Dear...

Dear Heartbreaker,

Stealing like a thief swindling from virtuous townspeople in the pitch black of the darkest of nights, you, Mr. John Green, robbed the last hope of love from my world at just the age of sixteen. Yet, what can you expect when your audience is poignant teenagers and your weapon of choice is words of emotion. Your pen touches the paper, and we begin Looking for Alaska. Load. You conveniently portray a fantasy world where one’s destiny lies in the hands of happy coincidences. Aim. You paint Miles and Alaska’s relationship. First with watercolors of disdain, bitterness, and awkwardness. Then evolving into shades of a friendship, eventually blossoming into a work of art illustrating an inseparable pair- you strangle us by the necks with a thirst for air, a thirst for bliss. Fire. You finally quench our desire. Yet instead of alleviating our needs with the nice refreshing, cold smoothness of water, you force feed us blistering and painstakingly molten lava. Nearly a perfectly sculpted world, you ransack happiness and destroy faith - like the Greek god Ares, waging a war against the reader. Execute. You crash the car with Alaska, evaporating any chance of solving all her mysteries. Little did you know, sitting in the passenger seat was me. Awaiting the “happily ever after,” I’m oblivious to your true vile and villainous intentions. While you scribe the words to kill one character, you left me dead in the dark alleys of despair and desolation like a selfish, self-entitled tyrant ruling over his subjects. Feeling remorseful? Good.

I write to you not because the complaint box of Shakespeare’s backstabbing Hamlet or Macbeth are overflowed with critics of the past and present. Nor because my teenage angst needs an outlet to be released from the deep caverns of my hormonal emotion. In fact, I write to you today, not in my own self-interest, but to help you realize your paradoxical nature. The truth is, I do honestly despise your novel Looking for Alaska, or in my opinion “Never Finding Alaska.” The mysterious adventure connected me with the rebellious and daring Alaska - qualities of which I have long had an absence. I formed a friendship, all-knowing this fictional character would never even know of the bond. Crash. And just like that, you took her. My anger evolved into hatred, rage, then resistance - I couldn't bear to continue the journey without her. I never experienced such a connection with a fictitious character.  You created a new chapter in my life, all through something as seemingly simple as a paperback book. Looking for Alaska taught me virtues of love, forgiveness, and how just one person can make a difference. I doubt these were your intentions while creating this piece, yet I’m sure you also did not foresee a sixteen-year-old boy heartbroken because he never found Alaska.