Sometimes, I wonder why I’m so sad after finishing this trilogy—aside from the fact that Mockingjay is an utterly depressing book, that is. I wonder why I desperately cook up scenes in my head where Suzanne Collins realized that Panem (or her whole post-apocalyptic world) is really an under-explored setting and she’d write spin-offs of this series. Why I reread this and continuously wish there’s not just three books.
But then I asked myself, did the trilogy really end? I think it did not. Good books stay with you forever—their stories continue long after you’ve turned the last page. They may not be the most well-written books in the world, there may be a plot hole here and there, but those don’t matter as long as they leave you something dear, like a dent in your heart, lessons, and memories. They’ve become a part of your life, in one way or another. This does not only apply to the Hunger Games trilogy but to all other books you may have read and yet to read. :)
Books—you have to agree that they’re some form of a miracle. Not breathing, but they’re alive and they have hearts that can pinch yours. :D
Less than two months from now, the world will finally get to see the movie adaptation of The Hunger Games. I know I’ll cry—and I’m not just talking about Rue’s death scene or Peeta’s “it’s all for the games” bitter realization or any of the usual ouch-my-heart moments. I don’t know how to explain it, but just knowing the fact that one of my favorite literary work will be translated on the big screen is enough to prod my tear ducts of happiness. :)
I really, really hope the movie will not disappoint.