This week I have been reading some of my letters from the past, and I was actually struck dumb by how many of those "more advanced" words I had been using, and I just had this sudden rush of guilt throwing a right hook at me.
I don't know what has happened; I suppose that it is just a lack of time that caused me to neglect thinking about the wording, but I certainly hope that my mind would be able channel to a more refined mindset so that my weekly journal would not seem so bland and/or shallow.
I am now surrounded by people in the cafe, with Angela sitting next to me. She says that she is relatively free of any meeting or obligation today but she seems to have decided that spending a day's worth of the sun wallowing in a nondescript corner of an unlit room is not suitable. She called me out of my sweet home so that we can enjoy some company in a slightly crowded cafe.
Three Books a Week is a Charm
Thats was what I actually did, and I didn't realize it until I am typing this sentence.
There is one book, though, is one I wish not to expound on. Not because it was a mediocre book -quite the opposite, actually. The series was one of the most meaningful ones that I have ever discovered in my life-, but because I would rather keep the story to myself and I know that I would be better off if people don't know what it is about.
The first book I pored myself over during the first half of the week was also a very special one. Anna and the French Kiss, written by Stephanie Perkins, was the threshold I stepped through when entering the realm that cultivated my love for romance.
At first I got this book in Chinese from a book fair held by my junior high. I was browsing through the piles and heaps when I spotted it. I find it funny today, of how much effort I had put in, trying to sneak the book to the cashier without been seen by my friends because I was apparently too sheepish to let them find out that I was interested in the lovey-dovey stories that are so cheesy you can dip your bread in it like fondue.
Anna is sent to an American boarding school in France by her dad. Anna was apparently too timid about new environments but was lucky anyway to get help from a group of people whom she later calls her friends. One among them, Étienne St. Clair, an American bloke with an English accent who was given very a very French name (I still find this concept fascinating) swept her off both her feet as they explore how far the boundary of friends is laid on the field. There was a caveat, as a lot of romance are so prone to: St. Clair has a girlfriend.
See? I told you it is cheesy. I would save all the words instead of ranting about whether it is/isn't cheating (to be honest, I am also confused) but when you put that aside, it was just a story of kids in high school whittling away their youth on relationship dramas. I love the story just as much as my previous two times reading it, but this time I didn't find it as... magical as I read it four years ago. It wasn't the third time read that rubbed the pink bubbles and the glitter away; it's simply that after four years of submerging in one and another romance-based novels that made me realize that some of the sentiments portrayed in it are relatively bland. It is kind of like the stage where I was transitioning from the Warriors (by Erin Hunter, the series about cats and their clans) to stories that are purely romantic; I used to feel my heart rate pick up when a cat did something intimate with another, like tangling their tails together, only to find that it was nothing when compared to two pairs of human lips smashing together. I don't think I am making any sense right here, but I tried.
The book is, as I later observed, clichéd like an everyday romance novel, which gave the best ending you can ever think of, and there was less excitement in this read, but it still has its sentimental values. That, and also the one-star cynical reviews for this book found online are some of the most hilarious articles I have ever read online; you know you love the book and would probably give it more than three stars out of five but you still find yourself grinning a knowing smile and agreeing with the horrible reviews.
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| This pot of real grey was from the pancake shop I went with Cathy more than a week ago. (The next book would have to wait until the next week since I took its picture with another one.) |
The third book was finished this morning, and being the second Y/A high school romance of the week, I found it more agreeable than the first. Sorry, Stephanie.
Leah on the Off Beat is the third book I read written by Becky Albertali. It is a sequel to the book that was adapted to the movie Love, Simon. I had really good impressions for the Simon universe so reading this continual of the story is but a reasonable and sane decision. By casting the spotlights from Simon to his best female friend Leah, we got to see the followups of multiple couples that found each other's hands when the previous book ended. But instead of the cheery and lightheaded POV from Simon the Dreamer, Leah had a cooler, heavier -which is my euphemism for cynical- head, one that views the world and the universe with more skepticism and less confidence. She herself is struggling with a truckload of problems like the breakup of her friends (not that of Simon's, don't worry) and a stepfather she didn't think she would have liked, and of course, her sexuality that is attached with a crush on her friend.
As I said earlier, I love these young adults' novels talking about LGBT relationships like you are merely making comments of the weather of the day or what soup you want to order at the restaurant downstairs. Since the education system has yet developed into one embracing enough to be adequately LGBT- inclusive, these books are the best things teenagers get.
I have been praising the author Becky and her her aptitude of deftly catching the whirlwind life of a high schooler, and she continues to show her talent by conjuring up the perfect storm of teenage angst, all wrapped up in the blue-green covers of the book. I always get caught up in the situations the author set up for the characters and I barked out laughing reading three out of the three books I read from her.
I especially loved the parts when Leah expressed positivity for herself, which is the kind of attitude every one should employ.
Now, I am about to move on to the last book of the Harry Potter sequence. It should be awesome.
Fancy Desserts Go Perfect with Books
It's full disclosure time.
Recently, I have been obsessed with taking awesome pictures of my books. I have bought little pots of cacti and miniature plants that are quite easy to take care of (or I have some undiscovered talents of green finger possession) and a pack of dried flowers and a new but cheap mug so as to have more tools at my disposal when I want to take pictures for my books. Why did this new "hobby" come to be in the first place? On social media, I have been following several users who have constantly been updating their recent reads with their reviews, more often than not attached with a series of breathtaking photos: Some adorned their bed with a felt pink blanket with real seashells. The book was lain upon the backdrop with precise casualness, and, as if it were a cherry on top, a pair of sunglasses with rose-tinted shades is set upon the book; while some simply set a piece of wooden tray with a stack of books of the same color scheme siting upon, adding a simply but sharp picture onto the feed of the user. The pictures tells me with how much care the books were handled, and I somehow hoped that my books can be given the same, otherworldly treatments. That, and I really want to shove my beauties in front of the faces of my friends.
Aside from the little props, I have discovered online some really fancy cafe or patisserie that sell desserts like artworks. There was one day I was inclined in the comfort of our sofa when I see someone writing about a chocolate mousse cake. It came with a cone-shaped pulled sugar covering the cake, jailing the overloading sweetness with even more sweetness. Before I even had to time sit up at marvel at it properly just to show decent respect to the thoughts put behind this extravaganza of a dessert, I was already slobbering and texted the first person that came to my mind: Cathy. She was the one who took me to the pancake store, seemingly game to any sort of desserts I offer to head over to together. Additionally, she has a knack of books positioning and that makes her a really awesome photography consultant.
Several days after the discussion, we were walking out of the MRT station where the store is said to be within short walking distance -which was practically five minutes of walking- . The sun was enjoying a jubilant midday, and the clouds were reluctant to drape itself over the "sunny" disposition.
Translation: It was hot.
We slid into the still empty store called 時安．靜好 that provided us with the cool air we needed to fend off the heat.
Cathy has yet eaten, so she ordered a bread with molten cheese filling with seasoned grilled chicken. I actually hadn't had lunch either, but I came solely for the sugar tower chocolate greatness so that was what I got. The owner of the shop apparently loves the My Little Ponies; there were at least three dolls of the weirdly-colored ponies set upon the overhanging menu and the counter at one corner with the turkey-blue-walled room. The two neighboring sides of the walls are otherwise painted white. In the middle of the structure stood a fake tree (or was it just a dried tree) that was nearly reaching the ceiling. Its dreamy atmosphere must be the reason people would want to frequent the place. Our order had arrived and then came ten full minutes of photo sessions. I brought two books for this occasion, two of which I don't know when I will be reading. Our drinks went well with the blue background with words that said "Leave me alone" The dessert came the last, and it really was as lavish and as exorbitant as seen on Internet. "The Peak of Uriel" was the dessert's name, one actually on the same level with the visual experience. The yellow of the maltose that formed the tower gleamed a more princely gold under the light, and even the plate was also dressed as if you are supposed to devour the plate as well.
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| The peak of Uriel |
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| Under the sugar prison |
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| Cathy in the middle. |
Cathy was exasperated, given that she had to watch me fumbling around failing to find a right angle for the books. She helped me out with the second book as she put the book up perpendicularly when I was obstinately refusing to use the same blue wall as background. Sometimes I feel like should be more appreciative to have such tolerant friends, but there are times they also expect the same attitude from me, so I think the present is just peachy. Just kidding. I love my friends.
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| I know this looks disturbing, but it's so disturbing it's hilarious |
The End and Preview for Next Week
This is the ned for the week. Next week, I will attend a reunion for my former cram school. One that I arranged. Hopefully it goes well.
At first, I only planned to call it a day right after the book review session, but I don't think that would be descriptive enough, so I stalled a day to add an extra entry.
Sincerely,
Hugo
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