It’s nice to have her back

I’m weird. That’s what I have learned over the past few days.

I had a few birthday parties to attend this past week (because it seems that everyone’s birthday falls on the SAME DAY). I had to celebrate my grandma’s for a few hours before attending the first one, so that’s what I did. We ate my mom’s special dessert, and I was itching to go, so I hopped on my bike and away I went. I arrived and they were watching a movie. And a really stupid one at that. I’m not a fan of stupid humor movies, so I obviously really didn’t like Airplane. I was also busy focusing on the boy behind me who was hugging me and running his hands through my hair. That can be distracting.

Because I’ve discovered just how much I love being all in my lonesome, I hate being around people. Even people I usually enjoy being around. I couldn’t wait to go home (well, of course, I stopped by my grandparents’ before going home).

The next day is when I found out how weird I am.

I went to another friend’s house (and was kind of dreading it because she doesn’t exactly invite all of the greatest people in the world), and was seriously like a little social butterfly. I went from group to group, just talking to everybody. I suddenly turned into my old outgoing self. I haven’t seen that part of me in quite awhile. It was nice to have her back. There was a specific group I hung out with (with didn’t include my boyfriend, oddly enough), and we even walked to my house to get my Pretty Pretty Princess board game we’d been itching to play. So, we did. In the dark of the trampoline. And swore at the game to make it more exciting.

After a summer of just wanting to be alone, feeling the urge to mingle and be around people was nice. I found a best friend in a girl I haven’t taken the time to talk to lately, and we’ve made plans to hang out all the time. I’m sorry I dreaded what turned out to be an awesome night.

My friend Gemma Doyle

You know what? Forget Twilight. Forget New Moon. Forget Eclipse. And FORGET Breaking Dawn.

Take those books off of your bookshelf and shove them in the nearest trash can. (Sure, I enjoyed them a little, but not as much as I thought I would.)

Now, go to the nearest Barnes & Noble or Borders and pick up copies of the Gemma Doyle trilogy. Place said trilogy on your shelf where Twilight used to take up space, and take them down one by one to devour them. Join red-headed Gemma in her travels, her curiosity, her love and her troubles. Erase Bella Swan and Edward Cullen from your mind and replace them with Gemma and Kartik. Befriend Ann, Felicity and Pippa and travel with the three of them to the realms to frolick in the garden or take a ride with Gorgon. Find out who Circe is, find out who your friends are, and who your enemies are. Ignore the Rakshana’s requests and continue employing your magic.

I finished The Sweet Far Thing last night, and was struck in awe (well, awestruck). It wasn’t the ending I was hoping for, but strangely, it fit nicely. Libba Bray is far more talented and descriptive than Stephenie Meyer is in Twilight and the other novels. C’mon! Who doesn’t love an author who puts “She has never lived in the Victorian era, is not British, and has no superpowers, though if she did they would involve being able to eat her weight in Swedish fish without feeling the urgent need to shave her tongue afterward” in the ABOUT THE AUTHOR section? Bray’s ideas are fresh and original. If you do not love her, you must be mad.

Anyway, have someone pry Twilight out of your hands and read and remember A Great and Terrible Beauty, Rebel Angels, and The Sweet Far Thing. Instead of viewing that ghastly Twilight movie, read! I get angry if somebody compares Twilight to Harry Potter, but if one were to compare Gemma Doyle to Harry Potter, I actually would not mind. Nothing will ever beat HP, but I believe that Gemma comes pretty close.

Silly little girl

Silly little girl

lost and never found

alone and afraid

mysterious and unknown

silly little girl

Silly little girl

troubled and unaware

biting her lip

tugging on her hair

silly little girl

Silly little girl

tears sprinting from her eyes

hiding them with her hands

she can’t seem to realize

she cannot be a silly little girl anymore

Silly little girl

staring at her feet

not daring to look –

she’s not sure she wishes to meet

the grown-up silly little girl.