ATYT: Creeping on Alaska

I’m ashamed to have barely read over six books in the past six years, so I downloaded a ton of e-books to remedy that. I downloaded novels from authors with resounding names first, then ones with compelling plots. I figured I needed to read more local books because local literature is so rich, and it portrays (what you already know about) your culture on a deeper and more edifying, yet intimate level.

Dear All: this is not a review. I don’t do reviews, because I feel that to be entitled to review something, especially literary pieces, music, films or visual art, you have to have at least enough knowledge about the subject in general. Also, people should be able to trust your taste somehow, and your analytical abilities.

When I try to think of an example of a bad review, I remember one of my friends from my previous job talking about awful food blogs over lunch. As we struggled to keep the food in our mouths, we listened to her vocally fake-blogging:

“The dish was so........ good. I can really taste... the salt and the pepper in it. It’s just so... great!”
“It has a hint of... what do you call it? Sugar!”

Obviously because I’m a master of none (except convincing people to agree with me/unconscious hypnotism???), you can’t really trust a review when I make one. Not until I can trust myself with that.

Ergo, here’s my deal with J. Green’s Looking for Alaska: after reading a third of it, I’m not sure I can say that I like it. I want to like books, no matter what the genre, for the simple reason that books are the shit. I used to believe every that no book is bullshit, but for some reason, I keep picking up the wrong books all the time. Seriously, every time I decide I don’t want to read them any further, my heart breaks. So my heart broke over and over again with every page of Alaska.

Forgive me, Mr. Green, but your novel reeks of Hugh* (other than that... it's pretty awesome). I him Hugh because I don’t care enough to look up a fitting name (oh, really, Lil, but you care enough to explain, to get defensive when nobody even cares?), but mostly because majority of the letters spell UGH. And that is the feeling I get when I come across Hugh: ugh.

Before I continue, I think this dude needs an introduction—

Hugh was one of the horrible men I fell hard for, for no particular (and most probably foolish) reasons when I was in my late teens. He was intelligent and funny, but creepy, intolerably eccentric, abusive, inconsiderate, stubborn, thick and slow (believe me when I say that people with high IQs can be slow and thick, UGH). He emotionally blackmailed me on purpose both to punish me; oh, and there’s a 99% chance he considered my suffering rather orgasmic. But, more than anything, Hugh was just weird, just too goddamn weird...

He liked vore, and had a mouth and stomach fetish. By stomach, I mean the INSIDE of the stomach, where you digest food. He wants to be peed on and vomited on (good lord...). He claims to be submissive in bed, which I’m sure is boring, and likes to go down on women not because it pleases them, not because he likes the act itself, but because he likes being sat on, being underneath, and feeling like the woman is towering over him. In the end, his vorarephilic ass will get the better of him. And you, if you even consider dating him.

Listen, if you’re into vore, feet, scat, or whatever, dude, I don’t care. But once you cross the line (e.g. talking about things I find disturbing, which may or may not involve your strange fetish, after I politely ask you not to) I get mad. I get furious.
Ladies and gentlemen: Hugh!

Okay, Pudge from Looking for Alaska may not resemble Hugh, and I’m still trying to put my finger on what exactly I find Hugh-like (a.k.a. annoying) about the protagonist. They must be on similar intellectual levels, also the fact that they are tall, have strange-looking bodies, have lewd thoughts about girls, the lack of romantic relationships in their lives, basically, their creepiness towards girls. It doesn’t help that I share some qualities with Alaska, who Miles lusts after, and that Alaska’s boyfriend, Jake, sounds a lot like my Miles*.

So, every time Pudge is creeping on Alaska (checking out her breasts, curves, counting the layers separating his skin from her skin), I can’t help but visualize Hugh creeping on me; and I get pissed. I know it’s in the past, but the fact that he’s still around, and would sometimes talk to me makes it hard for me to read this book. Oh, I’ll finish reading it, all right, because what makes it worthwhile is John Green’s writing style. I think it’s witty and funny, and I’ve noted so many good quotes. The writing also reminds me vaguely of how I used to write back in college... oh, I can be vain, all right.

Change of topic, as mister pukeface doesn’t deserve too much space on this blog. Today, I went to claim my last payment from my old workplace and saw a lot of people I missed. God, was the place nostalgic. Everybody noticed a change of style and the welcome weight gain, which I claimed was from getting enough rest and not skipping meals and... general happiness (or lack of work stress).

My interview with the real estate firm went pretty well, too, and I discovered the job was also pretty cool. I just hope it doesn’t mess with my health again and that I thrive in the marketing field. I guess my plan, as of now, is to slowly inch myself closer and closer to Art, and not freaking jump from one area of expertise to another. I hope to get a follow-up call from that company, and that they don’t snub me like the other great businesses I applied to. :(

Because even when I’m tired and the light at the end of the tunnel seems to be far, I have to keep going, never slowing down, because I’m always one step closer when I’m trying. Jesus help me.

Lilith

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*Code name/s