How Do Historians Define When An Era Officially Ends?

Dystopian novels have always fascinated me because they paint these grim, futuristic worlds where society is usually under some oppressive control. Think of books like '1984' by George Orwell or 'Brave New World' by Aldous Huxley—they show societies where freedom is an illusion, and people are constantly monitored or manipulated. The themes often revolve around resistance, the loss of individuality, and the consequences of unchecked power. What I love about dystopian novels is how they take real-world fears—like government surveillance, environmental collapse, or technological domination—and amplify them into these intense, thought-provoking stories. They make you question the direction our own world is heading in, which is why they stick with me long after I finish reading.

Romance novels are my escape into worlds where love conquers all, no matter the obstacles. These stories focus on the emotional journey between characters, often with a satisfying happily-ever-after or happy-for-now ending. What draws me in is how they explore relationships in depth, from the initial spark to the deepening connection. The genre is incredibly diverse, spanning historical settings like 'Pride and Prejudice' to modern-day tales like 'The Hating Game'. Some even blend romance with fantasy or mystery, like 'A Court of Thorns and Roses'. The core is always the central love story, and the best ones leave you feeling warm and hopeful about love.

The main conflict in 'Define "Normal"' revolves around the unlikely friendship between two high school girls, Antonia and Jazz, who couldn't be more different. Antonia is a straight-A student with a perfect image, while Jazz is a rebellious punker with a tough exterior. Their forced participation in a peer counseling program brings them together, and their initial clashes highlight societal expectations and personal prejudices. As they open up, the real struggle becomes internal—Antonia grapples with her mother's depression and the pressure to maintain her 'normal' facade, while Jazz confronts her neglectful family and self-destructive tendencies. The novel challenges the idea of 'normalcy' by showing how both girls are trapped by labels. The tension peaks when Antonia’s perfectionism cracks under stress, and Jazz’s anger threatens to isolate her further. Their journey forces readers to question who defines 'normal' and why.

When I flip through a thesaurus (sometimes on the couch with a mug of tea, sometimes distracted on the train), 'whimper' usually branches into two main synonym directions: the soft, plaintive cry and the tone of weak, complaining speech. Common synonyms listed are 'whine', 'mewl', 'sob', 'snivel', 'moan', 'groan', and for animals 'yelp' or 'bleat'. A thesaurus will often cluster these by sense — so you'll see emotional/physical pain words like 'sob' and 'moan' near 'whimper', and more complaint-focused words like 'whine' and 'snivel' in another group. What I like is how the thesaurus nudges you to pick the right flavor: use 'mewl' or 'yelp' for a childish or animal sound, 'snivel' when there's that self-pity element, 'moan' or 'sob' for deeper pain, and 'whine' when it's really a vocal complaint. Examples help: "The puppy whimpered under the porch" feels different from "She whined about the schedule." That little nudge is why I always consult a thesaurus: to catch the vibe, not just swap words mechanically.

Whenever I teach friends about Greek drama I always reach for Aristotle’s 'Poetics' because it’s so compact and surgical. To him a tragedy is an imitation (mimesis) of a serious, complete action of some magnitude — that sounds lofty, but what he means is that a tragedy should present a whole, believable sequence of events with real stakes. The language should be elevated or artistically fit for the plot, and the piece should use spectacle, music, and diction as supporting elements rather than the main show. Aristotle insists the core aim is catharsis: the drama ought to evoke pity and fear and thereby purge or purify those emotions in the audience. He breaks tragedy down into six parts — plot is king (mythos), then character (ethos), thought (dianoia), diction (lexis), melody (melos), and spectacle (opsis). He prefers complex plots with peripeteia (reversal) and anagnorisis (recognition), often brought on by hamartia — a tragic error or flaw rather than pure vice. So if you watch 'Oedipus Rex' with that lens, the structure and emotional design become clearer and almost mechanical in their brilliance.

I've always been fascinated by the concept of ikigai, especially how it ties into happiness. The book 'Ikigai: The Japanese Secret to a Long and Happy Life' defines happiness not as a fleeting emotion but as a sustained state of fulfillment. It emphasizes finding joy in small, everyday activities and aligning your life with what you love, what you are good at, what the world needs, and what you can be paid for. The idea is that happiness comes from a sense of purpose and being fully engaged in life. It's not about grand achievements but about the daily rituals and passions that give life meaning. The book suggests that true happiness is found in balance—between work and play, solitude and community, giving and receiving. It's a refreshing take that contrasts with the Western pursuit of constant happiness through material success.

I remember picking up 'Define "Normal"' years ago, and it instantly struck a chord with me—not just because of its sharp writing, but because it tackled themes that felt raw and real. While it didn’t rack up a mountain of awards, it did snag a few that really highlight its impact. The book won the Judy Lopez Memorial Award, which is a big deal in children’s literature—it’s given to works that excel in storytelling and emotional depth. That award alone tells you everything about how the book balances grit with heart. What’s fascinating is how 'Define "Normal"' resonated with readers despite not being a flashy, high-fantasy title. It also earned a spot on the ALA’s Best Books for Young Adults list, which isn’t an award per se, but being recognized by the American Library Association is like getting a golden stamp of approval. The story’s exploration of mental health, identity, and unlikely friendships clearly left a mark. I’ve seen it pop up in school curriculums too, which says more than any trophy could—sometimes the real win is how a book sticks with people long after they’ve closed the pages. One thing that doesn’t get mentioned enough is how the book’s awards reflect its quiet power. It didn’t need dragons or dystopias to stand out; it just told a human story really, really well. The Judy Lopez Award specifically celebrates books that 'enrich a child’s life,' and 'Define "Normal"' does that by refusing to sugarcoat the messiness of growing up. It’s the kind of story that makes you nod and say, 'Yeah, I’ve felt that.' And honestly? That’s worth more than a dozen shiny plaques.

Reading Sartre's 'Existentialism is a Humanism' was like having a philosophical lightning bolt strike me. His definition of freedom isn’t about doing whatever you want—it’s about the terrifying, exhilarating responsibility of creating your own meaning. Sartre argues we’re condemned to be free because we’re thrown into existence without a predefined purpose. Every choice we make isn’t just about us; it’s a statement about what humanity *should* be. If I choose to lie, I’m implicitly saying lying is acceptable for everyone. That weight is what makes freedom so intense. What stuck with me is how he ties freedom to authenticity. Pretending we’re not free—blaming society, genes, or horoscopes—is acting in 'bad faith.' True freedom means owning our choices, even when it’s agonizing. Sartre uses the example of a young man torn between joining the Resistance or caring for his mother. There’s no cosmic answer; his freedom lies in choosing and living with the consequences. This isn’t abstract—it’s why the book still guts me. Freedom isn’t a comfort; it’s a relentless demand to invent ourselves, moment by moment.