still dark outside, I love colours dancing and shifting around. I love tea and I love boots and I love scarves and sweater weather. I love rain. I love cloudy evenings. I love the earthy fragrance that flies around, I love the wind, I love love love love it all. I love spooky, I love the idea of Thanksgiving, although I am European and we don’t celebrate it around here. I love Halloween and I love costumes. I love hot chocolate and the weather at 4 pm, the way the sun shines with compromise.

I hate pumpkins, tho, which may or may not get me out of the fall loving crowd, but it is fine.

ANYWAY.

Needless to say, I love books with an autumnal feeling to it as well. So I can make a pretty fine list out of them. In no particular order, here is my stack of bookish things , ready to create my autumnal utopia.

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I. “SHADOW OF THE WIND” BY CARLOS RUIZ ZAFON

This might be one the best books I’ve read this year. Whereas I read it sometime in April, I think, it still felt like a bubble of cozy fall to me. It is spooky and intelligently written and with a beautifully built plot , with rich descriptions of 1945 Barcelona and how a book can fundamentally change one’s life. The premise is rather simple, actually, but it turned out to be just the very beginning of an incredibly complex world of family history of betrayal. It is beautifully creepy. Perfect for November, with some sweetened tea and blankets. Basically a book about one’s love for books. Incredible.

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II. “WHERE SHE WENT” BY GAYLE FORMAN

Another book I read in April that I deeply associate with fall. Temporal loop, I guess, or maybe just me and my weird internal clock. It is a lyrical book. Beautiful. Better than the first one, smoothly including a life of itself. Autumnal. tumblr_no2dosqlFt1tchrkco1_500

III. Edgar Allan Poe – Anything, I suppose.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, Edgar Allan Poe is good for every single day of this life. But especially nice with fall background , vanilla candles and all the shame for acting like a basic white girl – which you probably are not.

IV. Arsty book pictures including mugs and pretty leaves or flowers

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this type of nice things are literally the best 🙂

I don’t think I actually need to explain my self, not on this one. You love books, you love book photography as well. I have some worthy examples, though.tumblr_nvmyuhLrlQ1udd37ro1_500 tumblr_nw4d6uxc5Y1rpuw07o1_500 tumblr_nw4asgkkQm1uoq5uxo1_500 tumblr_nwmvcoWx141tmvwc5o1_500

V.History & Art

Reading about Boadicea with a nice burgundy pillow under your head and the almost human heat of tea inside your palms or wondering on great blogs looking at watercolors and paintings and sketches of squirrels is literally the best thing I can do during October. Except for reading and my Math homework, of course.boadicea3s

VI. Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs

Spooky books are great for one’s soul during autumn.

This is a freaking creepy book. And it’s autumn.

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These are the books I suggested to my reading club for November. Might be a helpful list if you are looking for something atmospheric.

So read it.

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VII. Please welcome this Outlander gif that makes no sense with what I’m writing whatsoever , but it feels beautiful to me. It’s All Saints’ Day Eve, after all.

That would be all for today, hope you have a great autumnal day.

Damn , autumnal might have become my favorite word.

P.S. If you ever feel weird , try learning new words. I challenge you. Something pretty like “magoa”. Go find out what that means.

7 things Sunday – Flying Books

When I originally started this blog, I thought of it as the place where I could basically form a bookclub with myself. I was and still am deeply fascinated with how a blog works, at least in perspective , and how various communication can be. How easily I could try to talk to people from places I’ve never heard of. Poetic stuff like that.

Well, it turns out I’m a lazy person. Not actually refusing to do stuff because of laziness, but rather because I live in my own doomed world of expectations ( too high and too pretty) and I get bored of my own excitement way too fast. Oh, and books and my natural predisposition to a hobbit existence.

Anyway, school started and my need to write and share and feel fine has grown strangely.

Also, when I first came with the idea of writing here, all I basically wanted to express opinions about were books. I got a little bit off trail and decided to go back to book-related stuff because creating reviews and talking about fiction and narrative skills of others and characters and new releases brings me a whole deal of satisfaction.

So I decided to create a little thing to help me keep whoever reads this posted. As in, something constant and periodical and structural.

                                                            7 THINGS SUNDAY

As for this nice September weekend, I’m going to list 7 books related – obviously or vaguely – to flight. 

I. “The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender” by Leslye Walton

Just to be clear, as far as I understood it, this is just subtly related to flight. Or rather, to wings and family histories and a magical realism so beautifully created that it makes me shudder now, weeks after reading it and enjoying it greatly. The writing is beautiful, the wings are something else, the characters have  a depth that is pretty uncommon and a mystery that struck me as otherworldly. Do you get explanations? No. Is there a strange kind of vagueness in the narration , in the way time, symbolism, personalities, beliefs and existential paths collapse into one another? Yes.

This book is a beautifully satisfying metaphor of flight.

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Not to mention the stunning and elegant cover.

II. “Magonia” by Maria Dahvana Headley 

I’m currently reading this book – the debut of an author with quite interesting ideas about a world that is floating above our heads.Whereas I’m halfway through, I can say that it was unexpectedly difficult for me to get into this one, the main reason being, probably, that I’m rather judgemental and weirdly critical when it comes to characters and their development, and the way Aza Ray was portrayed, at least at first, struck me as cartoonish.

Once you get past the first 100 pages things evolve greatly, for which I am glad, and a new world develops, a little bit incoherently, but I believe in this dizziness of world building.

I think this is going to transform into a series, but I’m not sure – what I know for a fact is that it involves flying ship and singing that creates and transforms. Which makes me really interested into this.

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Another beautiful cover, for me, at least, set somewhere in the same chromatic field, but with quite an exotic feel to it.

III. “The Mistborn Trilogy” by Brandon Sanderson 

You might have noticed it, by now, but I’m going to point it out nonetheless – I am a huge fantasy fan, coming from an YA dystopian period that included various and mostly basic exceptions.

My love for fantasy is infinite and “Mistborn” might quite be one of the best fantasy books I’ve read ( not that I’ve read too many, I’m just deeply interested).

My fundamental advice is to get into this knowing nothing, absolutely nothing – it will make everything a huge deal better –  more consistent and fresher and a breath of magical air in a quite worn world. Really, read this if you haven’t.

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The British variant of the covers, incredibly fair representations of the epicness and complexity

The way flight is configured in here is less metaphorical, but equally freeing for one of the protagonists – I put this series in here because I like how flight becomes something integrally new and different and empowering, how it has a huge role in character development. Absolutely epic.

IV. The “Throne of Glass” Series by Sarah J. Maas

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The American covers, screaming “bad-ass”

You’ve probably heard of this one, taking into account all the hype surrounding it – a hype that is , from my modest point of view, earned. Because I find these books fantastic – yes, there are issues in them, no, they are not perfect, but damn, they intrigued me so majorly and overwhelmingly that I read the first three in 48h last May and prayed and prayed September to come faster, so that I could finally read “Queen of Shadows”. All in all, I am a fan. And the flight element comes in with the third book , after an incredibly special to me characters comes in – I’m talking about both Rowan and Manon here , if you know what I mean. I’m talking about the same empowering flight, about binding through freedom, about shapeshifters and beauty all over. I really like Manon, by the way – I like the relationship between her and her wyvern, Abraxos, I like her humanization( especially in “Queen Of Shadows”), her dedication and her leader abilities. I love her character, I believe it is the main proof that this series is evolving and Sarah’s writing grows more and more mature and beautiful.

V. “ A Daughter of Smoke and Bone” by Laini Taylor download (8)

In a vivid world of angels and chimera , through gates that transform our world in a haven, doors with blackened handprints, in a world where magic comes in hope and wishes and blue-haired girls fall for angels, flying sort of is a must. A connection and a poetic way of finding common things in each other.

This book is beautiful – whereas I had my issues with it and I postponed reaching for the second and the third one for a rather ridiculous amount of time , I can recognize the poetry of language and the rather fuzziness this book gives me.

You should read it if you want a great, intense love story a whole lot less dumber than “Romeo and Juliet”.

VI. “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” -Richard Bach71728

This is a story about being different. Some sort of inspirational thing to keep you going, to give you a sense of who you are and the courage to do something crazy.

I read it 5 years ago, as the first assignment for my Romanian class in middle grade. I’m not sure I loved it, but I , for sure, got something out of it and it stuck with me.

You can always be Jonathan Livingston Seagull and fly away from your fellows.

It has a really nice metaphor for alienation, I really recommend it to people who feel misunderstood and alone.

VII. The “Harry Potter” Series by J.K.Rowling 

Ok, I know you might find this pathetic. Actually, you might find my whole list pathetic and rather weird, BUT I really think that flying is a huge thing at Hogwarts – I mean, just think about it – flying on a broom ( mostly for quidditch reasons), flying on the back of the dragon, flying on thestrals, the flying thing in which the Beauxbatons students came, led by winged horses, Buckbeak the hippogriff, Fawkes and his beautiful abilities.

All sorts of flight and flying things , all mostly related to magic and life/death situations , and all really inspirational for young me.

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Hope you enjoyed this winged idea of mine and you like the 7 stuff Sunday.

Gonna be back next week with a Top 7 Fall Books.

Autumn burns

Today is Friday and I feel like continuously sighing, because Fridays are a quiet and happy thing.

Fridays are getting out of school at 2 pm and heading to the local library and finding nice books.

Friday means my hair curlier than usual, my earbuds dug deeper in my ears and my life messier.

Friday means sighing and listening to people singing about stupid things.

Friday means laughing and laughing and laughing simply because you are tired. Simply because Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday have washed over you in a wave of quiet and disturbing disappointment.

Friday is the day that comes after a Thursday when you couldn’t make a sense of who you were and just stood there quietly, watching people and covering yourself in shut eyes, sealed lips and silence.

And a self-conscious promise that you would, at some point, leave.

Friday is the day when you can forget lunch and just stick with chocolate. Or do both. Nobody cares.

Friday is the day when you’ve run out of avocado but you still have Saturdays for fixing that.

Friday has the afternoon you carefully plan only to end up stuck on the carpet, listening to music – sad music or nonsensical music or random music – or watching useless and not actually funny videos on YouTube or videos about books or videos in which people talk about how much they were able to achieve in such short lives. So much that it makes you dreamy and fundamentally uncomfortable with your lack of great things done.

Fridays for short hair, for printed glasses, for being alone and smelling bitter oak leaves in the air and in the streets.

For missing rain deeply and totally.

Fridays for a day that is deeply fried in the oily concoctions of autumn.

Going away

I want to leave.
I don’t know if you’ve ever felt it, that sparkly thing in your stomach, that little flame of sheer fear and longing. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt it, or if it actually has a name that we can all roll in our mouths without feeling weird.
Some call it “wanderlust”. But I would like that “a” changed for an “o”. Because I crave miracles. And places I’ve never tried to picture.
…..
I’m stuck for now, tho. And I suppose I will be stuck for a little longer.
…..
Last week, I got a message with a link.
A link to the web page of an American project that offers scholarships to students from Eastern Europe. From countries like mine.
Basically, you get to swap the background a little bit and study junior high at a highschool in the US.
Doesn’t it sound great.
Problem is, you have to get through a huge series of tests in order to get there.
And, damn, I am so excited and so freaking sure I want to do it.
I wanna leave. For a while at least.
But I fear that I won’t get past the first series of testing, never mind the rest.
And damn, how horrible I would feel.
Anyway.
I’m maybe leaving for America next August, God knows if I will.
I hope and pray I do.
Cause I can’t survive “here” anymore.
Cause I want to breathe.
And breathe.
And see .

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Wording

My computer had what I would call a seizure. It’s just opened here, in front of me, black screen with a white arrow capable of moving around, but doing nothing more than that. Just annoying me. Not in the fundamentally annoying way. Just making my life harder than usually.  And also making me write from this app. Such a tiny keybord,  so little space for my mental floss. Such non-existent warning when I’m a master of stupidly spelled words.
I really feel like writing because I really feel like talking, or rather being listened to, and texts about useless things, this hide-and-seek type of dialogues are profoundly dissatisfying. I think I could talk for  hours out of sheer frustration. I could talk for days and days until I’m totally unable to articulate a word, until I’m numb and useless, simply because I love to talk.
Or rather,  I love to be listened to.
No, I don’t like people looking at me, gazing at me, staring at me, getting bored or annoyed listening to my ramblings. Yes, my unhealthily pale skin cam get all shades of red and my breath can become fast and shallow and my hands can become knots and the tips of my feet can sink deep into the ground, until they reach the hot center of my gravitational field. My brain can get weirdly irrational, my tongue irresponsible.  And tho, I will keep speaking . Talking. Telling. I will keep craving the high that the idea of being listened ro gives me. I will keep craving the weight I can feel forming in my stomach while words hurry out of my mouth. Out of my hands. Out of my eyes and lungs.
That is why I felt like writing. I did. Hope I’ll make a habit out of it, because it becomes difficult to breathe  with so many words stuck between my mouth and my brain.

Life is not a sparkly bubble

No, it is not. Life is rather weird and it becomes even weirder and more difficult and complicated and weird and difficult when you have the incredibly destructive habit of overthinking it. Like I do.

Today officially was the third day of school. And against my expectations of failed human communication, I still felt fine around people. Damn it, I am truly exaggerating right now. I just.. I figure I have this interior defensive mechanism that somehow allows me to be ok and feel kind of fine, some sort of thing that makes me stand straighter, speak more coherently, look people in the eye, keep my chin up and my steps and breaths even. Some sort of thing that doesn’t allow me to think too much when feeling like I have something funny to say, that does leave me to being, to laughing too loudly and talking too much, to being proud. The problem is, there usually comes the time after that, when I get home, my feet sore from walking, my hair a mess and my hands stained with ink, when it all comes back to me. All the laughing and the jokes – that seem freaking stupid, all the walking straightly and the attitude that I could have kept for another time. For it is not totally real, but rather something that I could have been, I suppose. The problem is, there comes the time when all that put up confidence returns and feels like salt on burnt skin. Because damn, I’m vulnerable in front of myself. Because the moment I feel fine , something black and shiny and uncomfortable catches my eye and becomes bigger and bigger against the law of physics.

Maybe that’s why I despise school so much. I don’t know, but I’m really frustrated at this particular moment, because I’ve started transforming this into a cliche thing and I really feel like avoiding that.

A smarter affirmation would be, tho, that I’ve noticed that the 21 hours I’ve been in school since Monday have killed all the creativity and replaced it with frustration. And I don’t want to fall in the same pattern of hatred and self sufficiency and lack of self control and desperation and limitations that left me numb and indifferent and then sad. I think I’ve simply decided that the time has come to make the most out of what I have. But , in order to achieve that, I first need some joy and some harmonious days and some good books and cold weather and some silence and a good night’s sleep and harmony with myself again. And I need to work hard and stop wasting my time and work hard a little bit more.

I just hope I can pull it off, this harmonious autumnal life.

Because, you know, life is not a sparkly bubble of soap.