Not a Big Fan of Rainbow Rowell’s Fangirl // Marginalia

fangirl-ftr The title sums up my general thoughts about my second Rainbow Rowell read. (Alliterations, ya!) Compared with Eleanor and Park, Fangirl does not impress.

While I don’t consider the two nights I slept late trying to finish this a complete waste of time (like I did with The Fault in Our Stars), I am not entirely happy about it.

I told the husband yesterday morning that I found it unsatisfactory that the story ended the way it did. (I’m trying to avoid giving out spoilers, in case you’re a late bloomer like I am and haven’t gotten around to devouring this yet.) And he said that he likes books that don’t end on a high note, like this one. But I figured it didn’t end in a way I expected it to because the story’s transitions are really slow. It felt like the conflicts are a bit subtle and are cramped near the end of the story which makes the resolution in the end rather disappointing.

But it isn’t a stack of non-sense. One thing I appreciate about Rainbow Rowell books is the slight injection of social awareness in them. I particularly liked this line:

These two girls have parents. They have a father. And he should never have to worry that they’re going to end up in a bar, debasing themselves for some pervert who still jerks off to Girls Gone Wild videos. That’s not something a father should ever have to think about.

And that’s perhaps why I like Levi’s character. Now, I don’t have any aversion to Cath’s desire to always be alone and spend most of her time writing fanfiction but it did kind of seem a bit pathetic how she doesn’t understand why her twin sister wants to establish an identity apart from being a twin. But as usual, Rowell reveals that her protagonists’ weirdness is brought about by a rather complicated childhood.

Another point I liked about the book is the one about the twin’s father’s mental condition. Mental health awareness is something I am rather invested in and I appreciated that Fangirl tackles mental health albeit rather slightly.

And the positive points of the book, for me, end there. The insertions of Cath’s fanfiction works as she narrates them to Levi would have been omitted or not used as much. It dragged the already slow pace of the story to a lull. So, no I’m not a big fan of Fangirl. Pick it up when you have nothing else on your reading list and would not mind a slow read on a slow day.

Life Lately / 03

I am a ball of nerves. I can hardly grab my thoughts and let them stay. When it rained the other day I asked the Universe to let it be a sign of new beginnings. It did. And now I am a ball of nerves.

It didn’t occur to me that the change I was asking, hoping for would come soon. So sooner than I expected. But the Universe has its ways. And here I am. The question now is not “Do I want it?” but “Can I handle it?” I’d like to believe that yes is a plausible answer. I am terrified, I kid you not. The past year had been comfortable in regard to work. But I know I needed a change. I am more frazzled than excited but only because I have the bad habit of worrying over everything. We’ll get by, though. I’m sure we will.

For now I’d like to not think about what’s ahead and soak myself in the quiet comfort of how life had been these past few days.



It’s raining almost everyday now. I don’t mind it as much as I used to.



These are the books I abandoned halfway through but promise to return to once my mind is at a better state.


Cooking is still a bit therapeutic. Made this for the second time as requested by the sister. This is called pan fried chicken in rosemary thyme sauce. Or what I would like to call Scarborough Fair chicken.


Revisited my childhood through milk powder candy.


Taking tiny steps.

Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell // Marginalia

Books have always been what I rely on when I pine for something I can’t put my finger on. I love books. Perhaps not as much as some of my friends but I’ve always had a thing for books. I immerse in the worlds they offer; I get lost in them. But there had always been a force pulling me away from writing about them. And then I pore over unimportant things.

Reading books, to me, is a very personal experience. For that, I understand that the intensity felt by a person with a book might not be felt by another with the same book. Perhaps that’s the root of my hesitation. At any rate, I’d like to believe that my days of forcing thoughts on other people are way behind me. But if I completely, unfailingly adore a book, it would be a heartbreak to discover that a friend (or my husband) is lukewarm about it.

That’s not the point of reading and sharing thoughts about books, though. So, here we are.

I stopped jumping on bandwagons a long time ago. There are curiosities that don’t fizzle out after a couple of months, however, and that makes them mildly irresistible. I give them a try, but only after when most, if not all, of the hype surrounding them has disappeared. That’s the rule I follow, especially regarding young adult novels. (Yes, I’m 25, married, a mother and I read young adult novels every now and then.)

After my disappointment with The Fault In Our Stars, I veered away from books of the same genre. Until some of the people I follow on Twittter started gushing over Rainbow Rowell’s Eleanor and Park. I was still very hesitant, though, until I saw someone posted this quote from the book:

She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.


Dear Universe

Dear Universe,

You definitely have a way of making your forces felt. Just when I was basking in comfort and certainty, you pull out that rug from underneath me and here I am: fidgety and frazzled as usual. I have to thank you for it, though. I was reminded of how I failed to plan ahead. But with you hurling tacks and rocks every now and then, it’s beginning to be rather difficult to be hopeful about future plans.

Thank you, though, for the reminder that I don’t need to compete with anyone. And that anyone who tries to compete with me has already lost because I won’t even fight. Kudos to you for sending a person who tests my patience and reminds me to practice not giving a rat’s ass about most things in life, especially people who may have not had a good childhood and therefore resorts to bullying others.

I have long known it to be true: that titles are nothing. But thank you for reminding me that it will always and forever be more important to be kind than to earn a title.

I’d also like to say thanks for making me remember how impossible it is for me to keep my sanity without my husband’s words of enlightenment and encouragement. And also for my daughter’s sweet little gestures, always thankful for those.



The Road to Success: I Don’t Know Where It Is

It took me more than a month to nudge myself to get on and write about this because well, for one, there is no certainty of this ever going to be read or heard or shared with the audience I intend to address it to and two, it had me thinking a lot about my career and some days it made me feel good about the path I’m treading and some days I wake up clueless and depressed.

But here we are. I’m Jordianne and I am enamored with words. So this will take more than a minute of your time, sorry.  I’m here to talk about my career path and hopefully you find a way to relate it to the one you’ll be making or at the very least get something out of this (and hopefully what you get is something useful.)

I work as a copywriter for a photo book company called Photobook Worldwide. Aren’t they clever? (If you’re not familiar with what photo books are, they’re, well, books with photos in them.) It’s not exactly a stellar job, nor is it something you may have expected from a “resource person” but maybe we’re wrong to assume that, depending on how you accept all the things I’ll be discussing today.

To give you a little bit of background, let’s go way back when computers were something only rich families owned and most people were using typewriters or pen and paper. I was in fifth grade when a teacher gave us the task of writing a letter to our parents. A week or so after that, she gave us the task to maintain a journal for a month. And to say that I enjoyed the project would be an understatement. (And that statement was too much of a cliché, but nonetheless true.) So I was about 10 years old when I knew I wanted to be a writer.