Cinderella in Rubber Shoes

{MY REACTION TO} DATE A GIRL WHO READS

Original article by Rosemarie Urquico
(In response to Charles Warnke’s You Should Date an Illiterate Girl)

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

(Read more)

Okay, first things first—I don’t intend to offend anyone who loves the above piece by writing this response. The article’s been popping up more and more frequently on my dashboard and I just can’t help but notice how many people still ignore that Urquico is somewhat poking a hornet’s nest with a stick of her cloyingly sweet, irresistible interpretation of the female bookworm. I think it’s about time I un-zip my mouth about it now, eh? And here’s what I got to say:

There’s no wrong way to be a girl.
Date whoever the heck you want.

I’m a girl who reads. I can’t live without books—I read like I need to breathe! Anyone who’s following me must be aware of that by now. All the same, I value being a woman too; I value being outside any stereotypical cages some people forces us to be in. I value not being underrated because I don’t do this thing that makes others seem cooler or more “special.” While I can really relate to a lot of the descriptions Urquico provided (hello, second paragraph!), I believe she seemed to have painted girls-who-read in an idealized portrait that has, for the most part, misogynistic shades. Am I the only one who noticed it?

I’ve already given my not-so-subtle jab at Urquico’s piece the first time I posted it here: I attached the illustration above, featuring reader girls who are obviously also spending their money on beautiful clothes. See paragraph one (italicized line). There’s nothing wrong with you at all if you like clothes and books. Heck, there’s nothing wrong with you if you like clothes alone or something else instead of anything related to literature! Just because you don’t like books doesn’t mean you’re inferior to those who do. It doesn’t mean you’re not smart, deep, or interesting. It doesn’t mean no one deserves to love or date you. It just means that you have different interests! You are still you; you are still a woman, and there’s no wrong way to be one.

This is not the only article that seems to value a certain “type” of girl by depreciating the others. I remember stumbling upon other pieces like this, all with the formulaic title “Girls who (insert hobby here).” If you Venn-diagram them all, what you’d see in the center are their subverted competitive natures, their haughty ways of hoisting their own featured girl up on the rung higher than the others so they can be tagged as “better.” Look at it at the right angle, and it would look like a pointless battle between women with superiority complex, writing off other girls who are not as interesting as they are (in consonance with their essays).

Urquico’s is a dichotomy of an article—while it pushes bookworm girls up the pedestal (in a rather unhealthy way), there are also some passages that can be harrowingly patronizing. Not just that, it as well contains suggestions for the message’s recipient that are outright destructive when it comes to a relationship. According to the essay, if a bookworm girl says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses, she’s just saying that to sound intelligent (because apparently she really can’t understand it and she just needs to show off to you!). According to this, it’s completely acceptable to lie to her (because apparently she will understand why you need to do it, she knows how to figure out the mechanics of your psyche—oh, she learned it from books!). According to this, it’s okay to fail her (because apparently, like her favorite novel, there’s going to be a climax, a resolution, and a sequel that will weave happy-ever-after endings for your life stories!). SMH.

The last sentence says, “Better yet, date a girl who writes.” Oh, would the close-minded Our-Kind-of-Girls-is-More-Desirable stratification never cease? I’m sick of this special-snowflake mentality that seems to run rampantly here on Tumblr. :(

In its own way, the article seems to give permission to whoever its recipient is to do what he wants with the girl, because he deserves to. In effect, the girl becomes a guinea pig swaddled with the almost fantastical vision of an ideal partner. I consider literature as my favorite escapist plane, but I don’t let it become an excuse for other people to treat me like a saint-like, psychological punching bag that begs for their approval. If the bookworm girl you date gets mad if you lie to her or fail her, it doesn’t mean she’s a shallow reader or a poser—it means she’s a human being. We all are!

The last paragraphs kill me every time I reread them. “Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable…if you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.”

Tsk. You know what kind of girl can give you “the most colorful life imaginable, the world and the worlds beyond it?” The girl you love. No matter how ordinary she is, no matter how little she knows about literature or photography or baking or sports, no matter how many combinations of Girl Types she may be—if you love her, she’s going to be more than enough. Trust me on this.

Date a girl not because some viral article tells you to. Date her because you want her, because you like her. Date her because you love her.

In a nutshell, I’m saying all of this because:

1. I’m a girl who reads.

2. I’m a girl who writes.

3. I’m a girl.

The third one is the most important.

A Toast to You

“New year, new beginning? Maybe it’s just me, but I think it kind of deserves to be called the mother of all clichés, everybody’s shared self-promise that everybody breaks and then remakes when the calendar changes again.” This idea tumbled clumsily around my head, 3AM of the first day of the year, when I was sitting on my bed. “But if you come to think of it,” I mused, “it’s not a bad cliché at all.”

Because, you know, it’s not bad at all when people want to make themselves better in the next 365 days of their lives, when they set mental maps to reach their goals. It just irks me a little when it seems to be the trend to wait for new year and announce to everyone they will begin to make changes in their lives. Like it will kill them to change or set goals in the middle of the year or something.

Anyway, that’s just my two cents. I’m not here to rant; I’m here for a toast. For what, you ask? New year, new beginning? Hahaha, naw. Just for being alive. Just for being home—not the place, but the people and memories that wrap me in them to make me feel safe and sound. Just for being me, breathing, living, a being with hundreds of tomorrows. A toast to all the people who, like me, just wanted someone to toast with, someone who wants to celebrate being alive. Care to join me? Don’t worry, you won’t get an agonizing hangover from this. :)

Raise your metaphorical glass, my friend!

Here’s a toast to the people who believe in the beauty of their dreams, dreams they make both while sleeping and while wide awake.

Here’s to the people who are not afraid anymore to try the things that once frightened them, with the acknowledgement that these will make them stronger and better.

Here’s to the people who wet their pillows with their tears, exhausted but still getting up from the bed with hopes clutched to their hearts—hopes with names starting with “everything will be okay” and ending with “because I’ll make it so.”

Here’s to the people who knew you have to be lost in order to be found.

Here’s to the people who believe that losing a battle does not automatically mean losing the war.

Here’s to the people who author their lives, the young ones who drew the lines on their palms—all the paths they’ll take and all the choices they’ll make, the destiny that no horoscope could ever predict.

Here’s to the ladies who still believe in fairytales but know they don’t need Princes Charming to save them, that they can fight their own dragons if needed.

Here’s to the men who still sport the cavalry of knights-in-shining armors but know they’re not in a bedtime story, that sometimes they needed to be saved, too.

Here’s to the boys who have their hearts broken and found out they can’t repair them with the same ease as fixing pipe leaks, the boys who cry and don’t care if the world sees them, because they know it’s a strength to show weakness.

Here’s to the girls who are nursing broken hearts beneath their bright smiles, the girls who are strong enough to reassemble all the fallen pieces with their own hands and stronger still to be able to love again.

Here’s to the boys and girls who laugh through the hurt when life throws them a sick joke, those who recognize the small sweet moments sandwiched between the bigger bitter problems.

Here’s to the kids who bury their noses in John Green’s books and realize they are reading about themselves from the very first pages.

Here’s to the kids who wish they were born in another generation while listening to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Here’s to the people who firmly believe that the things we hang onto tell more about us than the things we’ve been through.

Here’s to the dreamers who scraped their knees while chasing their dreams but never forget to kneel and pray, to thank God for the power they still have to run again.

Here’s to the dreamers who don’t believe in god, but do in the power of karma, of their gut feel, of their actions, of their destinies—their own compasses in their own journeys.

Here’s to the students who knew the best lesson they can learn in school is that the best lesson cannot be learned in school.

Here’s to the likes of that guy who bops his head to the private soundtrack of his life, not caring if he is out of sync with everyone else because he’s happy hearing the music he’s swaying to.

Here’s to the likes of that lady who basks herself in the noise of life and the city, but follows the rhythm of her own heartbeat because that’s the only sound that can lead her to true happiness.

Here’s to the kids who refuse to be boxed by society’s standards, to be tagged, to be labeled, to be judged, to be stereotyped.

Here’s to the kids who prefer to spend time with fictional characters from books and TV shows than with other kids.

Here’s to the kids who find company in solitude, and to the kids who find solitude in the crowd.

Here’s to the boys who like girls, boys who like boys, and boys who like girls who think it’s okay for boys to like boys.

Here’s to the girls who like boys, girls who like girls, and girls who like boys who think it’s okay for girls to like girls.

Here’s to everyone who takes being called weird as a compliment.

Here’s to everyone whose haircut and clothes and shoes are old-fashioned, and doesn’t give a damn whatever other people would say about it.

Here’s to everyone who bravely accepts that everything that matters will hurt, and it will hurt like hell.

Here’s to us, so different from each other but still so the same. Raise your glass for a future yet to be unfolded, for the pedestals yet to be climbed.

You are you, and that fact alone is worth celebrating. Cheers!

In short, it states that in order for one to attain a state of happiness, another must become unhappy. Here’s a few common examples:

Your favorite basketball team won in the championship. This made you happy, but a fan of the opposing basketball team is of course sad.
Your co-worker got a promotion. He’s happy, and you tell him that you are happy for him, but deep inside there’s a part of you that’s a little upset about it. That little part of you is saying that you’ll be happier if it’s you who got promoted and not him.
When you stole money and bought whatever you want with it, your level of happiness will go up. Needless to say, the person whom you stole from will have his level of happiness going down.

You know, I can’t wrap my head around the idea that someone else needs to be distressed when you’re happy. I understand the concept of balance, but seriously, even in happiness? :( How about the parents’ joy when a new babe is born? Unless there’s a soap opera-ish twist in there, I guess it’s all just happiness. Or how about when you discover that the person you love returns your affection? Or when your sick mother wakes up from a month-long coma? Or that feeling you get when you just freaking buy the latest issue of your favorite comic book? I don’t know. What do you think?

The Fountainhead. How can you say “I love you” if you can’t even say the “I”? This novel by Ayn Rand is one of the best books I’ve ever read. And before you think I’m a pure objectivist, let me tell you that I’m a discriminating reader. :D While I do find this novel as a cornucopia of knowledge, I did some sorting out and picked up the few that I should apply in my daily life. Having a filter will always help. :D

Hey! I just finished the last hunger games book last night. I'm not going to lie, it was soooo depressing! I feel like it had a much different tone than the first 2 books. I still loved it and stayed up all night reading it, but I wanted to see if I wasn't the only one who was a little disappointed with how things happened in Mockingjay. I am glad Katniss ended up with Peeta though!

mgrant12

Mockingjay is indeed depressing! It’s grittier than the first two books, and that’s mainly because the main characters are not in a controlled environment anymore like the arena in book 1 and 2—they’re fighting a big war. And while there are things that make me want to whine, like the passive antiheroine that Katniss has become or the number of (unnecessary) deaths or how many scenes are not propelled by the actions of characters, I still think it’s a rather realistic ending to the series. I’m excusing the not-so-good narration as outcome of Katniss having PTSD, haha. My biggest rant would be how things are not properly wrapped up in the end. :D

Oh, me too! I’m a big PeetaxKatniss shipper, so I’m glad about that.