Barbara Conklin | P.S. I Love You

My mother made me do it.

It almost made me feel bad that I have given such a low rating, given the reviews and all, but still.

I give it a 2.5 rating -- and I have contemplated for a little while if I should round up or round down. There is no way that I am giving it a 1-star rating because I'm a sucker for summer flings and whirlwind romances.

I wasn't even planning to read this one because it looks like a really really old and corny romance pocketbook. And helloooo? The cover. The model just looks so sad. Ha, kidding. But seriously.

My mom posted this book on facebook, telling me that this was the first book that gave her the "kilig." She. Posted. And then there came the comments (by her batchmates, of course) about how much they loved this book when they were younger, how they tend to hide a copy in the library shelves just to be able to continue reading the next day... It was funny. And it got me curious.

P. S. I Love You  by Barbara Conklin When her father left after the divorce, Mariah lost her sense of family. Now she's lost her special summer, too. Instead of fulfilling her dream to become a writer, Mariah has to help her mother with a house-sitting job in very rich, very snobby Palm Springs. People with a lot of money make Mariah uncomfortable. Until she meets Paul Strobe, the rich boy next door. Paul's not a snob and he doesn't act superior. In fact, his sandy sandy hair and piercing blue eyes break down all Mariah's defences. With Paul, Palm Springs becomes the most romantic place on Earth. But Paul has to go into the hospital for some tests and then an operation. He's seriously ill and all his family's money can't help him. Will Mariah lose Paul, too, just when she's found her first love?

So not judging the book by the cover (yay, me!), I gave it a shot. I got the e-book copy and I doubt that there's still an available, physical book, and I'm not sure if it's available anywhere [amazon or what] because girl, the book is Jurassic.

May I just say... P.S. I love you. Yes Paul, I am in love with you too. You're another addition to my literary crushes because (a) you're artistic and capable of creating something, (b) you're tall and such a cutie, and (c) you're rich [lol no just kidding] you're deep and humble and funny and generous. This guy, ladies and gentlemen, is the epitome of a perfect summer crush.

Dear Mariah, you're young. For goodness' sake, you're 16 so there's no way you cannot move on from that loss because hello, you've been with Paul for like 10 weeks (60-75% of which, he's at home or in the hospital being sick) and tbh with that time frame I doubt there will really be a "falling in love" that's going to happen. So yeah, I like it that you made him your inspiration and decided to move on with your life. Good job girlfriend!

Early into the book, I've had a few "awwe so cute" moments, and that was probably because of Paul-Kim (little sister) moments. It was quite short so not very much of a bother to read but all in all, it wasn't something that I would recommend reading, although all my mom's friends are telling that IT'S THE BOMB I mean seriously? Lol. I didn't relate at all. Butttt mom said it was a romance novel for early teeners, so maybe that's why. (BUT MOM!! SWEET VALLEY!!)

But, I think re-publishing these Sweet Dreams Romance Novels will bring nostalgia to those 80's babies. I mean, they're the workforce today, so, $$$. Just sayin'.

P.S. I am in love with the idea of snail mail.

Dear "R"

Part One.

During first grade, I always thought that boys are obnoxious beings who do nothing but annoy their girl classmates. They are always mean and scary looking. I know that it shouldn't bother me because I was the class president and all, but still. You were my classmate, but we weren't given the chance to be close.

Second grade came and I thought I was being punished to be seated between two boys. On my left side, a little boy whom I hated for being a pain in the ass on first grade. On my right side, you. I remember being paired up with you on a dance number, and I've had so much fun. I discovered that I liked dancing. A lot. By then I could say that we had shared a few laughs and we're pretty much close to each other. I still thought that boys are obnoxious, though.

You're the rockstar-emo guy.
I'm the class president who likes the color pink.

Third and fourth went by, and incidentally, you were my seatmate. I was almost fed up by your antics, you know? Almost. Also, I almost had a crush on you. Almost. You told me that you have a crush on one of our classmates. Remember the one with the pretty mole on her cheek?

I was only able to live a whole year without being bugged by you and your childish stories of romance on our fifth grade. We're still friends, but we've chosen to be interested in different things. You, the rockstar-rebel guy that you are, chose the path of all things black and blaring rock music. I, the grade conscious class president, chose to live by the books and train for math competitions.

Sixth grade was the most stressful year of my elementary life. Graduating and all, I tried hard to be on top of our class. You, on the other hand, were interested in yet another one of our classmates. She's a transferee, and she's really cute. I didn't care at all, the crush has long since subsided.

In the middle of the year, I don't know what happened but I've heard that you and the new girl aren't a thing anymore. You transferred seats and sat next to me. Being the curious cat that I was, I asked, "Why?"

Your answer me: "I don't know. I may be in love with someone. Maybe I have liked that someone ever since, I'm just scared that she doesn't like me back. I'm afraid she's too good for me."

I thought it was stupid. I thought it was absurd. I even thought you were gay, hiding behind all those blacksneakers and statement shirts. But then one day, I came to school just to see you by the gates. Without a word, you took my things from me and carried them until we reached the classroom. I was dumbfounded, of course.You never did that to anyone aside from the cute transferee.

I wasn't stupid not to figure things out. That very same day, I asked you, "Since when?" You answered me, "Last quarter of fourth grade, when you transferred seats. I tried to stop it, you know?" I didn't answer. How old were we, eleven? Twelve? I didn't do anything, I didn't even think that what is happening is something serious. I was that matured to think that it will pass, just like any other childhood romance that I see on T.V. Yet, it was the sweetest, most innocent thing that I have ever experienced. Looking back to that moment, I still think you were the cutest twelve year-old that I will ever know.

I cried. No one else saw that, but I know you did.

Just before graduation month, our adviser talked to me. She said that I may not be the valedictorian. I was crushed. I tried to do all that I can to get to that spot. But after a moment, I thought, what the hell? The other candidate also did well. He's better than me in some areas, so maybe I was just meant to be the second best.  I cried. No one else saw that, but I know you did. I saw you waiting by the guard house just before my school service came. I just wonder why you didn't talk to me about it. Until now, it serves as a mystery to me.

I also know that our teacher thought you had me distracted. I hope you didn't take this seriously. My grades didn't go lower, anyway. His grades just did a zoom. No one's fault. I was able to move on in a matter of a few hours. Or days.

Came graduation day. The way we parted ways was not the most convenient. A lot of things not talked about, a lot of feelings undisclosed. I guess that's the best part of being kids, right? No hard feelings, no grudges held. No admiration, no love to hold on to. You just move on easily. You don't take things seriously. You see each other some time in the future, and you just recollect all those memories that you'd laugh about when you remember.

It's been eight years. Funny, because I remember all these things as if they just happened not so long ago. I know you're happy now. You're the rock star, after all.


xx.
c.


p.s. My mom liked you, you know. She thinks you're cute.