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Kurt Vonnegut. Charles Bukowski. JD Salinger. Edgar Allan Poe. Chuck Palahniuk.

If you would combine all the badass, tragic authors I love, it would ultimately suggest by your assuming brain that I am a woman of weird, dark humour and sarcastic shitholes (oh look, I'm cursing too!). Yep, I am a product of macabre literature + transgressive fiction + contemporary poetry with no rhymes and meters. Not really a good combination, actually.

Amidst all the sexist (and rather twisted) logic, this is how I got my weird sense of humor. Ask Trisha, my sister. Ask Joella, my colleague. Everything I say has a little political punch. Or rants on societal senselessness. I don't know, I just do.

Truth be told, I am not afraid—okay, let's try not to be an arrogant prick—I am scared. Utterly terrified. The whole idea of "let's all be Barbies because SOME men thinks that the whole world is Pornhub" is still perpetrating; or maybe it's just me? I mean hell, there are people who lives in a bat cave. Frozen in a medieval state of conservatism.

BOOK REVIEW: The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F*ck

I think I found the book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck on instagram, propped up beside a lovely coffee mug with a tear-jerking caption that can make Michelle Obama cry. Somewhere around 2016, this book is a hit because number one: it appears on every book website I visit, and number two: damn, the F word sounds nice. Haha.

This is probably the first book that agrees with my rather careless life decisions. Am I REALLY careless? Are my virtues malleable and therefore easily persuaded? Or maybe something more: that I wouldn’t pay attention on my make-up because I have to update my résumé, or I would deliberately pick ukay-ukay than any high-end clothes shop because I don’t know… its way cheaper?

Then it dawned on me: we all have different filters in making decisions. Mine is self-improvement and happiness—EVERYTHING ELSE DOESN’T MATTER. I have known POVERTY since the day I was born, so I would rather be broke and happy than to be rich and miserable. Fuck it all. Therefore, maybe I was never really reckless jerk at all.

No copyright infringement intended 

Sorry Paris Hilton, I don’t want to be you. Please don’t get offended. I mean, I can’t be you because I can’t stomach the horrors of blind dating and fake flattery. YOU CAN. Who likes to be anybody’s trophy girlfriend? It sucks.

Choices, the value of suffering, and finding your self-identity by NOT giving a fuck at all—these are the things that might get you mind blown within 146 pages. It’s really short, actually, given that I’ve read it on PDF. But it’s worth reading, if you are willing to get your ego crushed so new perspective will blossom.

 I could kiss the author right now. Seriously.