There is something tremendously personal about letters. There is something tremendously liberating about personal letters sent to unknown entities from whom we are certain no response will arise. It’s like throwing notes at the universe. No written judgment will find its way back to us, only the comforting silence of the void. It’s like placing a call: an open line and yet no particular sign of life coming from the other side. Just openness, receptiveness.
“Just tell me how to be different in a way that makes sense.”
Charlie has found a safe haven amongst empty sheets of paper upon which he then pours himself – his experiences, his doubts, his certain uncertainties and vice-versa. Some believe that writing is like a game of cards: once you write down the words, there is no taking them back. Instead of considering it a limitation, Charlie seems to thrive on this unwritten rule, using it in his favor. For him, it becomes a path to self-understanding, self-acknowledgment, self-acceptance.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is morbid, but I want it when I get like this.”
As an over-thinker, this book felt like a nostalgically beautiful second home. Even if we meet mostly over the general line, traveling Charlie’s mind was an experience that will certainly stay with me for a long time.
“I hope the people who wrote those songs are happy. I hope that they feel it’s enough. I really do because they’ve made me happy. And I’m only one person.”
The Perks of Being a Wallflower feels like an open invitation to consider all the perspectives, an encouragement to pursue the one that leads you forward, even if one baby step at a time.
“Charlie, we accept the love we think we deserve.”