Stories

I love stories. Because there are like a bazillion times when I hoped that I could live a life in any of the stories I have read or heard. For example, I once hoped to be the girl lead in a love story. Like Amy in the 39 clues, plunged in family history of madness. Or I once hoped to meet Lucy in Dirty Little Secrets, when she live in her mother's horror and then burned her house down. Like the girls in a Korean Drama. Or like anybody in "the perks" so I could go high and drink (bad girl).

But then I suppose, if I were to write a book about myself. A story about myself. It would be plain like the diagram of zero heartbeat. A straight line. Plain. Boring. Shy. No climax and no cliffhanger. No coincidence. No luck. Yet.

It's now so rainy and so sad. So sad I even hoped to be the wind now, outside my house, behind my window, blow, make sounds. Sing. Roar. Scream. Dance.

And then I laughed. Because how can a girl fell in love with a geek, a nerd. And then surprisingly that nerd was the one who can helped her and her family through technologies disaster, even though she was in one of the most powerful family in the world. (The 39 Clues)

I am now so obsessed with The 39 Clues. My storytelling sucked. That's why I failed miserably in NIE. Stories popped out in a short time and in an unexpected way. Or when I panicked, like when I can write a story until midnight because the deadline is tomorrow.

Now I hoped to be the thunder. So everybody can listen to me. Selfish, no? It's raining so heavily outside.