this book, i mean this goddamn book.
i was reading "a little life" from the time i was feeling isolated and also not feeling anything actually. i truly underestimated and expected this book to be awful, considering it was 'overrated/hyped'. i was casually skimming til i finished the chapter one first section of the book, eventually i wanted to stop because it was just that good and i don't feel like ending it too soon. i thought about how i wanted to linger on this book as long as i can, if it meant reading and sticking around with these lovely sad characters and their not-so-little storiesβto somewhow arouse a feeling in me and it feels like spending time with this book were like choosing to remain yourself on a complex relationship and as well as it feels like having a deep friendship and creating an intense connection or intimacy with someone close from home that you've been longing to love or idk.
this extremely weird attachment i'd developed within this book, i think t'was the sense of comfort and relief that i'm unconsciously relying on even tho i'm simultaneously perceiving the subtle joy and pain from the sadness itself.
and that's when i decided to read another book (daisy jones and the six which i unexpectedly hated it & the seven husbands of evelyn hugo like wow it was so good) that would kill my time by idle reading that would alter and forget this current novel i'm reading in order to reread again the first chapter and cost my time to restore those wholesome feelings that would feel like the first time. yeah i'm that desperate twat that would do everything to relive the nostalgia sensation. i've repeatedly visited the two chapters thrice and third chapter twice. still can't get over how disturbed and anxious i was that night when i was reading the half of chapter three - third section.
this is the kind of story you are expected to encounter all the saddest and traumatic moments so painfully numb to the point you won't cry for it which tears are solely reserved for the happy moments you'd wished for granted. crying for the small things is much more agonizing.
slowburn stories will always be my favorite and this one really tested my patience to the fullest. i mean it took 512 pages to see the characters finally- haha
page 690 u crushed my heart and it felt like its about to burst.
"dear comrade" wtf then "lispenard street' i've never ever brought some tissues while readingβin my entire experience. literally got nothing to say and i'm not even exaggerating.
feeling overwhelmed everytime i continue to read the remaining chapters, it was like this book was a reminder of my rigid life: constant pressures, collections of what-if's, things i should've and could've done while i'm still young and figuring shit out and sieze the youth energy in me but really at this age i'm already filled with solemn regrets in the sense of nostalgia, and again it feels like i'm having parallel feelings and visions of myself when i turn 30 and this story will be destined to mine. it is truly difficult to read but it has this little comfort i'm craving for myself or from someone i've been pining to attain but couldn't and this book provided the lack of emotions, social connections, and more specially this intense detachement i've been experiencing.
all i could think about is jb, mal, andy, harold, and mainly jude and willem. feels like the book is still not over yet, felt like their stories are still running in my head and i wanted to keep and them and feel their presence as long as i wanted and i'd cry for them but at this point i'm dead inside and i missed them already.
it's been 24hrs since i've finished the book and i still think about them. i tried to sleep the sadness off but still i was dreaming about them. i can't get them off my mind, i'm trying to put into words to somehow point out the aftereffects so that i could deal something regarding to this shitty feeling but til now i couldn't describe everything i'm feeling. it's not the trauma that stays with me, it's the characters in the story. albeit they're fictional but they were like my friends already; given the short time i've spent with them felt like years. they are so alive in my mind even though some of them actually died in the story but idk it is just weird that i'm a college dropout yet it seemed likw i was having the best college experience i've never had while i was reading and since i've reached the end, it left me feeling empty with all those years i've endured and suffered with jude, harold, willem, jb, andy, mal and even julia were already gone and now it seemed like i'm entering my 30's still lost like how lost i was in my 20's but the difference is this is the real adulting phase, a life not existing in a book without them and i could never ever restore those friendships again, i could never have those people; that kind of bond; that sense of belongingness and connection were eventually aging. it haunts me everytime considering that it really reflects the reality i'm living in. ever since i've finished the book, i'm not prepared to go back and be in the present and let the current life happens to me. all the emotions becoming resonant, echoing its sadnesses and peaknesses of life. but now i wanted to reel in for the company of the lows not with the highs and let them feel through my insides until it becomes fortitude as jude said at some point in his darkest moments. i really missed them and my friends from home. it is fucked up when u realized you are more alone than you think it was. i wish i could have something like them the four of them.
