“‘I’m like. Like. I’m like a grenade, Mom. I’m a grenade and at some point I’m going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties, okay?’
My dad tilted his head a little to the side, like a scolded puppy.
'I'm a grenade,' I said again. 'I just want to stay away from people and read books and think and be with you guys because there's nothing I can do about hurting you; you're too invested, so just please let me do that, okay? I'm not depressed. I don't need to get out more. And I can't be a regular teenager, because I'm a grenade.”
I almost cried when I read this. If I hadn’t been on the train, I would have freely let the tears fall. She called herself a grenade and she’s not wrong. At any given moment, she could go. I can’t ever imagine having to live like that. But then I realized, aren’t we all grenades in some way? I’m not trying to be depressing but essentially, we can die at any time. Whether it be from some unknown disease or a simple accident, you’re never really safe from death. I don’t want to be depressing, but we’re damn lucky if we make it to 25 years old.
So thank you Mr.Green, for writing such an amazing novel that 1) I’m forced to dispel my stoic expressions on train rides home and have to subtly force tears away and 2) I’m forced to think about how I live my own life and realize that I need to live more. I don’t just want be here, I want to actually live.