I have read The Great Gatsby years ago. While I appreciate the unfortunate reality it showed, it’s a story where its characters are miserable and unhappy. It is not a love story, and it has always made me wonder why some people make it as such. What it is, is a story of society’s double-faced treacheries, people’s refusal of change, one man’s ideals, one man’s hopes, and one man’s love for a girl. I think it a rare thing to meet someone so hopeful as Jay Gatsby. It is not always that you meet someone who has both the fortune and the misfortune to readily throw himself into his illusions and his dreams. It is just as unfortunate that his illusions led him to put Daisy Buchanan in a pedestal as high up as the stars. So when Daisy does tumble short of Gatsby’s dreams, no one faults her for it. But while blameless she is the tumble, the pretty and delicate Daisy Buchanan is anything but likable.
Did Daisy Buchanan love Jay Gatsby? No. Because you don’t treat the people you love like that. And this is not a love story.
They say The Great Gatsby tells of The American Dream. Perhaps it does. Perhaps the American Dream is Jay Gatsby’s self-made shady millions. Or perhaps the American Dream is what Daisy Buchanan is to Jay Gatsby: his, but never completely. Shallow, materialistic, and a tease.
Frankly, I do wonder why it’s considered as ‘The Great American Novel’.
That said, I think F. Scott Fitzgerald is a truly terrific writer.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we can pack up one day and leave behind everything? Go to a new place where no one knows you, meet new people, have a new set of friends. Get a fresh start for a new life…
We are all escape artists.
It was like a splash of water when it finally hit me: quarter-life crisis exists. I sometimes find myself battling in its midst, sometimes I co-exist with it. I hate it and then I leave it be, but then I’d hate it again. I have read once that we should all “bet in the great surprises of life.” In my better and my best days, I do. In my worse, I ponder on my lack of direction. That you wonder on whether you may or may not know what you want is both a funny and a wretched pill to swallow..
But at the end of the day, I trust that the answers will come. And so I live the questions now and bet on The Great Perhaps.
At least I never had an existential crisis. I never looked inside myself or looked up at the stars and questioned why I exist. And I pray to the heavens that I never will.
A decade ago I was one of those people who can, with great pride, announce to everyone and anyone that I don’t really care what they think of me and mean it. At twenty-five, I have learned that this is not the case anymore. You would care what people think of you, and you would wonder why they think of you that way when the truth is actually so far off. Cliche’s may tell you not to mind others’ opinions of you, yet those cliche’s will not keep you from feeling down when you realize that people have such a low opinion of you. It may take a while, but you eventually realize that people will see you however they want to, and there is absolutely nothing more you can do about it. It’s a freeing realization.
It’s also freeing when you learn not to take things so personally.
When the amount of shit you get exceeds the amount of fucks you give? Well, in the words of today’s acronym obsessed generation: TTGTFO.