Last night, as I was scrolling through the endless downward hole that is social media, I somehow found myself at the profile of my old tumblr. It was one that I had made when I was in second year of high school - a mere five years ago. Like any teenager with a tumblr fueled by adolescent angst, it was full of quirky quotes, poetry excerpts that complained about how "complicated" love is, movie stills with fake subtitles that make your favorite pop punk band a run for their money. How I miss those glory days.
But mostly though, I remembered my best friend, I stalked her profile and came across a post, it was her giving me this book exactly one year and two months ago. Brief Chronicle of Another Stupid Heartbreak. It's ironic, for reasons I'd rather not dwell on. I was feeling pretty adventurous and wanted to actually read something after so many half-assed failed attempts.
My God, I missed reading so much.
Lu has Filipino heritage, she works at a movie house, and spends her day at parks watching couples wondering how deeply complex their lives are. I've heard other people say about how art has made them feel vulnerable, or how poetry seems to perfectly describe who they are as a person, and I surprisingly have never understood that sentiment, until I revisited this book, and I felt truly naked.
Reading Lu go through great lengths, even to the point of being borderline narcissistic, just to make sense of what she's going through - wink, wink, teenage heartbreak - it feels like Alsaid has written a biography of me. I often talk to my friends about how fast we're growing up, but reading this book and relating to how harsh teenage romance can be, it tugs a special string in my heart. It's liberating and equally embarrassing to read a story and have so much you can relate to but still have so much to long for. People give YA novels a lot of flak, but man, some of them hold a soft spot in my heart.