Thoughts of a former book thief after reading The Book Thief by Markus Zusak:
I want someone to steal my book someday. I know that sounds counterintuitive but I consider it a strange rite of passage. It sounds weird, but if someone should come upon my book in a library or bookstore, and they don’t have the means to pay for it or have obtained too many overdue fees that prevent them from checking out yet another book, I hope they steal it. I hope they don’t get caught.
I hope they read it past midnight by flashlight or cell phone. I hope they find meaning in it. I hope they find themselves nestled between the pages. I hope they know that it’s okay to not have all the answers, and that control is nothing but a facade, if gained through harmful measures. I hope they learn that there’s strength in being vulnerable with and crying in front of the right people. I hope they come to know that there’s more to life than just trauma and survival.
I hope they learn to forgive themselves and let God be their friend. I hope they sit outside and watch the sunrise with coffee, tea, or whatever their preferred drink of choice. I hope they let go of toxic friendships and relationships. I hope they know that suicide isn’t actually the answer and there are more reasons to stay than to leave. I hope they love themselves each day a little more, especially when they’re numb and can’t get out of bed. I hope they learn that a diagnosis isn’t an automatic life sentence of stigma and symptoms, but that they can live and flourish and grow. I hope they live.
*Obviously, I want people to buy my book when it gets to that point. This post was merely my initial thoughts after reading a great book.