Pitiful

Feeling pathetic can hit anyone hard, but honestly, it’s okay to feel down sometimes. Self-doubt creeps in and can make you question everything. I've had days where I felt totally lost. Those moments often push me to look deeper into what truly makes me happy.

Embrace the things that give you joy and remember that growth takes time. Maybe dive into an exciting series like 'My Hero Academia' that showcases resilience and determination. You’ll see you’re not alone in your struggles!

The novel 'Pity' has been on my radar for a while, and I finally got around to reading it last month. It’s such a raw, emotionally charged story that lingers in your mind long after you finish the last page. The reviews I’ve stumbled across are pretty mixed—some readers absolutely adore its unflinching portrayal of grief and resilience, while others find it a bit too bleak for their tastes. Personally, I resonate with the former group. The way the author weaves together themes of loss and human connection feels incredibly authentic, almost like they’ve lived through every word.

One critique I’ve seen repeatedly is that the pacing drags in the middle, but I didn’t mind it. Those slower moments gave me space to sit with the characters’ emotions, and by the end, I felt like I knew them intimately. If you’re into books that don’t shy away from heavy topics but still leave you with a glimmer of hope, this might be worth picking up. Just be prepared for an emotional rollercoaster—I definitely needed a cup of tea and some quiet reflection time afterward.

Feeling down happens to all of us at some point. While it’s easy to label ourselves as 'stupid' or 'worthless,' those thoughts are often rooted in temporary emotions, not reality. Instead of focusing on perceived shortcomings, I try to remind myself of my strengths and the small achievements that make me proud.

For instance, I absolutely crush it in my hobbies, like sketching and gaming. Each little success contributes to who I am as a person. It's crucial to show ourselves a bit of compassion, focus on growth, and surround ourselves with supportive friends. I've found it immensely helpful to jot down positive affirmations and accomplishments—no matter how small—on a sticky note and place them where I can see them daily, to slowly shift the mindset toward something more uplifting.

If I remember correctly, someone accidentally kicked a goalie in the face and while trying to apologize, they blurted it out.

Navigating feelings about our appearance can be tough, especially when the weight of societal standards hangs over us. I often remind myself that beauty is subjective and external validation doesn’t define worth.

I find strength in self-expression through art, finding new styles, and even diving into uplifting content like 'My Dress-Up Darling.' Embracing quirks can build confidence. Everyone has their unique charm, and sometimes, it's just about finding the right lens to see it.

Pity stands out in its genre like a neon sign in a foggy alley—impossible to ignore, yet hauntingly atmospheric. While most dystopian novels focus on grand political upheavals or action-packed survival, Pity digs into the quiet, gnawing despair of everyday people trapped in systemic decay. It’s less like 'The Hunger Games' and more akin to 'Never Let Me Go' with its slow-burn emotional devastation. The prose is sparse but razor-sharp, cutting deeper than any flashy world-building could. What really gets me is how it weaponizes mundanity—the way the protagonist’s small hopes are crushed not by dramatic betrayals, but by bureaucratic fine print and shrugged shoulders. That’s where it transcends genre tropes; the real villain isn’t some mustache-twirling dictator, but the collective shrug of a society that’s given up.

Where it stumbles slightly is pacing. Some readers might crave more momentum, especially if they’re used to the breakneck plotting of something like 'Divergent'. But that deliberate slowness is precisely what makes its climax so gutting—when the numbness finally cracks, it’s like watching someone realize they’ve been bleeding out for years. The book’s greatest trick is making you mourn for losses you didn’t even notice accumulating, which is why it lingers in my mind more than most high-stakes dystopias. Last week I caught myself staring at a grocery list and feeling inexplicably heartsick—that’s Pity’s legacy.

The blurred experiences and devastated love stories tend to make a heart insensitive. When it has been injured too much or too often, and they are inclined to build a fence around their own heart to prevent any further injuries sustained. For example, if you were to take a character from a compelling drama series such as 'Breaking Bad' or "The Sopranos'... that kind of figures appear to be without any vulnerable place for affection, layers upon layers of misery and failure turned them cruel even if they were not actually bad people deep down. However, beneath the hard-faced traveler there's always some trace of tenderness left alive. Therefore, if you accuse someone of being unfeeling, it's necessary first to know their story and what kinds of trials they have undergone.

Alasdair Gray's 'Poor Things' is this wild, genre-defying romp that feels like a Victorian novel got drunk on satire and decided to reinvent itself. At its core, it’s about Bella Baxter, a woman ‘created’ by the eccentric scientist Godwin Baxter, who revives her after a suicide attempt using the brain of her unborn child—yeah, it’s that kind of book. The narrative masquerades as a memoir edited by Gray himself, complete with footnotes undermining its own credibility, which makes you question everything. Bella’s journey from naivety to self-discovery is both hilarious and heartbreaking, as she navigates patriarchal society with a childlike bluntness that exposes its absurdities. Gray stitches together themes of identity, autonomy, and the grotesque, all wrapped in lush, playful prose. The book’s structure—part gothic horror, part feminist manifesto—keeps you off-balance in the best way. I adore how it subverts the 'Frankenstein' trope by making Bella the hero of her own bizarre story, rather than a monster. It’s one of those rare books where the form and content dance together perfectly, leaving you equal parts dazzled and disturbed.

What really stuck with me is Gray’s cheeky meta-narrative tricks. The ‘editorial’ interruptions and competing versions of events make you actively participate in untangling the truth. It’s like a literary puzzle box, rewarding rereads with new layers. And Bella! She’s a force of nature—equal parts chaotic and endearing, her unfiltered observations about sex, class, and morality are shockingly modern. The book’s refusal to fit neatly into any category (is it historical fiction? Sci-fi? A parody?) is its greatest strength. It’s a book that demands you meet it on its own terms, and if you do, it’s unforgettable. I still catch myself thinking about its audacity months later.

Sometimes, it feels like being tough and assertive comes off as abrasive to others. I’ve always believed in standing my ground, which can be misinterpreted. My friends say my honesty doesn’t always match social niceties, especially when I call things as I see them. I appreciate clear communication and perspective, but I might need to soften my approach.

It’s a balance I’m working on daily, understanding that sometimes warmth is as important as strength in conversations. Rather than being labeled a 'bitch,' I want to channel that energy into being assertively kind and understanding towards others' feelings while staying true to myself.

I recently caught 'Poor Things' at an indie theater, and wow—what a wild ride! Yorgos Lanthimos never disappoints with his signature absurdity, but this one might be his most unhinged yet. Emma Stone’s performance as Bella Baxter is electric; she swings between childlike innocence and razor-sharp wit like it’s nothing. The film’s Gothic-steampunk aesthetic is gorgeous, but don’t let the visuals fool you—it’s a biting satire on gender, autonomy, and the absurdity of 'civilized' society. Some critics call it pretentious, but I adore how it leans into its weirdness without apology. If you’re into films that challenge norms with a splash of dark humor, this is a must-watch.

What really stuck with me was the way it subverts Frankenstein tropes. Bella isn’t just a reanimated corpse; she’s a woman reborn into a world that tries to dictate her identity, and her journey to self-discovery is both hilarious and heartbreaking. The supporting cast—especially Mark Ruffalo as a hilariously pathetic suitor—adds layers of chaos. It’s not for everyone, though. The pacing drags in the second act, and the sexual themes might make some squirm. But for me, the audacity of it all was refreshing. Lanthimos makes you laugh while sneaking in existential dread—like a beautifully wrapped nightmare.