I cried, when i read the book last year.
I cried, when i watched it just a few minutes ago.
It doesn’t matter if i met Augustus Waters and Hazel Gray Lancaster in words separated by a year plus a half maybe before i get to see them alive in my eyes. What matters most is the effect it had on me while reading and watching them. More so, i waited for another month before i let it be played, because i don’t wanna be just on the “now showing” hype or the bandwagon. I wanted to really feel the “feels” and to ready myself for such a cry fest or for the attack of the emo-s. And indeed, I am not mistaken. I am telling you, the impact is the same. It hit me BIGTIME, like when i read them the first time.
CAN I JUST START WITH OKAY? OKAY!
The story for me is not only about grief, not only about even pity for those who have life threatening sickness such as cancer. It is not only about on how to cope up with the loss of a loved-one or the journey of life for those who were running out of time for it.
For me, it’s more of a story about HOPE. That in this world we live in, no matter how unfair, devastating, cruel and tragic the situations we are in, we find hope. In love and friendship and family. Because of hope we build the courage, find strength, conquer fears and pain and experience joy and the source of happiness and fulfillment no matter what. Because of hope, we live in this world with a purpose, not thinking about the grandest gesture but to even just make one person smile. I think, it is enough.
I really like Hazel and Gus. They made themselves perfect for each other despite for their imperfect world.
“You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world…but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices.”
“Maybe ‘okay’ will be our ‘always”
“It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.”
“You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.”
“You say you’re not special because the world doesn’t know about you, but that’s an insult to me. I know about you.”
“I will not tell you our love story, because-like all real love stories-it will die with us,as it should.”
And that last letter of Gus… it breaks my heart, every time!
I’m a good person but a shitty writer. You’re a shitty person but a good writer. We’d make a good team. I don’t want to ask you any
favors, but if you have time—and from what I saw, you have plenty—I was wondering if you could write a eulogy for Hazel. I’ve got
notes and everything, but if you could just make it into a coherent whole or whatever? Or even just tell me what I should say differently.
Here’s the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with leaving a mark upon the world. Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting death.
We all want to be remembered. I do, too. That’s what bothers me most, is being another unremembered casualty in the ancient and
inglorious war against disease.
I want to leave a mark.
But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star
and you think, “They’ll remember me now,” but (a) they don’t remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup
becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion.
(Okay, maybe I’m not such a shitty writer. But I can’t pull my ideas together, Van Houten. My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into
We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants. We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss, marking everything MINE in a
ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths. I can’t stop pissing on fire hydrants. I know it’s silly and useless—epically useless in my current
state—but I am an animal like any other.
Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth: We’re as likely to hurt the universe
as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either.
People will say it’s sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it’s not sad,
Van Houten. It’s triumphant. It’s heroic. Isn’t that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm.
The real heroes anyway aren’t the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who
invented the smallpox vaccine didn’t actually invent anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn’t get smallpox.
After my PET scan lit up, I snuck into the ICU and saw her while she was unconscious. I just walked in behind a nurse with a badge and I
got to sit next to her for like ten minutes before I got caught. I really thought she was going to die before I could tell her that I was going
to die, too. It was brutal: the incessant mechanized haranguing of intensive care. She had this dark cancer water dripping out of her
chest. Eyes closed. Intubated. But her hand was still her hand, still warm and the nails painted this almost black dark blue and I just held
her hand and tried to imagine the world without us and for about one second I was a good enough person to hope she died so she
would never know that I was going, too. But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar.
A nurse guy came in and told me I had to leave, that visitors weren’t allowed, and I asked if she was doing okay, and the guy said, “She’s
still taking on water.” A desert blessing, an ocean curse.
What else? She is so beautiful. You don’t get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: You know she is. She is
funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world,
old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.
I do, Augustus.