My Experiment with Fault in Our Stars

I’m sitting on my couch applying ice to my eyes to make sure the redness and swelling goes down. Things got weird last night. Its Saturday morning and I want to go to the gym and forget what just happened… but not until the redness and swelling goes down. Shit.

The night before, I watched Fault in Our Stars.

I’ve put the task on myself for awhile now… and finally went through with it. I love Shailene Woodley and Ansel Elgort’s babyface is slowly growing on me (thanks to his appearance on GQ’s best dressed list week after week), so I figured why not. The more compelling reason, however, was my fatigue of being called “emotionless”. Though the claims may be true and maybe I’m okay with being called “icy,” I still wanted to feel something. Make sure emotionally, I was still working.

“I bet even YOU will cry,” is the sentiment my friends will say when the movie was first brought up. Typically, I brush it off, considering I HAVE cried before in a movie… that movie being John Travolta and Joaquin Phoenix’s Ladder 49. Nicholas Sparks movies have nothing on these tear ducts. But Ladder 49, and maybe that scene in Friday Night Lights when Boobie Miles cleans out his locker, get me. EVERY TIME.

So my experiment was to see if I could get emotional watching a movie, when sports was taken out of the equation.

I first endeavoured on the experiment a few weeks ago, when, coming home drunk, my Netflix wasn’t loading and I thought it’d be a good idea to start Fault in Our Stars. I did. But, as luck, and alcohol would have it, I fell asleep within five minutes.

So, after a particularly long week and wanting nothing more than to relax stay in on a Friday night, I cooked myself dinner, opened a bottle of wine and did just that. Soon enough I was on my couch watching Fault in Our Stars.

As predicted, the first hour of the movie was predictable… like a Nicholas Sparks movie with teenagers starring. A lot of yawns. A lot of regretting turning on the movie and not choosing, instead, Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown. For fuckssake I could be watching Tony eat a cubano on Miami Beach, but instead I was watching Shailene Woodley hold out on handsome, yet babyface, Ansel Elgort.

How could you say no to that face?

The second hour rolled around. I still watched the scene where she had a scary bout at the hospital, through half open eyes. I’ll just fall asleep. I thought. My phone lit up. “You have a new match!” my notification from Tinder read. Oh good idea. I thought. I’ll just Tinder while I watch. It wasn’t until some Tinder guy messaged me if I wanted to have brunch the next day, when I got steamrolled…

It was like hit after hit. One sad part after another. THE WATERWORKS BEGAN AND NEVER STOPPED. My tearducts turned on and they never turned off. The tears rolled, my eyes swelled. I opted to use my shirt instead of a tissue. Is it appropriate to be crying this much without wearing pants? I thought at one point. I didn’t care. This shit was just so fucking sad I couldn’t deal with it. I was feeling feels and it was liberating.

What is this feeling? This is what crying feels like? It feels so good. I’m probably an ugly crier but wow I get why people do this a lot.

Then the movie ended. I washed my face and felt liberated.

And then I watched the new episode of Orphan Black and fell asleep.


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