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The False Fad.

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Gluten free is not a fad yet the market is exploding as more and more people request gluten-free options at restaurants and purchase gluten-free products in stores. Many of these people are not required to follow such a diet—they don’t have celiac disease or gluten sensitivity. Like other diet trends before, people are misconceiving gluten-free as a healthier option. Often times, unless they seek out information on the diet and are careful, the consumer lacks sufficient fiber, vitamins, and minerals. What is gluten? It is the proteins found in wheat, barley, rye, and oat. Abstaining from eating gluten is neglecting the other nutrients that gluten foods offer. So why are people going gluten free who don’t have celiac or gluten sensitivity? Gluten can be hard on the digestive tract. For some individuals, limiting gluten can help increase bowel movements and reduce constipation. For others, eating less gluten can lead to a decrease in migraines or fatigue. However, it is the misunderstanding of “gluten free” automatically meaning healthier that has lead most of the gluten-free diet population to refrain from consuming gluten.

Mid-January 2015, I came across a past coworker’s post on celiac disease. It had been a year since she was diagnosed with celiac. We used to constantly discuss fatigue, battle it out for who required more sleep, and regularly complain to each other of the weekly migraines we endured. I decided to look further into the disease.

Every year in high school, I was required to write a letter to the principle, requesting not to be held back due to absences and getting signatures from my teachers agreeing that I had the academic performance and grades to continue. Once, I missed an entire week of school due to a migraine. I’m fairly certain my professors in college assumed I was irresponsible or uninterested in their class. The absence policy in one class turned my A- into a D+. Friends were lost as I consistently cancelled plans due to migraines and fatigue. Bosses became annoyed as I often randomly called in to work sick. I grew up with a “weak” stomach. I didn’t gain weight during my pregnancy. A week before I was induced, I quit Jimmy John’s—my coworkers never knew I was pregnant, the tiny belly bump hid so well behind the apron. When I went in to be induced, my already low platelet count plummeted. My daughter was born at the 7th percentile. After giving birth, I lost weight quickly from breastfeeding, or trying to. Getting my milk in and then keeping up a supply was a hassle, and I only lasted a few months. My weak stomach became weaker, causing a dwindling appetite.

I called my doctor. The internet is great and all for finding information, but I wanted an educated and valuable opinion regarding this celiac disease I had stumbled upon. I wanted to know what was true and what was false. I wanted a credible source. My doctor recommended I remove gluten from my diet. Test it out. She was old school—and old—and the only test she knew of to test celiac was invasive. Removing gluten was my only other option. After two weeks the changes became apparent. The migraines came less often and food was kept down. When I visited my hematologist after five months of gluten free living, my platelet count was the highest it had ever been. He was thoroughly impressed. And perplexed, the man didn’t know what to make of the drastic change until I informed him of my new gluten-free diet. The full effects of gluten are still unknown as researchers and doctors continue to learn about celiac disease and gluten sensitivity. Twice a year I get blood drawn to monitor my count. If it remains up come October, I might be considered “graduated” from his care. After a couple months on my new diet, I saw a gastroenterologist who specialized in celiac disease. As I was already on a gluten-free diet, I underwent genetic testing which only required a simple blood test. It was negative. Celiac was not my diagnosis.

“Or” was my new enemy. I could be sensitive or intolerant. Doctors don’t give enough information regarding what foods contain gluten. It’s in everything: dressings, lunch meats, pastas, dips, soy sauce, ice cream, pop. The list is endless. Reading labels became a must and my already health conscious mind grew a new ego. Nothing was overlooked on any food or drink package—good thing I love to read. Contamination was not to be ignored and a family member informed me of marshmallow root, a wonderful dietary supplement that can reduce any pains that might occur from gluten contamination. In fact, when her son wanted to indulge in a gluten delicious donut or pizza, the pills would allow him to eat without dealing with the consequential pain. However, simply because he doesn’t feel the pain doesn’t mean the damage isn’t being done. He had celiac and the pill can’t prevent from damage being done to his intestines over time when he does choose to indulge. The intestine will still become inflamed but like Advil can reduce swelling for a sprain, the injury still occurred.

After I found out I didn’t have celiac, I decided to savor a cinnamon donut—not roll—and two to be exact. It was pure heaven. There was no pain. But a month later, I was still fighting fatigue and migraines again; proof the marshmallow root was only a short-term relief. When I went in for my next blood draw and visit with hematology, my platelet count had gone back down (still slightly higher than my previous average). I learned the severity of my intolerance. I had to buy a separate toaster for me to use and all my condiments are labeled “GF.” Contamination is kept to a minimum but for a safety protocol I take marshmallow root daily. Despite popular belief, my gluten-free diet does not keep me thin.

My choice of a plant-based diet and lack of snacking is why I’m thin. I don’t drink my calories away. I eat when I’m hungry and not when I’m bored. It’s no preservatives and none of the artificial trio (sweeteners, flavoring, coloring). I listen to my body. If I’m feeling shaky, I up my salt or sugar intake. If I’m feeling queasy, I lay off any spices, sauces, and oily or greasy foods. I eat one serving of meat a day. I incorporate nuts into granola or salads. I aim to drink mostly water. I refrain from relying on rice as my gluten substitute—no thank you arsenic. I don’t eat out. Most of my meals are home cooked and prepared from scratch. Most importantly, I don’t buy into the assumption that gluten-free baked goods are healthy—they are still baked goods! They can be, given the right substitutions. However, it’s a safe bet that the gluten-free option of a product is less healthy than its gluten counterpart. But to make sure, read the nutrition facts label and the ingredient listing. If you don’t know what an ingredient is, google it. If you can’t get service because grocery stores are notorious for having bad reception, try to pronounce it. If you can’t sound it out, chances are it’s artificial or an unnecessary ingredient used to make it taste better. You should be knowledgeable of every ingredient on that list.

Before embarking on any diet, education is important. For example, it isn’t uncommon for novice vegans to neglect consuming necessary complete proteins. They have to be knowledgeable of adequate supplements or plant food combinations. Unless it’s printed and the restaurant is known for providing gluten-free options, I won’t consider the menu. At the last establishment where I served, I had to ask the head cook what menu items were gluten-free and his response was simple: “Well, gluten is anything with wheat, barley, and rye, so your breads and your pastas. Tell them they can have anything that doesn’t contain pasta, a hamburger without the bun, the salads.” The reality is gluten-free diets are much more complicated and I’m surprised the guest didn’t call back with a complaint—he had warned me of his severe sensitivity. Rice flour is commonly substituted in gluten-free products and meals but there is a concern regarding arsenic because it is so easily absorbed into the rice. Unfortunately, the best gluten-free tortillas I’ve found are brown rice tortillas. I’m not a fan of many of the corn-based products, like noodles, as they can taste gritty. When baking, almond flour can be a decent substitution among many others. Research is key.

In one of my health classes last semester, my group was asked to rank four different yogurts from healthiest to least healthy. Another group member and I disagreed on the appropriate ranking because we recognized we had different dietary needs and preferences. Whereas she was more concerned with sugar and was willing to consume artificial sweetener, I have a strict no artificial rule I follow and prefer more natural ingredients.

More gluten-free options may be popping up on the market, but that doesn’t mean you should be flocking to consume such products simply because of a “GF” label. It’s a learning process. Research what the diet entails. By definition, “diet” does NOT mean “healthy,” it simply refers to the food you consume. If you want to eat healthy, do research and listen to your body. The random aches, changes in bowel movements, sudden eczema or acne issues, or increase in migraines could very likely be due to the food you eat. Lunchmeat once a week doesn’t bother me, but if I eat it consecutively, I will get a crippling migraine. I love sandwiches but my body doesn’t. Gluten free may be popular, but your body might disagree with that assumption.

Only a small percent of people have celiac disease, and many are undiagnosed. The only way to know if you have celiac is to get tested. There are multiple screening options available for an individual to be tested for celiac. As for those who are sensitive or intolerant, know your body. With all food consumption and physical activity, it’s important to understand your body, the limits you can push and the boundaries set in stone.

 

Put down the picket & backpack.

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“Murderer!” the picketers ruthlessly scream because at about five weeks in the fetal development, the baby’s brain, spinal cord, and heart begin to develop. It’s during the third week, arguably, that the zygote develops into an embryo. For my government class back in high school, I spent the better part of a term researching abortion and the various methods. I lost my appetite. I couldn’t eat when my mom called for dinner. Just shy of seven years later, the stick was positive and I found myself in an unexpected pregnancy. I wasn’t ready. And I sure as hell didn’t believe myself capable. I wasn’t exactly known for being motherly or nurturing.

No lifting more than 20lbs. you dependent weakling. Say goodbye to coffee in the morning because there’s no caffeine. I hope you love migraines; they’re the friends that eat all your food and never leave. Good luck coping after a rough day at work because there’s no drinking alcohol in the hot tub. Instead, get ready to greet your new therapist twice a week as she helps to realign your spine. Think twice if you plan to dye your hair. Stay away from the sushi, deli meats, soft cheeses, and artificial sweeteners and coloring. Hope you prefer your eggs scrambled because that yolk will be fully cooked. And you can forget about your medium cooked steak or hamburger. Double check with your doctor regarding all your medications, previously prescribed or not. Don’t you dare sleep on your back—can’t put pressure on that spinal cord—but you best be getting that recommended nine hours each night. More likely to have serious car crashes when pregnant, you may not want to get behind that wheel. Or at least drive like the grandma you will be one day because the male in your life has an even higher crash rate.

Say hello to swollen ankles and that teenage acne that is coming back like a long lost best friend. You might even want to break out the matches for the constipation, and have fun with road trips, considering the constant need to urinate. If you don’t want cramps, stay away from the ice cream—it’s just willpower, those cravings don’t mean anything. Mind over matter and all that bullshit. And if you didn’t work out regularly before, you sure aren’t starting now. It’ll have to wait at least six weeks after birth when your doctor might give you the clear. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait even longer. You think that baby is magically popping out on your due date? WRONG. You may be induced early or it may come two weeks late. You want an epidermal to deal with the pain? Well shit, your platelet count better be high enough. Otherwise, you’re breathing and cussing your way through that natural birth. But let’s not forget that average minimum thirty pound weight gain. Hell, you might as well not even get out bed. Might as well learn to love that bed rest while on maternity leave.

I didn’t know the rules. For the five days between the night I found out and my doctor’s appointment, it was a self-educating process. I had a sandwich from Jimmy John’s because that’s what we always ordered for lunch at work. I didn’t know. I was a server; my tendency to lift a heavy tray was a daily habit. Habits die hard. I prefer my eggs dippity style. What the hell am I expected to eat for breakfast? My ex (boyfriend at the time) lived across the state and had a DUI; the driving to see each other was all on me. I sleep on my stomach but suddenly my little bump wouldn’t allow it; the body pillow became my new best friend. And the morning sickness was not just the first and second trimester, and it definitely was not just in the morning. That shit did not discriminate. It partied all day for all three trimesters.

If you wield a picket sign outside an abortion clinic, you sure as hell better have gone through a complicated pregnancy because not all are a happy dance in the sunshine. And even if it is a glowing pregnancy where everything goes as planned and expected, the mother still gave up a lot. Oh, you’re a man? You can’t get pregnant? Get a backpack and fill it with thirty pounds of weights and strap the bastard on—to your front. You, sir, are in for one hell of a backpacking trip. And don’t even think about taking it off when you sleep or use the loo. That shit is glued to you.

It is not possible to force a woman to continue with an unexpected pregnancy. Pregnancy is a highly selfless act and the expecting mother must be prepared to follow through with all the limitations, eat her daily vitamins, and educate herself on proper pregnancy care. Reality is not all mothers are willing, even those who are elated and want to be a mom. Then, how can you expect a mother who doesn’t want children or who isn’t ready to undergo the battle? Because it is a battle—them hormones can be a bitch, the cravings can cost a pretty penny, and it’s useless fighting the tears.

Abortion was never an option for me, but I will never understand the abortion debate and I will always question the integrity of pro-life picketers. Pregnancy is one hell of a commitment, even if it goes as planned, the mother is “glowing,” and it’s considered a healthy one. By no means do I think abortion should be a form of birth control, and it is highly unfair that unwanted babies get aborted everyday while other couples grieve over the inability to conceive, but if a female wants to terminate a pregnancy, I doubt she is willing to provide a healthy womb for the baby.

When I was five months along and my doctor prescribed me to eat ice cream everyday because I couldn’t gain weight, Worry began to nag. When she called me at 9 P.M. to tell me I had to be at the hospital at 8 A.M. the next morning to be induced, Worry took root. When my doctor told me my platelet count was too low for an epidermal, that they were concerned my blood wouldn’t clot if I bled, Worry rammed me like a freight train. After I gave birth and my doctor told my mother it was a good thing they induced because my amniotic fluid was unhealthy, Worry was finally derailed. Worry was constant during my pregnancy and I followed every recommendation given to me. It was deep-seated and the hormones didn’t help. The pregnancy wasn’t expected but my daughter was wanted. I couldn’t imagine being in that situation as an expecting mother who didn’t want the baby, the pregnancy.

It’s still unclear as to whether I should ever undergo a pregnancy again. My doctors have no idea if it will be the same battle or different results, if it would be detrimental to my health or if the baby would survive, but that doesn’t change anything. Abortion will never be an option for me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to condemn those who choose to exercise their right. Every pregnancy is different. And you never know the battles another is facing.

No Thanks, Superman (I’ve got it covered).

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It’s my spring break and I joined a dating site. Well, three to be exact. What a hassle. I’m not entirely convinced I don’t want to end up alone. Dating as a single mom is more complex than people seem to think. The assumption seems to be that I would want to replace her father, gain a partner to tackle parenthood with, jump on the idea of a date to get out of the house. These people are wrong.

Everything I do is done with my daughter in mind.

New Years Eve 2014, when my daughter was only four months old, I broke it off with her father. It was not a decision I made with little thought. Becoming a single mom was not something I decided to do on a whim. I never wanted my child to grow up in a home where her father didn’t reside. That wasn’t a goal of mine. Yet, I hit a point in the relationship where I could not imagine beginning the New Year, 2015, with him. I wanted a clean break, a new year.

When I date a guy, I am letting him into a world where previously, my trust was greatly broken. I am giving him the privilege and honor of meeting this little girl who means everything to me. Our future together isn’t a given and I refuse to jump into a marriage simply because a guy is willing to date a single mom. I may not be happy about my past following me, the inability to leave my ex in the past where exes belong, but I deal with it because my daughter deserves to know her father.

Dating a guy doesn’t mean replacing her father. It means my daughter will be lucky enough to have two dads. It means one day, if she wants, she will have two dads to walk her down the aisle, two dads to report amazing news to, two dads to treat her like the gem she is. And unfortunately, dating a guy doesn’t give him the allowance to make decisions regarding my daughter when we have only been dating a few months. He doesn’t get to jump into every mother-daughter activity after only a couple weeks or even a few months. And unfortunately, time isn’t something I seem to have a lot of these days, between my daughter, my studies, and subbing. When I’m forced to choose between the two, it’s almost a given I’ll choose time with my daughter. Some people can’t understand this concept of why I’m not willing to immediately allow for the guy to spend a lot of time with my daughter. I’ve been told it takes at least a year to get to really know someone. I’m not willing to have my daughter get attached to a guy when the relationship may not last. This isn’t pessimism speaking, it’s realism.

Everything I do is done with my daughter in mind.

I’m not willing to be disappointed by another man.

I’m not willing to allow a man to disappoint my daughter.

My pregnancy was a difficult one ridden with worry and constant sickness. I had to drag the father to two of the appointments. I got more checkup phone calls and texts from people I rarely talked to or hadn’t seen in years. We easily went days without speaking and unless I brought it up, he never asked how the checkups went. I was alone in a complicated pregnancy.

When I got the call late at night telling me I had to be induced into labor because they were worried about the baby, the father wasn’t going to be there. His boss told him to come with. I had to drive from Grand Rapids to Ann Arbor to be at the hospital in the morning and he was planning on having me drive it alone. He chose to not see his daughter for six weeks because he wanted to manipulate me into moving across the state. He sacrificed seeing his own daughter.

Everything I do is done with my daughter in mind.

It’s a given for there to be complications and drama between parents who are no longer together. It’s a given that there will be days of frustration. The last guy I dated understood this to an extent. He assured me I could talk to him about it but instead I would get the silent treatment in return. He was jealous when my daughter spent time with her father. Her father became jealous when he found out I was dating someone and stepped up in seeing his daughter more and not cancelling on her last minute—not that she’s old enough to know if he cancelled, anyway.

Unfortunately, when dating a single mom, the guy enters into a relationship with the father as well. With me, that means he’s expected to take the high road. There is no talking shit about her father in front of my daughter. I don’t accept anger because my daughter deserves to know her father. That is to be respected. I have this end goal that her father and I will reach a point where our future families can take vacations together so my daughter doesn’t feel left out or forced to choose. I refuse to put her in the middle of any dispute. This also is to be respected.

I wasn’t lying about the complications and drama.

I may be a single mom but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to settle for any guy. I’d rather remain single than be in a loveless relationship. There are days I’d love to share with a partner, but reality is the world of dating is complicated tenfold when a child is added into the equation. I would never want my daughter to settle, so why should I?

“You’re making a mistake.”

“You’re lucky I was even willing to date you.”

“You think I want this drama.”

“You’re a single mom, it’s not like guys are lining up.”

Some of the shit that comes out of people’s mouths amazes me. Being a single mom doesn’t mean I need help. It doesn’t warrant judgment. Being single and being a mom are two separate labels—I hate that word. When combined, it simply means I’m Superwoman—that’s what I keep telling myself anyways.

I’m not looking to be saved. I don’t need Superman. (I’ve got it covered.)

Tattoo Neglected

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Come here, no closer, let me prick
you—not poke, I am not
that needle which administers
your flu shot or draws a vial of blood
from the crook of your elbow,
though I may steal
some, have it smeared
on your skin. It’s up to you,
your intoxication, you’re responsible
for the amount you bleed—let’s hope
you didn’t lie on that permission
form sheet with your signature.
  Read the rest of this entry

Imprisoned: part 1.

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These walls hold me imprisoned,
constructed from a desperation
to keep me safe, to prevent
this cracked heart of mine
from shattering. You sealed
the brick stones, encased
them in cement with your lies
and deceit, your bickering spite.
Nobody was getting in
after you,
you made sure of that;
and now there’s nowhere left
for me to go except
down
down
down.

Flawed.

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It amazes me how people are unable to move on from circumstances that have no negative effect on them; how people are still upset that Caitlyn Jenner won the Arthur Ashe Award. I have seen a number of posts regarding the outrage people feel on the matter, how it wasn’t a courageous act, how the real heroes are the people who fight overseas or battle cancer; but courage and hero are vast encompassing terms. They are not reserved to a career, battle, or lifestyle. They are not reserved to age or gender.

I had a professor in college who was my hero because of how much my writing improved through taking his classes and his encouragement for me to continue writing. One of my best friends is my hero because despite her doubt in her strength, she survives everything life throws at her. Another friend is my hero because of how well he changed his life around. My mother is my hero because of everything she gave up for my brother. My dad is my hero, period.

I can only hope one day my daughter thinks of me as her hero.

What Caitlyn did may not have been the most courageous act on the planet but for some kids struggling with accepting who they are or struggling with acceptance from others, her receiving that award was exactly what they needed. I remember hearing how a past friend of mine attempted suicide after coming out. There are people who don’t like the publicity behind her changing of genders, arguing she did it for the fame. I highly doubt someone would ever make such a life altering decision based on fame, but you know what? I am glad she has the money and connections to make her decision public. Her being in the spotlight, willingly taking hits from cyber bullies and society, and not allowing herself to be negatively effected, is heroic. She is setting a prime example for kids who are fighting with acceptance. Let her be a mascot for the LGBT community. I hate to break it to some of you, but it won’t cause anyone harm—and it could just save a life. I don’t want to hear about more kids attempting or committing suicide because the struggle is too much for them, because society won’t accept them for being themselves, because they feel alone in this world.

The worst is those who will throw my daughter in my face as an ingredient in their argument: Do you want your daughter to be gay? Would you really be okay with a gay couple adopting your daughter if something happened to you? Oh, how the questions keep coming. For the record, I want my daughter to be happy. We tell kids to be themselves but then set these parameters. I want her to be proud of who she becomes. If sixteen years down the road, she comes to me and tells me she likes girls, I hope she comes to me unafraid and knowing I will always love her. Further, I don’t ever want her to think I love her despite such a lifestyle; I want her to know I love her for who she is.

If something happened to me tomorrow and there wasn’t any relative to take her in, you better believe I’m okay with a gay couple adopting her. I have heard arguments against gays adopting based on the need for both gender roles represented in the household. Do people realize they are offending single parents everywhere? As a single mother, I find this greatly insulting. The sexuality of a couple does not provide for whether the child in that home will be loved and cared for. There are a number of straight parents who abuse their children. Trust me when I say the sexuality of the caretaker would be my last priority.

Lastly, I am sorry to disappoint, but it is within the heterosexual parent household that the homosexual child was born. I will assume you know the basics of how a child is conceived, but I have never heard of two males having sex and producing a baby, let alone a gay baby. So please, stop. Then, of course, there are the religious folks making arguments of since only a heterosexual couple can conceive a baby, God obviously is against it. I hope you use that same argument for the heterosexual couple who are unable to conceive a child because of some condition, and hear how loud their devastation and overwhelming their sadness reigns. I hope they slap you when you tell them God is against them being parents, and I hope I’m there to witness it.

People keep making these arguments and I keep hoping that one day they understand the meaning and repercussions behind their words. They are never just words. Maybe it’s because I’m such an avid reader or because I find comfort in writing that I love how one can string together a few words to portray an emotion perfectly. I find it miraculous when another writer can perfectly express my feelings. However, I also find it devastating when people inappropriately convey a message without thinking about everything they are saying. People are welcome to have their own opinion, the definition allows for the differences, but it’s not okay when these opinions contain offensive language and are given out of spite, when they are drenched in cruel intentions.

We are human and we are flawed, and I firmly believe that it is okay to be uncomfortable with a situation. However, your being uncomfortable is not an excuse to be hateful or intolerant. Sometimes, it simply means you need to get over yourself.

Speak (hear her roar).

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I am Outcast.

OVERVIEW:

The kids behind me laugh so loud I know they’re laughing about me. I can’t help myself. I turn around. It’s Rachel, surrounded by a bunch of kids wearing clothes that most definitely did not come from the EastSide Mall. Rachel Bruin, my ex-best friend. She stares at something above my left ear. Words climb up my throat. This was the girl who suffered through Brownies with me, who taught me how to swim, who understood about my parents, who didn’t make fun of my bedroom. If there is anyone in the entire galaxy I am dying to tell what really happened, it’s Rachel. My throat burns.

            Her eyes meet mine for a second. “I hate you,” she mouths silently.

Melinda Sordino’s freshman year is off to a horrible start. She busted an end-of-summer party by calling the cops, and now her friends—and even strangers—all hate her. Months pass and things aren’t getting better. She’s a pariah. The lowest of the low. Avoided by everyone. But eventually, she’ll reveal what happened at the party. And when she finally speaks the truth, everything will change.

REVIEW:

It saddens me that such a beautifully written and tragically accurate account of a young girl’s rape can be cast aside as offensive and inappropriate for the classroom. For the brave souls who wish to teach it and the school districts that allow it, parents will write in, arguing that Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak promotes sex and is offensive to the male population. It pains me to think that people could belittle such a novel, one that Anderson came forth years later and confessed it was based on her own experience. It is an emotional and tragic novel but the honesty and richness drive the story home. It is heartbreaking, what Melinda experiences and must work through, but by the end of the novel, you will be cheering her on, applauding her in a standing ovation, and begging for parents to allow this to be taught in the classroom. This is the story of a girl who loses her identity and her voice, who fights the truth that is desperately trying to escape her. Wait for it, and hear her roar.

Paper Towns: A flimsy tale

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Who is the real Margo?

OVERVIEW:

Quentin Jacobsen has spent a lifetime loving the magnificently adventurous Margo Roth Spiegelman from afar. So when she cracks open a window and climbs into his life—dressed like a ninja and summoning him for an ingenious campaign of revenge—he follows. After their all-nighter ends, and a new day breaks, Q arrives at school to discover that Margo, always an enigma, has now become a mystery. But Q soon learns that there are clues—and they’re for him. Urged down a disconnected path, the closer he gets, the less Q sees the girl he thought he knew…

REVIEW:

I didn’t think disappointment could be an emotion I would feel after reading a book of John Green but I was wrong. He built Paper Towns up and tapped it with his finger. There was no tornado to upright it. The weatherman called for shelter and gave warning but it only led to an anticlimactic event, one that left me asking, “That’s it?” It was hilarious and poignant and sometimes outrageous, until the last segment of the book. The mystery was captivating and the characters were hypnotizing, but the ending simply evaporated. I was enthralled and couldn’t wait for the climax; until it happened, then I had to force myself to stay awake and continue reading. Will power kept me going; not the writing, the story, or the characters. I love a book that lives on past the last page and, tragically, this book ended before it was over.