This evening, I finished reading The Fault In Our Stars. I began the book prepared to be impressed by the standard of John Green’s writing, while also accepting the fact that it would be a tragic story which would in all likelihood cause me to shed a tear or two. I’ve ended the book thoroughly in awe of Green’s storytelling capabilities, while simultaneously bemoaning the cruelty of existence. Two things I learnt while reading tfios: 1) that consciousness might just be the cruelest fate that humanity has ever been doomed to, and 2) that my mascara is not, as its packaging otherwise suggests, waterproof.

