Won Pyung Sohn Quotes

Even though my brain was a mess, what kept my soul whole was the warmth of the hands holding mine on both sides

From what I understood, love was an extreme idea. A word that seemed to force something undefinable into the prison of letters. But the word was used so easily, so often. People spoke of love so casually, just to mean the slightest pleasure or thanks.

Books took me to places I could never go otherwise. They shared the confessions of people I'd never met and lives I'd never witnessed. The emotions I could never feel, and the events I hadn't experienced could all be found in those volumes.

Lastly, and I know it sounds like an excuse, but neither you nor I nor anyone can ever really know whether a story is happy or tragic.

What does love mean?” Mom asked mischievously. “To discover beauty.

Maybe understanding a language is like understanding the expressions and emotions of other people.

To borrow Granny’s description, a bookstore is a place densely populated with tens of thousands of authors, dead or living, residing side by side. But books are quiet. They remain dead silent until somebody flips open a page. Only then do they spill out their stories, calmly and thoroughly, just enough at a time for me to handle.

People shut their eyes to a distant tragedy saying there’s nothing they could do, yet they didn’t stand up for one happening nearby either because they’re too terrified. Most people could feel but didn’t act. They said they sympathized, but easily forgot. The way I see it, that was not real. I didn’t want to live like that.

I've decided to confront it. Confront whatever life throws at me, as I always have. However much I can feel, nothing more, nothing less.

There is no such person who can’t be saved. There are only people who give up on trying to save others. It’s

But books were different. They had lots of blanks. Blanks between words and even between lines. I could squeeze myself in there and sit, or walk, or scribble down my thoughts. It didn’t matter if I had no idea what the words meant. Turning the pages was half the battle.

Once you repeat the same word over and over, there comes a time when its meaning fades.

People said there was no way to understand Gon. I didn’t agree with them. It’s just that nobody ever tried to see through him.

To be more specific, I felt connected to the smell of old books. The first time I smelled them, it was as if I’d encountered something I already knew.

wanted to read between the lines. I wanted to be someone who truly understood the meaning of an author’s words. I wanted to know more people, to be able to engage in deep conversations, and to learn what it was to be human.

Love is what makes a person human, as well as what makes a monster.

...a bookstore is a place densely populated with tens of thousands of authors, dead or living, residing side by side.

Silence was definitely golden.

I had discovered that if I kept quiet when I was expected to get angry, it made me look patient. If I kept silent when I was supposed to laugh, it made me look more serious. And if I kept silent when I was expected to cry, it made me look strong.

Parents start out with grand expectations for their kids. But when things don't go as expected, they just want their kids to be ordinary, thinking it's simple. But son, being ordinary is the hardest thing to achieve,

To be honest, I couldn’t have cared less. Whether I was normal or not made little to no difference. To me, it was as subtle as the differences in the nuance of the words.

We have to be tougher in this tough world.

You eventually just move on with your life. I'm sure others would go back to their normal lives too, eating and sleeping and all, although it may take them longer than me. Humans are designed to move on and keep on living after all.

Ordinary . . .” I mumbled. To be like others. To be ordinary without having experienced terrible ordeals. To go to school, graduate, and if lucky, go to college and get an okay job and meet a woman I like and get married and have kids . . . things like that. Put differently, to not stand out.

So, I’m going to be stronger. In my own way. In the way that feels most natural to me. I like to win. If I can’t protect myself from being hurt, I’d rather hurt other people.

Anyway, this sounds cliche but you'll eventually meet the people who you're meant to meet, no matter what happens. Time will tell if your relationship with him is meant to be.

It seemed to mean that there was more than one answer to everything. Maybe I didn’t need to stick to hard-and-fast rules of dialogue or behavior. Since everyone was different, my “odd reactions” could be normal to some people.

Dora found beauty in everything. She found nature’s magnificent work and incredible symmetry in a turtle’s carapace, or a stork’s egg, or an autumn reed from a swamp. How wonderful, she would often say. I understood the meaning of the word, but I could never feel the splendor it carried.

Mom said everything was for my sake, calling it love. But to me, it seemed more like we were doing this out of her own desperation not to have a child that was different. Love, according to Mom’s actions, was nothing more than nagging about every little thing, with teary eyes, about how one should act such and such in this and that situation. If that was love, I’d rather neither give nor receive any. But of course, I didn’t say that out loud. That was all thanks to one of Mom’s codes of conduct—Too much honesty hurts others—which I had memorized over and over so that it was stuck in my brain.

a bookstore is a place densely populated with tens of thousands of authors, dead or living, residing side by side. But books are quiet. They remain dead silent until somebody flips open a page. Only then so they spill out their stories, calmly and thoroughly, just enough at a time for me to handle.

was just unlucky. Luck plays a huge part in all the unfairness of the world. Even more than you’d expect.

To me, that’s like being asked, Why do you live? Do you live for any purpose? Let’s be honest, we just live because we’re alive.

Whenever life pulled brutal pranks on him, Gon would think that life was like having your mom hold your hands one moment, warm and safe, then suddenly drop them with no explanation. No matter how hard he tried to grab hold, he was always abandoned in the end.

What does it mean to be like others? When everyone is different, who should I follow? What would Mom say?

I shall love thee. Even if I can never know whether my love would be a sin or poison or honey, I shall not stop this journey of loving thee.

Does growing mean changing?" "Probably. For better or for worse," he replied.

Books and the aroma of coffee. They were the perfect combination

If you think about it that way, then it would’ve been better if Gon had never been born. Because, more than anything, he wouldn’t have had to feel so much pain and loss. But everything loses its meaning if you think that way. Only purpose remains. Barren.

Granny, why do people call me weird?” “Maybe it’s because you’re special. People just can’t stand it when something is different.

You're basically a blank canvas. Better to fill it up with good things rather than bad things.

Luck plays a huge part in all the unfairness of the world. Even more than you’d expect.

Everyone thinks "ordinary" is easy and all, but how many of them would actually fit into the so-called smooth road the word implied? It sure was a lot harder for me, someone who was not born ordinary. That didn't mean I was extraordinary. I was just a strange boy wandering around somewhere in between. So I decided to give it a try. To become ordinary.

I felt my body had outpaced my mind, and that it was as unnecessary and bothersome as a long overcoat in summer. I wanted so much to take it off. If only I could.

Writing would mean she'd have to sell her own life, and she didn't have the confidence to do that. Basically, she didn't have the guts to be a writer.

Anything will lose its meaning if you repeat it often enough," she said. "At first you feel you are getting the hang of it, but then as time goes by, you feel like the meaning's changing and becoming tarnished. Then, finally, it gets lost. Completely fades to white.

Unfortunately, I was no genius.

She always called me a monster. To her, that wasn’t a bad thing.

Humans are designed to move on and keep on living, after all.

lives I’d never witnessed. The emotions I could never feel, and the events I hadn’t experienced could all be found in those volumes.

I also felt comfortable at our bookstore-home. Other people might say they “like” it or even “love” it, but in my vocabulary, “comfortable” was the best scale.

If someone doesn't act, the world won't change.

Old books seem all right, though. They have a richer scent that’s more alive. Like how autumn leaves smell.

People sometimes say how cool it'd be to be fearless, but they don't know what they're talking about. Fear is an instinctive defense mechanism necessary for survival. Not knowing fear doesn't mean that you're brave; it means you're stupid enough to stay standing on the road when a car is charging toward you.

Well. Only your heart knows,” he said, still smiling. “You mean my brain, not my heart. We do whatever the brain tells us to do.” “Technically, yes, but we still say it’s from our heart.

Suddenly, the wind changed course. Dora’s hair slowly changed direction too, whipping over to the opposite side. The breeze carried her scent to my nose. It was a scent I hadn’t smelled before. It smelled like fallen leaves, or the first buds in spring. The kind of smell that evoked contrary images all at once. I

To me, that's like being asked, Why do you live? Do you live for any purpose? Let's be honest, we just live because we're alive. When things are great we're happy, and when things aren't, we cry. Same with running. I'll be happy when I win, I'll be sad when I don't. When I feel I haven't got it, I'll blame myself or regret starting this in the first place. But then I'll still run. Just because! Like living life. That's all!

Books took me to places I could never go otherwise. They shared the confessions of people I'd never witnessed. The emotions I could never feel, and the events I hadn't experienced could all be found in those volumes.

Yes. I know. That Gon is a good kid. But if someone asked me to talk about him in more detail, I'd only be able to say that he beat me and hurt me, he ripped apart a butterfly, he set his face against the teachers, and threw things at my classmates. That's how language is. It is as hard as proving that Leesu and Gon are the same person. So, I simply said, "I just know he is.

From now on this is an entirely different story. Completely new and unpredictable. I do not know how this story will unfold. As I said, neither you nor I nor anyone can ever know whether a story is happy or tragic. It may be impossible to categorize a story so neatly in the first place. Life takes on various flavors as it flows. I've decided to confront it. Confront whatever life throws at me, as I always have. And however much I can feel, nothing more, nothing less.

It’s not necessarily that I was unable to express feelings, but more that I was unable to identify them in the first place.

I drifted off to sleep only at daybreak when the sky turned sapphire.

It was incorrect to say I was fine to her question yesterday. You can just leave me alone. That was what I should've said.

I wonder what it means to get beaten by a father you're reunited with for the first time in a dozen years. Before even having the chance to get to know each other.

Mi cabeza era un desastre, pero mi espíritu no se había corrompido gracias al calor de esas manos que habían aferrado las mías a uno y otro lado.

The Mom who shared the details of my life and hers with somebody was not the Mom I knew. It was a relief to hear that she had that somebody.

Will I live like this my entire life, feeling nothing at all?” I asked after slurping down a bowl of udon.

People just can’t stand it when something is different, aigoo, my adorable little monster.

Anyway, this sounds like cliché but you’ll eventually meet the people who you’re meant to meet, no matter what happens.

Children are born every day. They all deserve blessings and to have every possibility open to them. But some of them will grow up to be social outcasts, some will rule and command but with twisted minds. Some, although very few, will succeed against all odds and grow into people who touch hearts.

nail on the wall must’ve pricked my leg, because it was bleeding. Gon saw and started weeping like a child. Yes, this was who he was. The kind of person who tears up at a drop of blood, who feels pain for others’ pain.

Before I had time to think, her lips brushed against my lips. They felt like a cushion. Her soft, moist lips slowly pressed into mine. And just like that, we breathed three times. Our chests moved up and down, and up and down, and up and down. Then we lowered our heads at the same time. Our lips parted as our foreheads touched.

After leaving for love, she didn’t want to come back bringing all her misfortune into the house. And so seven years passed. During those years, Mom tried to get by and held out until she realized all this enduring was no use. Until the very brink of a breakdown. Until she finally realized she couldn’t bear it—bear me—on her own anymore.

I wish I could never feel fear, pain, guilt, everything . . .” he had said in a teary voice. “That’s not something anyone can just do. Besides, you are too full of emotions. I think you’d rather make a good artist or a musician,” I’d said after some thought.

His shoulders, which had been hunched and still, gradually sank. His face turned wrinkly like a deflated balloon. His head slowly hanging low, his knees buckled. His body was shaking, his head sunk down against his chest. There was no sound, but I knew he was crying. I looked down at him, saying nothing. I felt like I'd become uselessly taller.

Can the word "love" be thrown around so casually like that?

unmarried woman of words

Too much honesty hurts others — which I had memorized over and over so that it was stuck in my brain.

<...> every story becomes boring once the ending is spoiled.

It is not a race, it's just running. All we need to do is simply feel our bodies splitting the air.

Before long, as quickly as foam disolves, even those subjects were no longer talked about. It took only ten days.

Estamos hechos para seguir viviendo" Almendra

My whole body was beating like a drum. Stop it. Stop. You don't have to try so hard to prove that I'm alive.

But son, being ordinary is the hardest thing to achieve,

So do you. So do those you love and those you hate. No one can feel them. You just know they are there.

I mean, you and me, maybe someday, we might become people we never imagined we'd be." "Probably. For better or worse. That's life.

At last, I became human. And at that very moment, the world was drifting far away from me. In fact, this is the end of my story.

I know what’s best for my child.

There is no such person who can’t be saved. There are only people who give up ok trying to save others.

Do you live for any purpose? Let's be honest, we just live because we're alive.

People's eyes light up when they talk about things they love.

Human beings are a product of their education, after all. You can do it.

People just can't stand it when something is different.

That's what practice can offer - miracles and also limitations.

Now I understood a little what it meant to be frightened. It was like desperately gasping for air in a place without oxygen.

People’s eyes light up when they talk about things they love. Dora’s were radiant.

If somebody was sad for my sadness, then I should be happy. The principle that two negatives made a positive.

But books are quiet. They remain dead silent until somebody flips open a page. Only then do they spill out their stories, calmly and thoroughly, just enough at a time for me to handle.

You seem to think that you're moving toward something. Do you really think that's what you're doing? Or are you just pretending to not know that you're actually running from something?

I fell silent for a while, trying to find the words to convince him. But I was too young to have much vocabulary, and I couldn’t think of anything else truer than what I had already said.

Mom said everything was for my sake, calling it love. But to me, it seemed more like we were doing this out of her own desperation not to have a child that was different. Love, according to Mom’s actions, was nothing more than nagging about every little thing, with teary eyes, about how one should act such and such in this and that situation. If that was love, I’d rather neither give nor receive any.

But the human brain is rather a strange thing. And I still truly believe that the heart can prevail over the brain. What I’m trying to say is that you might have just grown in a way that’s a little different from how other people grow.

Books took me to places I could never go otherwise. They shared the confessions of people I’d never met and lives I’d never witnessed. The emotions I could never feel, and the events I hadn’t experienced could all be found in those volumes.

Do you think I have a crush on here?" I regretted asking him the question as soon as I asked. "Well. Only your heart knows," he said, still smiling. "You mean my brain, not my heart. We do whatever the brain tells us to do." "Technically, yes, but we still say it's from our heart.

Los libros me llevaban a lugares a los que nunca podría ir de otra manera. Compartían confesiones de personas que no había conocido y vidas que no había presenciado. Las emociones que nunca podría sentir, y los eventos que no había experimentado podría encontrarlos todos en estos volúmenes.

I couldn't keep living like this. Actually, I could. Sure, I might get frustrated from time to time and threaten to quit, but eventually I'd just return to the same routine. And yet, I wanted to stop the cycle. I was tired of standing around and not saying anything while I cleaned up other people's messes and took the blame for them.

Dora was usually surrounded by people and ate with a group. The groups weren't always the same. She wasn't a loner but she wasn't necessarily attached to certain friends, either. She didn't seem to care who she ate with or who she walked home with. Sometimes she was by herself. Still, she wasn't bullied and never looked out of place. She seemed like someone who could exist on her own.

I do not know how this story will unfold. As I said, neither you nor I nor anyone can ever know wether a story is happy or tragic. It may be impossible to categorize a story so neatly in the first place. Life takes on various flavors as it flows. I´ve decided to confront it. Confront whatever life throws at me, as I always have. And however much I can feel, nothing more, nothing less.

That question is one you're going to be asking yourself for the rest of your life. It's not just going to answer itself with old age. Loneliness, self-doubt, the purpose of life. Whenever you think about these things, you'll feel tormented and terrified that there are no answers, that you'll never figure it out. But there's something even scarier than not knowing. And that's going through life without ever asking.

Sometimes you must quit, even when you already have nothing. Sometimes, you must erase everything and take the time to withdraw into yourself. There might be people who say you're just young and being immature. But whatever. I needed time to be alone. Not just to eat and watch movies, but to be truly alone. The only excuse I can give you is that "We all experience a time like that in our lives at least once." I'm not sure who said that, but that's exactly how I felt right then.

I might only be a speck of dust in the universe, but there's always the possibility that I might land somewhere and catch the light just right so that I become a beautiful rainbow. If that happens, I'll be the only one of my kind in the universe, without ever having screamed at the top of my lungs, claiming that I'm someone special. It took a lot of time and effort before I realized that, but there's this small twist: even had I not tried that hard, it would have always been true.

Looking back, Granny must've wanted an ordinary life for Mom, too. But Mom didn't have it. Dr Shim was right--being ordinary was the trickiest path. Everyone thinks "ordinary" is easy and all, but how many of them would actually fit into the so-called smooth road the word implied? It sure was a lot harder for me, someone who was not born ordinary. That didn't mean I was extraordinary. I was just a strange boy wandering around somewhere in between. So I decided to give it a try. To become ordinary.

For one thing, Mom knew Broca and Wernicke were scientists, not patients. She had read all kinds of books about the brain from her regular visits to the local library. She also didn’t like that the doctors saw me as an interesting specimen rather than a human being. She had given up hope early on that the doctors would cure me. All they’d do is put him through weird experiments or give him untested medicines, observe his reactions, and show off their findings at a conference, she wrote in her diary. And so Mom, like so many other overprotective mothers, made a declaration that was both unconvincing and clichéd.

So, I’m going to be stronger. In my own way. In the way that feels most natural to me. I like to win. If I can’t protect myself from being hurt, I’d rather hurt other people.” “How?” “Dunno, but it won’t be too hard. I’m already familiar with that kind of world.” Gon sniggered. I wanted to say something but he was already heading out the door. Then he wheeled around and said, “We might not see each other from now on. So instead of a goodbye kiss, take this.” He winked and slowly raised his middle finger. He wore a soft smile. That was the last time I saw him smile that way. Then he disappeared. And then, tragedy unfolded rapidly.

They don’t really light up when they are stimulated. So I don’t know why people laugh or cry. Joy, sorrow, love, fear—all these things are vague ideas to me. The words “emotion” and “empathy” are just meaningless letters in print.

alexithymia,

Over the next few years, my head grew bigger, but my almonds stayed the same.

Do you need someone to ask you that to know? Haven’t you ever thought about it?

Los libros me transportaban en un instante a los lugares donde no podía ir, me transmitían las confesiones de personas que no conocía y me mostraban las vidas que no podía observar de cerca. También estaban repletos de sentimientos que no podía sentir y de experiencias que no había vivido.

Books and the aroma of coffee. They were the perfect combination, at least in Mom's opinion.

It's not hear fault. No one can stop time, and people go through a lot in life.

I don't feel like looking at those old magazines anymore. It's no fun. It reminds me of how everything beautiful will fade eventually.

Everybody has two almonds inside their head, stuck firmly on somewhere between the back of your ears and the back of your skull. In fact, they’re called “amygdalae,” derived from the Latin word for almond because their size and shape are exactly like one.

Mom said everything was for my sake, calling it love. But to me, it seemed more like we were doing this out of her own desperation not to have a child that was different.

I looked down at him, saying nothing. I felt like I'd become become uselessly taller.

I looked down at him, saying nothing. I felt like I'd become uselessly taller.

suerte desempeña un papel enorme en la injusticia que existe en el mundo. Incluso más de lo que uno podría esperar.

el amor es lo que nos hace humanos, así como su ausencia lo que nos convierte en monstruos.

The human brain is actually dumber than you think it is

Emotions are tricky businesses. Every little thing around you might feel like sharp weapons.

There are a hundred answers to one question in this world. So it's hard for me to give you a correct answer. And the world is even more of a puzzle at your age when you have to search for answers yourself. But if you still want my advice, let me answer by asking you this: what did Gon do most often to get close to you?

Whenever life pulled brutal pranks on him, Gon would think that life was like having your mom hold your hands one moment, warm and safe, then suddenly drop them with no explanation. No matter how hard he tried to grab hold, he was always abandoned in the end.

She said families walk hand in hand. Granny would hold my other hand. I have never been abandoned by anyone. Even though my brain was a mess, what kept my soul whole was the warmth of the hands, holding mine on both sides.

The breeze carried herself to my nose. It was a scent I hadn't smelled before. It smelled like fallen leaves, or the first bud in spring The kind of smell that evoked contrary images all at once.

People's eyes light up when they talk about things they love. Dora's were radiant.

(Yunjae about Gon) God had given the face of an angel to the wrong person.

People shut their eyes to a distant tragedy saying there's nothing they could do, yet they didn't stand up for one happening nearby either because they're too terrified. Most people could feel but didn't act. They said they sympathized, but easily forgot. The way I see it, that was not real. I didn't want to live like that.

Children long to be loved but at the same time they give the most love. We were once all like that.

Instead, Mom raised her voice for me, turning the police station inro a mad-house, with the clamouring of a parent who'd lost his child, and a parent who'd found hers.

She could be so full of swagger sometimes.

two burger combos,

No sé cómo se desarrollará esta historia. Como he dicho, ni tú ni nadie puede saber en realidad si una historia al final es alegre o trágica".

But basically, all he plans is to pour concrete over my life and construct a new building of his own design. But I'm not that kind of a person...

The two had a special reason for loving the plum candy. Because it has both sweet and blood taste. The candy was white with a mysterious sheen and a red stripe across its surface. Rolling it inside their mouths was one of their precious little joys. The red stripe would often cut their tongues as it melted away first. “I know this sounds funny, but the salty blood taste actually goes well with the sweetness,” Granny would say with a wide smile, a bag of plum candies in her arms, while Mom looked for ointment.

Anything will lose its meaning if you repeat it often enough. .. At first you feel you are getting the hang of it, but then as time goes by, you feel like the meaning’s changing and becoming tarnished. Then, finally, it gets lost. Completely fades to white.

Books took me to places I could never go otherwise. They shared the confessions of people I'd never met and lives I'd never witnessed. The emotions I could never feel, and the events I hadn't experienced could all be found in those volumes.

Silence was golden.

Ordinary . . .” I mumbled. To be like others. To be ordinary without having experienced terrible ordeals. To go to school, graduate, and if lucky, go to college and get an okay job and meet a woman I like and get married and have kids . . . things like that. Put differently, to not stand out.

We push off the ground and break into a run. It is not a race, it’s just running. All we need to do is simply feel our bodies splitting the air.

I looked down at him, saying nothing. I felt like I’d become uselessly taller.

Fear is an instinctive defense mechanism necessary for survival. Not knowing fear doesn’t mean that you’re brave; it means you’re stupid enough to stay standing on the road when a car is charging toward you.

Z drugiej strony intuicja to coś więcej niż przeczucie. Nie spada na ciebie ot tak. Twoja podświadomość gromadzi codzienne doświadczenia i obrabia je analizując dane wejściowe i wyjściowe. Gdy znajdziesz się znów w jakiejś sytuacji, zgadujesz jej rezultat bez udziału świadomości. Zatem intuicja to tak naprawdę łączenie faktów.

Según mi abuela, la librería era un lugar densamente poblado, en donde miles de escritores, vivos y muertos, convivían apretujados. Sin embargo, los libros permanecían en silencio. Callaban hasta que yo los abría y solo entonces contaban sus historias en voz baja y hasta donde yo quería.

Como decía el doctor Shim, no era fácil ser como todos. La gente habla a la ligera e incluso desdeña ser común y corriente, pero ¿cuántos gozan de la tranquilidad que implica ese tipo de vida? Para mí en particular, era algo casi irrealizable porque precisamente no había nacido como el resto del mundo. Ni tampoco había nacido con dotes especiales, así que yo no era más que un chico raro que estaba perdido en algún punto entre ambos extremos. Por ello, decidí aceptar el desafío de ser como el resto del mundo.

Los libros me transportaban en un instante a los lugares donde no podía ir, me transmitían las confesiones de personas que no conocía y me mostraban las vidas que no podía observar de cerca. También estaban repletos de sentimientos que no podía sentir y de experiencias que no había vivido.

El mundo que mostraban las películas, las telenovelas o los dibujos animados era tan concreto y detallado que no dejaban resquicios por donde yo pudiera meterme. Las historias existían únicamente de la manera en que habían sido filmadas o dibujadas. Por ejemplo, si el libro decía «Una chica rubia estaba sentada con una pierna doblada sobre un almohadón marrón en una casa de forma hexagonal», la película o los dibujos animados fijaban de un modo definitivo el aspecto de esa chica, desde la tonalidad de su piel y su expresión hasta el largo de sus uñas. En un mundo así, no había nada que yo pudiese modificar. Los libros eran diferentes porque estaban llenos de espacios vacíos, no solo entre palabras, sino también entre líneas. Yo podía entrar en esos espacios para sentarme, caminar o anotar mis pensamientos. No importaba mucho si no entendía todo lo que leía. Abrir un libro en cualquier página ya era una batalla ganada a medias.

The worlds of movies, soap operas, or cartoons were already so meticulous that there were no blanks left for me to fill in. These stories on screen existed exactly as they had been filmed and drawn. For example, if a book had the description, “A blond lady sits cross-legged on a brown cushion in a hexagon shaped house,” a visual adaptation would have everything else decided as well, from her skin tone and expression to even the length of her fingernails. There was nothing left for me to change in that world. But books were different. They had lots of blanks. Blanks between words and even between lines. I could squeeze myself in there and sit, or walk, or scribble down my thoughts.

Changing expressions in a split second was his thing.

The words didn’t speak to me at all, but it didn’t matter. It was enough that my eyes moved along the words. I smelled the books, my eyes slowly tracing the shape and strokes of each letter.

Love, according to Mom's actions, was nothing more than nagging about every little thing, with teary eyes, about how one should act such and such in this and that situation. If that was love, I'd rather neither give nor recieve any. But of course, I didn't say that out loud. That was all thanks to one of Mom's codes of conduct—Too much honesty hurts others—which I had memorized over and over so that it was stuck in my brain.

Laughing along is one of my hardest acts. I could force my lips to twist upward, but that's the best I could do. A kind of smile so forced, that could easily be misunderstood as a mean sneer.

Estamos hechos para seguir viviendo -Almendra

In fact, Granny had wanted Mom to become a writer. Specifically, she wanted her to be an "unmarried woman of words" who spent her life in solitude yet aged gracefully.

Sebenarnya, firasat itu bukanlah sesuatu yang 'dirasakan secara kebetulan'. Segala hal yang terjadi setiap hari terbagi menjadi beberapa kondisi disertai dengan hasil yang tersusun rapi di dalam kepala. Firasat adalah data yang sangat manusiawi. Sama seperti buah-buahan yang menjadi jus ketika diblender.

Orang-orang terkadang sering lupa seberapa keras volume suara mereka ketika membicarakan orang lain. Orang yang berbicara mungkin berpikir bahwa mereka berbicara dengan suara yang pelan, namun anehnya pembicaraannya akan terdengar di telinga orang lain.

But for some reason, on that particular day, it made me wonder. Can the word "love" be written around so casually like that?

She seemed like someone who could exist on her own

Y qué es el amor? ....... El descubrimiento de la belleza

Even though my brain was a mess, what kept my soul whole was the warmth of the hands holding mine on both sides.

I do not know how this story will unfold. As I said, neither you nor I nor anyone can ever know whether a story is happy or tragic. It may be impossible to categorize a story so neatly in the first place. Life takes on various flavors as it flows. I've decided to confront it. Confront whatever life throws at me, as I always have. And however much I can feel, nothing more, nothing less.

Abrir un libro en cualquier página ya era una batalla ganada a medias

... a bookstore is a place densely populated with tens of thousand authors, dead or living, residing side by side. But books are quiet. They remain dead silent until somebody flips open a page. Only then do they spill out their stories, calmly and thoroughly, just enough at a time for me handle...

Los libros me transportaban en un instante a los lugares a donde no podía ir, me transmitían las confesiones de personas que no conocía y me mostraban las vidas que no podía observar de cerca

The hardest job is transitioning from winter to spring. Frozen ground melting to let sprouts shoot up, colorful flowers blossoming from each dead branch. That’s what tough looks like. As for summer, it simply needs to take a couple more steps forward using the momentum of spring. That’s why I think May is the laziest of all the months. A month that’s overrated.

One day I asked the guide when flowers fall in Bali. He seemed puzzled by my question. … ‘The flowers fall when it rains. When the rain stops, they bloom again. So, always in bloom.’ I thought Jenny and I were just going through a rainy period. That flowers would bloom again, and that carefree days like the ones we had in Bali would be back again. And for the first time in a very long time, I felt everything would be okay again.

I went outside and walked along the quiet streets. The fat snowflakes made it hard to see ahead, snow fell in every uncovered nook and turned familiar things into different shapes, making everything seem special. … I felt like I was travelling alone in a foreign land, too. I continued slowly down the street, leaving footprints on a clean, fresh blanket of snow no one had stepped on yet. When I turned around, my footprints were already growing faint. The sight seemed somewhat secretive and a bit heartbreaking.

A person who has no talent for skating will probably not become the best skater even after practicing for months. A tone-deaf person won’t ever sing a perfect aria and get applause either. But with practice, you can at least stumble a step forward on the ice or manage to sing a measure of a song. That’s what practice can offer—miracles and also limitations.

A veces, me perdía en n ensueño sin sentido, imaginando que simplemente se habían ido de viaje a alguna parte. Pero sabía que su viaje sería inter minable. Habían sido todo mi universo. Pero ahora se habían ido, y yo empecé a entender que había otros en este mundo Estas otras personas entraron en mi universo poco a poco.

Hayatın bana geldiği kadarıyla yüzleşeceğim ve yapabildiğim kadarıyla onu hissedeceğim, ne eksik ne fazla.

Su cara se arrugó como un globo desinflado. Fue bajándola lentamente hasta sepultarla entre sus rodillas. Luego todo su cuerpo comenzó a sacudirse. No se oía, pero estaba llorando. Yo me quedé contemplándolo sin decir nada. Me sentí inútilmente alto mirándolo desde arriba.

Su voz, que siempre me rondaba, se hacía cada vez más imprecisa a medida que pasaba el tiempo. Quizás pronto llegaría el día en que la olvidara. Todo lo que conocía se alejaba rápidamente de mí.

Parents start out with grand expectations for their kids. But when things don’t go as expected, they just want their kids to be ordinary, thinking it’s simple. But son, being ordinary is the hardest thing to achieve,” he said.

books are quiet. They remain dead silent until somebody flips open a page. Only then do they spill out their stories, calmly and thoroughly, just enough at a time for me to handle.

Not knowing fear doesn't mean that you're brave; it means you're stupid enough to stay standing on the road when a car is charging toward you.

I have almonds inside me. So do you. So do those you love and those you hate. No one can feel them. You just know they are there. This story is, in short, about a monster meeting another monster. One of the monsters is me.

Yo he decidido afrontar la vida del modo que lo he hecho siempre: tal como viene y en la medida en que puedo sentirla.

No hay nadie que no pueda ser salvado. Solo hay personas que dejan de intentarlo.

The sea breeze was salty and fishy. The kind of smell that erased the seasons and directions altogether.

Books took me to places I could never go otherwise. They shared the confessions of people I’d never met and lives I’d never witnessed.

It was a relief to heat that she had somebody

You have more colourful expressions now

People don’t realize how loud they can be when they gossip. Even when they try to whisper, the gossip always goes straight into others’ ears.

Parents start out with grand expectations for their kids. But when things don't go as expected, they just want their lives to be ordinary.

Do you know why your heart rate is so high now?" "No." "Your heart's excited because I'm close to you, so it's clapping.

Do you know why your heart rate is so high now?" "No." "Your heart's excited because I'm close to you, so it's clapping.

Most people could feel but didn’t act. They said they sympathized, but easily forgot. They way I see it, that was not real.

every story becomes boring once the ending is spoiled.

Life takes on various flavors as it flows.

I felt connected to the smell of old books. The first time I smelled them, it was as if I'd encountered something I already knew.

Y sé que puede parecer una excusa, pero, al fin y al cabo, ni tú ni yo ni nadie puede saber en realidad si una historia es alegre o trágica.

Quizá sea porque eres especial. La gente no soporta cuando algo es diferente, eigoo, mi pequeño monstruo adorable. La abuela me abrazó tan fuerte que me dolieron las rodillas. Ella siempre me llamaba monstruo. Para ella, no era algo malo.