I am working on it, and I know I can always refer to your book if I need some inspiration. You would not believe the amount of times I have been called socially awkward. Also, many times, my classmates assume I am mad or upset with them. Now, with the help of your book, I have come to understand that there are several ways to work on being more outgoing. I have already started to try out these new strategies. I recently bought the book, Quiet , which is sitting in my locker at school, along with, Quiet Power. Either way, we can learn a lot from each other. Different personalities are what make life interesting.
While I might have big hurdles in my life just to speak up in class, other people have their own obstacles to overcome. I know I am just one reader in a sea of millions, but the difference your book made to me was life changing. Thank you for sharing your story with the other introverts in the world.
Silently, we are all standing united with you. Maybe if you look away from the world for a while things might be less agonizing. Then, the once full life will return. Sometimes though, you cannot escape from the feeling, and you are forced to face it head on. Your magical ink and paper supported me through white hospital rooms, graveyards, and those days when it is just hard to breath. She had trouble standing, let alone preparing meals and solving conflicts in our household. In your story, when the mother took care of her son through all stages of his life, I remembered the times my mother helped me through homework, friends, family, and most importantly, life.
I cannot count how many times she picked me up when the glass below my feet shattered. In a way, I could relate to the son. After all the times my mother took care of me, I felt that she deserved the same, and your book showed me that. There is one thing I know for certain about my mother, that she will like me for always. If I ever am in need of this being reminded, I just flip open your soft pages and echo your words through my head.
This reminds me that whenever I make a silly mistake, or even a big one, my mother is still watching over me, maybe even laughing at the way I handle curveballs in life. Does it include death? Does it include cancer? Does it include tears, chemo, peeling skin, and weak bones? I now realize that it does. It really does include death and cancer. So thank you, thank you for showing me that type of love will never end.
I thank you, once again, for everyday leading me to the light closer to my mother. I can relate to that feeling. The feeling of being humiliated by a very sick person. Illness overcomes everyone at one point or another — from the common flu to being paralyzed to a sore throat. But it affects everyone differently. Sometimes it is physical but sometimes it is mental. When I was younger, my mom became ill. Her illness came from a tragedy that happened when she was six.
She started having seizures. She could be walking in from the bathroom and fall and start to shake. It was terrifying to see. I remember my mom was at the table talking to my grandmother and she fell sideways off her chair and started to have a seizure. And my little sister Alayna started to cry. So, I took her into the living room. The house was an open floor plan, so she could still see. My grandma was on the floor holding her head, because if not, she would only bang it off the floor. She finally stopped shaking and she opened her eyes and started crying.
She also had a personality disorder. The name EE was given to her from my uncle. She switches to EE when she is scared, happy, or sad. At the time she would switch a lot. She acted my age. She loved to watch Mickey Mouse and The Wiggles. For ten year old me, they were favorite shows too. In a way she was just like me.
We would play with blocks and talk, and I began to love EE more than I loved my own mom. My mom has done a lot of embarrassing things when she switched. One time we were sitting in the living room. As usual, Mickey Mouse was on. I got up and walked to the bathroom. I was only gone for like five minutes, if that. And when I came back tears filled my eyes. EE had used nail polish as lipstick. The nail polish was a pretty, light blue, with silver glitter in it. She tried to say something but the nail polish had already dried her lips shut.
The nail polish was burning her lips. My grandma, looking frustrated, ran to the bathroom and got nail polish remover and a Q-tip, and began to go at the dried up nail polish. It took about fifteen minutes for her lips to be able to open. She switched back to being my mom and went to get something for her headache. Switching gave my mom headaches. So she took a pill, and went for a nap. It was small. At one point me, my two sisters, and my parents all shared a bed. It was tight, and my dad snored, so I had many sleepless nights. We had a lot of floods, and many of my toys and clothes were destroyed.
We all slept on the floor in the living room. And our necks and backs hurt so bad in the mornings. As I got older I started to hate EE. She was starting to cause me more problems. I was the oldest out of all my sisters, so when my mom would switch, I became the mother figure; my dad was always working, and someone had to step up. So I had to learn to cook at an early age and clean and do dishes. My sisters began to hate me because they thought I was too pushy and mean. I was rushed into adulthood. And it began to put me down, and I slowly developed depression. No one knew because I never talked about my problems or showed my emotions.
The one thing that made me despise EE, was not being able to have friends over. She already missed so much of me growing up. So she started taking pills to ease her pain. Slowly my grandma noticed her pills were missing. And then she noticed my mom sleeping more. When confronted about it, she said the bad people in her head made her. We all knew what that meant. It was back to the hospital.
She was in and out of hospital. No one ever helped any. I gave up, I was done. What would make this time any different. I just sat in my bed, with a weird, sad, yet depressing feeling. It was like I was in slow motion, and everything around me was being fast forwarded. Five days passed by so fast. My aunt and her kids came over, to celebrate my mom coming home. My mom walked in the door and everyone ran over to see her. I kinda just stayed in the back. My gaga then began to tell us what they did to her.
They cured her seizures, and they gave her medication for her pain.
Amaya Beach Passikudah (Resort), Pasikuda (Sri Lanka) Deals
And then the bomb dropped. She told us that there is no cure for the switching. I was stuck with her for the rest of my life? To this day EE is still around. She now cooks and cleans. That was a tough time for me. No, scratch that. A horrible time for me. A mind breaking time for me. Stress troubles. Family troubles. Anxiety troubles. School troubles. Friend troubles. Depression troubles. Any problem that you can think of, I probably experienced it.
At that time, I locked myself away. For days, sometimes even weeks. But then I started reading. All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven. I remember the first time I read that book. Within the first few chapters, I was crying. I never related to something the way I related to your book. And then I brought it into school.
But then I saw their faces frown. When I researched you, I found out that you were in a mental hospital. And that killed me. So much. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. And before I knew it, I was done. I smiled for the first time for months because of your book. It was funny, it was sad, it was even happy for Christ sake! I was longing for more. I wanted to see the words again. I wanted to be happy. So I tried to contact you. You died from suicide. And at that moment I realized how much your book meant to you, and to me.
You poured your heart into this book and the book poured into mine. The whole entire plot and everything. A biography. It was fiction. And I questioned that. For days. Was this a biography that you disguised into a fiction book? I read your book over and over again. People started questioning. I wanted to thank you. For everything. Not only did your book give me joy, but it helped me through those distressing times. So thank you. For saving me from this dark abyss. Thank you. You must either be a mad man or a magician, because I think you are one of the few people in this world that understands why bad things happen to good people.
You have written so many famous classical masterpieces, many of which my family members and I have enjoyed. We are zealous readers, especially my older sister who is a big fan of yours. She is a student studying to be an editor while helping teach university courses. I had great expectations for The Old Curiosity Shop at first, but as I was reading, I have to admit, it was difficult to get through. Your book must have weighed at least a hundred pounds!
Interestingly, we have roughly 3, books in our home, and The Old Curiosity Shop reminds of one of our larger tomes. Usually I eat books for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My parents read books with me, and I read to my siblings a lot. However, no matter how many hours spent reading every morning, I always had hundreds more pages of your book awaiting me! Why in the dickens did you kill Nell at the end of your book?! You practically killed an angel!
You could have let her live like Oliver Twist and Pip did! You could have let her live and be part of the social reform that you illustrate in many of your other books. But your book had one of the saddest endings I have ever read. In addition, I questioned your skill as the great author my family had grown to love so much. I probably felt somewhat like a girl questioning God on the death of a good and gracious friend. I have to say, I put that book up on the shelf very disappointed in you no disrespect intended, Mr.
Dickens, but you scared the Dickens right out of me. Nonetheless, I was confused and upset about your ending. Recently, one of my sixteen-year-old friends was in a serious horseback riding accident. After suffering several broken bones, two punctured lungs, several surgeries, and a severed spinal cord, she is paralyzed from the hip down. When I first found out, I had the same feeling in the pit of my stomach that I did when I finished your book: excruciating sadness, denial, and anger.
It was as if I was reading your book again with no happy ending. Where was the sunset?
Where was the prince riding with his princess? Where was the beautiful music echoing from the mountaintops? There was none. Everything was silent. Where was the justice? The next few days were spent with a dreary black raincloud pouring over me. I even avoided my favorite lake down the street where I love to read and write and draw. I started thinking about why your book was so depressing. As I was thinking of this a light bulb lit up in my brain. He let the bad things in his life overcome him, and the book ended with no one living happily ever after. Most authors create characters and stories that we want to live ourselves, but in your book, you let your main characters be overcome by their problems.
So I was confused. Human nature does not like what cannot be understood. Why did you let bad things ruin a good story? We have enough of that in our world. My sister died 1 year after Terrorists threaten our world. My brother had excruciating and incapacitating migraines for years.
She may always have to depend on physical help. But now I finally understand what you were trying to tell me. How we respond and how we help the situation molds us into the people we want to be. Do we want to let the bad things in our lives defeat us like they defeated the grandfather, or do we want to write our own happy endings to our stories?
I know that by writing a sad ending to The Old Curiosity Shop , you wrote a happy ending to your own story. You wrote that book for your sister-in-law, Mary, who died at the young age of just 17 years old. You wrote a book that truly has a voice, and all we have to do is listen closely enough to hear it.
Books are immortal. In that same sense and with your help, Mary is immortal. Maybe I, too, along with my friend, can be immortal with a just, courageous, kind, and persevering spirit, inspiring and helping each other. We have to depend on love to help us through life anyway. If seen through the correct lens, needing physical help can help share love like we should be sharing anyway. Pondering these themes has inspired me in more ways than one. My family wants to take more trips to help a family member in another state.
Sometimes I wonder what you think of how famous your works are after all these years and all the different ways people portray them. I think you would be proud to see what good The Old Curiosity Shop has done for me. Instead of letting this awful situation get me down, I am making get well presents for my friend, and my family is encouraging her family, who is feeling peace in this time of struggle. We are praying and working on raising money to help with wheelchair accessible routes in the home. I will be visiting her in rehabilitation and encouraging her to beat this situation like you taught me.
When we were both young kids, our moms took us to the local library to story time. We loved Miss JoAnn and the stories she read and picking out books afterward. Our moms have continued the tradition of taking the younger siblings to story time through the years, and the kids still love hearing the stories read and the tradition of selecting books.
As you said Mr. Thank you so much for writing a book I will never forget. Even though I hated it at first, it has become one of my favorite books. Not only did you teach me how to deal with bad situations, but you also taught me how to read like a writer, reading a book as if I am reading a person. Either way, you have taught me how to write a happy ending for my story, and trust me, I will.
When I was small, chapter books tended to stay black and white. I liked picture books with great detail; I thought they were the work of an artist which I strived to be, one day. Without pictures, a book was just meaningless words on paper. For me, it seemed crazy that any author would choose to not include pictures in a story.
I had read many chapter books and understood them well, but they were just the most boring things in the universe. My teacher told my classmates and me to read chapters one through five. That night, I started reading and for the first couple of pages I thought the same thing: boring.
But as I read further, the story came alive, and I had a crisp image of the row of houses; I could even see the painful emotion Diggory had on his grubby face. It was as if those boring black and white pages turned into precious artworks in my mind. I was sucked from the boring farm in Kansas to the magical land of Oz. Having this new imagination, I thought about things differently.
A picture book does have wonderful and magical illustrations, but you can never really make them your own. The pictures you see make you have a definite image of what the story looks like without having any freedom to imagine it yourself, which is really the fun part of reading. On the other hand, a chapter book lets you make the story your own, it lets you imagine the story how you want to imagine it, and you illustrate the book in your mind. At first, I thought that it was you who had painted the wonderful illustrations in my mind, but I soon realized that I was the artist.
I realized that art is many things. For example, this writing that I am typing right now is art. When chapter books were black and white, I thought that I would never be an artist, for I could barely draw a stick figure. Your book improved my drawings. Instead of basing my drawings off of things that already existed, I created my own story to draw on the crisp, white piece of paper.
Most of all, your book showed me that imagination is the key to literature. I only read your book because I thought it was going to be a nice little story about animals living on a farm with a kind owner and maybe a state fair that they attend. A statement on the world we live in today?
A shocking glimpse of the future? They were all being pigs. I saw them do it almost every day. I saw them giggling behind her back and looking her up and down when she walked by. To be completely honest, sometimes I wanted to pound those girls all the way to Animal Farm and back! But I kept trying to tell myself that they were probably bullying because something bad was happening in their own life and bullying others made them feel important and above the rest.
One day at soccer practice I was standing at the goal post and the bullies walked up to me. They began to talk bad about the girl. I stood there listening to these bullies making fun of this girl for things they were doing themselves! Your book. Suddenly I remembered Napolean, the pig. In your story he got rid of his dictator Farmer Jones by becoming a dictator.
He became the very problem that he fought to fix. I remembered how much I hated the ending of your book.
A lot of the books I like to read have nice little endings, but yours was no ride off into the sunset! Incredulously I saw myself in your words. I was Napolean, about to become the very problem I hated. I suddenly realized that my story would end the same way if I acted like Napolean. Napolean reminded me of how the pilgrims fled to escape religious persecution, but then turned around and became the very persecuters they had despised! I was a pilgrim about to persecute those who persecuted others. Then it hit me. We can all be like pigs and pilgrims sometimes.
After Hitler had judged so many people less than himself just because they were different, we should have learned our lesson. We judge people by what they look like or if they have athletic prowess or not. We even judge them by what sports team they may or may not like. If I bullied the bullies, I would be nothing more than a pork chop.
You should look at youselves. I want to sit with you. Thank you for giving my story a happy ending. I used to think you were just a crazy old man with crazy ideas, but now I agree with you. Now I know how to react the right way to people who are bullying. Because of your book I can ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after…the end.
I must, with the upmost sincerity and respect, disagree with you. I was eleven. As he read the final pages of the epilogue, I felt the torrential downpour of salty tears flood onto my cheeks. They represent the evil in the world, and in every human being. It is many beautiful and brilliant shades of gray. There is good and bad in every human being. Everyone is a Harry Potter at one point and a Death Eater at another. I cried because I recognized that the simple unconditional thinking of my childhood was over.
You helped me come to this conclusion. Or rather, you used Sirius Black to introduce me to it, and Severus Snape to drive it home. My mother has a Ph. My father teaches economics at a local college. I was taught to love learning, just not the imaginative kind. With reading, there are no rules. Physics does not apply in the wizarding world, whose banking system is too complicated for simple economics.
I was introduced to an entirely new playing field. Reading fiction was learning made anew. Sometimes, it comes from within us. Until July 21, , I had never cried over a book. So, Ms. Rowling, all may not have been well during the days after I finished your book, but all is certainly well now. It made me feel excited, happy, and even sad. It brought out emotions that most people would not associate with a cookbook, because yours is not an ordinary cookbook.
I come from a mixed family. My mom is Haitian and my dad is Italian, and we live in the middle of Pennsylvania. My parents usually make their specialty dishes for special occasions. My dad makes his clam sauce for Easter, and cans tomato sauce in the summer so we can have it on linguine or spaghetti for the rest of the year. Most days, we eat typical American foods like pizza, chicken, and hot dogs. I had no other way to experience authentic Haitian dishes until I read your book.
She was going to take me to Haiti in the summer of , but then the earthquake struck in January of that year. It was a scary time not only for Haiti but for my family here as well as for me. The devastating pictures on the news were horrific. Was my family there okay? Would I ever be able to see the country that I had imagined for so long? What if the beautiful places that my mom described had been ruined? Thankfully, our family in Haiti was unharmed. Just perusing all of the recipes, my mouth started to water.
As I flipped the pages, I smelled the spices in the ingredients. I felt the textures of the foods on my taste buds. I was especially fascinated with the section on Port-Au-Prince because that is where my mom is from, thus, I had heard about some of the food from that section. It tastes like Haiti, and makes me imagine the hot tropical countryside there. I love making it because every time I do, my mom tells my Haitian relatives and they tell her how delighted they are that I am experiencing their culture. It is a tour of Haiti and its history, wrapped up between regional dishes.
It has facts about Haitian geography, photos of everyday Haitians, and information about Haitian culture. I learned about the Taino people and how their native places were taken over by the Spanish. I read about the different departments, such as the Nord-Est and Artibonite, while discovering culture and cuisine from each region. I enjoyed all of the extraordinary pictures that accompanied the text, giving me a way to see the people of each region performing everyday tasks, as well as scenic lands, pure and beautiful.
I no longer have to wait until I go to New York to have Haitian food. I no longer have to wait until I actually go to Haiti to experience the culture. I can experience all of it through your book. Because of it, my mom and I have even found time to cook together. I enjoy the excitement that come from trying a new Haitian dish, or having my mom say that something I have made reminds her of her childhood.
Thank you for giving me a way to share this with her. To some, too different. However, that can form problems. From the beginning, I stayed true to myself, being nobody but me, myself, and I. The two things that accomplished that for me were my art and music. I drew the world through my youthful eyes, and sang along with the birds, writing my own songs and training my voice.
Then, I was bullied. Nobody liked my unique traits anymore; first grade was slightly rough. Honestly, I think some kids were just simply jealous. They would be caught questioning how my drawing abilities were so well, and hummed along with each song I wrote. Then, as soon as 3rd grade reached us, something snapped. The hurt was now unbearable. I sat by myself at empty tables, and cried silently every recess.
No one ever knew. Those who dared to join me were shunned, similar to Stargirl and Leo. Then, Stargirl was discovered—by me, searching my home for a good book to enjoy. The story blew me away farther than any storm could have. As time, progressed, I jumped at the chances to sign up for instrumental lessons, singing groups, and comic book festivals. I made more true friends being myself than anyone else. I felt at home in my new school, I even loved attending each day.
During each August, I even wanted to return to school. To wrap things up, I now have created around three graphic novels comics and write songs every day, as a singer in my band, which hopefully can someday rock the charts American Idol, beware! I plan to audition! My bond with my art and music has just grown stronger than ever, and I feel like this whole experience has taught me a lot about who I truly am: nobody other than me, myself, and I. As for the people who taunted me at my old school, some of them followed me to my new school when the old school closed.
Some of them still shoot me cruel looks, even after I try to make up. Some, though, reformed our friendship. Stargirl taught me that I was better being myself, and standing up. Stargirl has become no less than my guardian angel. Call me Christopher. I did not want to do it. It was further from my reach than Jupiter. It was as stunning as looking at a head with no body. It was as challenging as carving a monumental city. The danger would almost be as traumatic as serving on the Pequod in Moby-Dick with a captain so totally preoccupied with his revenge that he neglected the care and even life of his crew.
People all around me told me I could not do it. However some of my siblings had conquered similar challenges, and they encouraged me. My siblings have conquered mammoth books so I had pressure on me just like a sibling of an athletic star when he tries out for sports. I did not know what to do. Except open it up.
And read it. Call me Crazy. Reading has always been my worst nightmare. Some of my siblings speed through books almost as if they eat them as snacks. As for me, I seem to choke on them. But once I reached middle school and the books started getting thicker, I just about had it with reading. But I did. I realized that conquering this book was like conquering the Moby-Dick. I could smell and taste the salty air. I could feel a cold breeze brushing my hair.
Penn State University Libraries
I saw Ahab, focusing only on vengeance, reroute the ship. Your book was extremely difficult for me to read. But when I did, I knew it had been worth it. Getting through such a big and interesting story, though it took more time and effort than I was at first willing to give, made me realize that I have the ability to read long books and benefit from them if I persevere. In the end Captain Ahab died in his revenge battle with the whale, but I will no longer let big books conquer me.
Because now I know that I can conquer them. Now I, too, feel like the lone survivor of my adventure. And I live to tell. When I first read your book, I thought it would be just another book on the differences between Chinese parenting and Western parenting and why the Chinese way was better—and definitely harder on the children.
I was fully prepared to disagree with the former and nod fervently at the latter. Instead, I got a lesson in life and a viewpoint from a different perspective. I grew up in a Chinese household and a Western society. My experiences in both have revealed to me the glaring differences. I have always been a year, sometimes two years, younger than my classmates because I started kindergarten early. Being constantly looked down on due to my age made me self-conscious even though I was smarter than most of my classmates.
My parents taught me to read when I was two years old, and at three, I already knew the multiplication table.
News » Columba College
By eighth grade, I had already taken the SATs. At home, my parents were always telling me to study, study, study. Heaven forbid my grade should drop below a ninety-eight percent. So, it always irked me when my American friends told me their parents had given them money or taken them out to eat for an eighty percent. There were expectations. Likewise, most of my friends who played instruments thought that practicing for twenty minutes was a lot, while I was being pushed to practice for an hour and a half.
In these moments, I always resented my parents and wished for American parents. What gave my parents the right to constantly be on my case about grades when my friends were in Disneyland because they got an eighty-five on their latest quiz? Yes, my thoughts were definitely justified. At first, I was against you, Amy Chua. I thought you were being cruel and even more demanding than my parents. When you whisked Lulu and Sophia out of art and music lessons during school so they could go to piano or violin lessons, I shook an invisible fist.
When you forced Lulu to practice violin for hours on end, I compared you to my mother, who made me practice piano as well. When Lulu fought back and cut her own hair after you refused to take her to the salon as punishment for not practicing violin, I cheered. At last, I thought, here is a case where the dominance of the parent is broken.
Through your entire book, I remained obstinately on what I believed to be the underdog side. I never once stopped to consider both sides of the story. I had opened my mouth to retort back another no-no for a Chinese household when, inexplicably, your book flashed through my mind. It was about my mom, too. The message of your book? It was: Chinese parenting is hard for the parents as well. I realized that I was supposed to read between the lines when reading this book.
Yes, Sophia and Lulu sacrificed most of their average teen experience to take piano and music lessons, but what about your sacrifice? Your time, your energy, your love for your daughters was all spent on making sure your daughters would be successful later in life. I realized I had never thought about what effect all my detested extracurricular activities had on my mother.
She probably had to rush to finish all of her work every day in time so that she could leave work early to send me to my lesson. She also spent a lot of money on me. Piano lessons, pianos, and prep books are expensive. It seemed more like a testament to all my mother had done for me. All those scoldings, all those pushes to be better than best. They were all for my benefit.
Later, I reread your book. Instead of thinking of your book as a comparison to my own life in a bad way, I understood your seemingly overdone actions. I wanted to write and tell you that out of all the books I have ever read, which have been quite a few because I am an avid reader, none have touched me or made me as thankful for my own life as your book did.
Before reading your book, never had I actually put myself in the shoes of a girl almost the same age as me like Anne Frank. Because I also like to write in a diary or journal I was first drawn to Anne because of that, but as the story continued to unfold, I thanked God that my entries never had to be like hers.
While reading, it was as if I was transformed and taken back to the horrendous time of the Jewish persecution. I cannot begin to fathom how Anne mustered the strength to go on when having to live in hiding, nor can I ever imagine my family being torn apart like hers was and suffering the atrocities they did.
Sometimes I would feel so moved when reading that I found it necessary to share out loud some of the passages with my mother, and both of us literally just sat weeping together with sadness and an aching in our hearts for Anne and her family. Many times it was somewhat hard to read on, but I had to because I wanted to desperately know what happened. The book made me feel like I wished I could be there to somehow help Anne and her family.
Then learning that Anne and all but one member of her family died so close to liberation of the concentration camps and the end of WW II invoked in me an emotion so strong that it was a cross between sheer devastation and almost an anger that made me want to rise up and do something about what had happened. Your book ends with a passage that makes reference to the Holocaust being forgotten. Wukovits, my dear sir, I want to promise you that because of your writing I will never forget what happened!
You, so meaningfully and descriptively recreating that horrendous time in history have changed my life forever. It has also given me a new found appreciation for my family and how glad I am to have them surrounding me as I grow up. This letter is not just a letter. It is an emotional release of my dark days and how I managed to slither through into the silver lining.
For what seems like an eternity, I was a cross product of Lia and Cassie. This is not a sad sob story, but it is an account of the bitterness in reality. Growing up, I was an awkward, short, stocky girl, and the girls in my class made sure I never forgot it. I believe I have three components of my identity sort of like the id, the ego, and the superego. In fifth and sixth grade, things took a turn for the worse. I was sent into a world of problems no eleven-year old should ever have to face.
I remember lying in bed at night, preparing myself for what was about to come the next day. I started to avoid the mirrors at first. In fifth grade, it started off as eating healthier. Eating healthier soon turned into counting calories and becoming obsessed with not going over that certain number. That spiraled out of control. Like Cassie, I was vulnerable at a young age and met my best friend and my greatest enemy within the same years she did.
Only my friend was anorexia, not bulimia. In this way, I was similar to Lia. Everything else was simply my own distortion: Taylor. Anorexia soon controlled me.
I was sent plummeting into depression. At the time, I was barely aware of what happened. The story simply starts out with a curious young girl gazing into a hole. However, there is an unexpected twist. Curiosity soon turns into her greatest nightmare. She falls into the hole and enters a whole new world. Depression is similar. It starts with just being occasionally upset.
Then it happens more often, only this time without reason. I was sent into a world of demonic creatures. Demonic creatures that would turn an innocent young being into a wintergirl. I was a wintergirl. Truly living is defined by happiness. I was in one of our local book stores looking for new books to read because books quieted the voices in my head telling me how much of a failure and disappointment I was. I was with one of my closest friends who knew about what I was dealing with, and he actually was the one who found it.
At first, I was angry. I yelled and told him that I was going to return it. Nothing was wrong with me. I took the book home and it sat on my desk for about four nights. I started to read. I ended up reading it until three in the morning. I cried and cried and cried. Finally, I came to the realization that my friend was right. I needed help. Your book made me come to my senses. I was a frail skeleton with no color. My hair was thinning immensely, my skin, pale. If I had not stumbled upon this book, I might not be alive.
The suicide numbers might be one digit higher. I was at my breaking point, and your book was my diamond in the dust. I was so adamant that everything was fine. I was just trying to lose weight and be comfortable with myself, but something moved me on the inside. I really started to realize something was wrong when I read one of the lines Lia said. View all photos 2, 2, Certificate of Excellence. On the shores of enchanting Kandalama Lake, discover a lifestyle defined by tradition and natural splendour.
Nestled amid 40 acres of lush forest, Amaya Lake preserves the aura of local historical treasures, creating a feeling of old-world Sri Lankan charm matched with modern luxury. Read more. Property amenities. Room service. Free parking. Free Internet. Airport transportation. Banquet Room. Breakfast Available. Business Centre with Internet Access. Conference Facilities. Dry Cleaning. Laundry Service.
Meeting rooms. Multilingual Staff. Outdoor pool. Public Wifi. Tennis Court. Wheelchair access. Room features. Air conditioning. Refrigerator in room. Accessible rooms. Family Rooms. Non-smoking rooms. Good to know. Getting there. Dambulla, Sigiriya Airport 5 mi. Polgolla Reservoir Airport 40 mi. Nearby restaurants. Rithu Restaurant. Sakura Cooking Classes and restaurant. Athula Restaurant. Kanchana Restaurant. Nearby attractions. Popham's Arboretum. Dambulla Dedicated Economic Centre. Rangiri Dambullu Maha Viharaya. Ibbankatuwa Megalithic Tombs. Traveller rating. Time of year. Traveller type.
More languages. Selected filters. Popular mentions. All reviews sri lanka the cottages sitting area swim up bar swimming pool signature restaurant beautiful location main building a la carte restaurant hotel is situated bird watching deluxe room restaurant staff reception area buffet style nice pool welcome drink buffet dinner our honeymoon cultural triangle sigiriya rock lake. Great Eco Experience.
Went here for one night - and the stay was really great. The food was reasonably good, and the stafff were extremely friendly. The redeeming factor of this hotel is its surroundings. The hotel is in close proximity to the Kandalama reservoir, and the accommodation is spread across a series of chalets across a lush wooded landscape adjoining the reservoir. A stroll along the reservoir bank in the morning is must!!! Date of stay: June Trip type: Travelled with family. Helpful Share. Response from Customer Relati Dear bbtrees, Ayubowan from Amaya Resorts and Spas!
Thank you for sharing your wonderful compliments following your Visit to Amaya Lake. It's always a great pleasure to note such wonderful comments. We are looking forward to welcoming you back to of Amaya resorts. Warmest Regards, Deepika Dissanayake. Nir77 wrote a review 3 Jul. Service needs improvement. Beautiful resort with huge potential. Clean rooms. The service is too slow comparing to other local same standard hotels.
The air conditioners in our two rooms were not cooling well and noisy. Mosquitos in the restaurant. Huge potential.