My blood still boils when I think about it.
2 years ago, I read PS I love you by Cecelia Ahern and was moved to tears. Of course, its romanticism can only be found in novels (If you know any couple like that please introduce them to me). What? You haven’t read the book? Where have you been? Please read it!
I’m the sort who throws away a book in disgust whenever it has a predictable happy ending, and I’m also the sort who boos at the cinema screen after a particularly sappy rom-com, but somehow I always find myself choosing these novels and movies. Maybe I’m a cynic but a closet romantic?
Last night, I finished reading Where Rainbows End (published as Rosie Dunne in US), her second novel. Again, from its title you can tell its gonna be a romantic tearjerker, but its message is as powerful as the first novel. I feel for the character because, she’s very much like me in some ways. It’s a beautiful and hilarious story that twists itself into heartwrenching turns with loveable characters and a predictable but long-awaited ending. Next time you’re at the bookstore or the library, please look for it.
Imagine my shock when I discovered that Cecelia Ahern was only 21 when she wrote PS I love you, and 23 when she wrote Where rainbows end. I’m so ashamed of myself! What have I been doing all this time? I remember when I was in Sec three, my school’s English HOD asked me (and 3 other students) to enter an international short story writing competition. I wrote a beautiful story (trust me, I’m so critical of myself, when I say it’s beautiful, it must have been novel-worthy) and handed it up to her. She even came to me and praised me for its content. My mistake was being blind to the fact that we hated each other (long story) and that I didn’t make a copy of that story I had handwritten. So, the competition headline came and went. We stupid students had trusted her (she’s a teacher, hello?!) but it was only when I went up to ask her for the results that she said nonchalantly, “Oh I had no time to hand it in” and then walked away. I told the others about it but while I was furious, they merely shrugged their shoulders and pouted. What could I do? I was a low class, Arts student with so much passion for my work, and they were smart and intelligent Pure Science teachers’ pets who probably had better things to do.
Demoralized, I went to ask her for my story back (together with an entire file of poems that she had requested for that I DIDN’T MAKE COPIES OF). She gave me fake and apologetic look and said,” I think I have lost it. Didn’t you make copies of them?” When she saw from the look on my face that I obviously hadn’t, she smiled triumpantly and brushed me off, saying that if there was nothing else she had other stuff to do. I wanted to kill her. I still do.
BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH