Is being pretty pointless?

I feel like a porcelain ornament which serves no purpose. I'm delicate, with pretty gold patterns. Swirling, shifting and hypnotising.
Everything seems fine, until one day I develop and enormous crack. Going against the laws of physics, I somehow stay together, but everybody can see the obvious strain it is putting on me. Nobody can see the beauty anymore. All I am is a mistake, a flaw, imperfect. The golden lines are broken, destroying my charm - now I am just pathetic.
All the people who have seen me before are shocked - how could such a resilient object break so suddenly? I wonder too. However one party does not seem overly surprised at my breakdown... they knew all along.
They saw the tiny little imperfections on my surface. They saw them creep and spread. They were the ones to cause my ultimate break. They dropped the bomb.
I suppose my brokenness shouldn't be a surprise. Sure, it looks like it came out of the blue. But really, the pressure came so slowly that I just took a long time to break. It was bound to happen. The bomb just speeded things up a little.

Taiwan

If you ever thought that Taiwan was just an outpost of China, think again.
Imagine a small, independant island with a fascinating blend of Japanese, Chinese, Western and Indegenous culture. The most delicious food, and warm hearted people. A strong work ethic, hospitable families, and the most picturesque scenery! It would take a thousand pages to give Taiwan a just description, but when the Portugese first landed in Taiwan many years ago they summed it all up in one small sentence: Ilha Formosa. Translated, "What a beautiful island".
China believes that Taiwan is a province of the nation, however no Taiwanese person I have met feels this way. Although the current party in power is pro-China, hopefully Taiwan will eventually be recognised without dispute as the completely independant, unique and beautiful nation that it is.

The Other Side

Solid, dark and varnished.
It looks so heavy.
Nothing can penetrate the mass.

This world is dull and listless.
No magic, no extraordinary.
The door is tempting.

A small gap, a tiny clue.
The keyhole gives a hint.
Flashes of light, colour and shape.

The other side is wonderful.
People are free and happy.
They dance on moonbeams.

Ribbons of rainbow fly,
And fairies are singing.
The grass is greener.

The murky brown is boring.
This side is unbearable.
Where is the key?

The Boy Who Dared

I just finished a fantastic book by Susan Campbell Bartoletti. Before this book, I had never of her, but I now regard her as a truly brilliant author.
The Boy Who Dared is based on a true story of a Hitler Youth, Helmuth, who begins to question all he is told about life: Is worshipping Hitler dishonouring God? Why are the Jews regarded as sub-human? Why can the Germans not listen to foreign radio? If Hitler wants peace, then why did he start a war?
Although these questions are not answered fully in this short novel, Helmuth begins to quietly rebel against the dictatorship. He illegally listens to the BBC's German news report, and distributes anti-Nazi leaflets.
The writing style used in this book makes the reader feel as if the whole story is almost a fantasy. Reality is cross-cut with memories, until the past catches up to the present.

Wuthering Heights

I am almost exactly half way through reading the most complicated and well written book I have ever come across - Wuthering Heights, Emily Brönte's only novel.

Most books that one reads are interesting, but mostly predictable. Although the story may have an interesting turn, a writing style can become so clichéd that even twists can be forseen!
I have absolutely no idea what is going to happen to the characters, how the book will end, or what will happen when I turn the page. It's brilliant. Infuriating in one way, but brilliant.

I haven't been reading for a few weeks because there are so many books I want to read in the world! However I will continue to read Wuthering Heights, because I have never found a book equal to it.