If you ask anyone who knew me when I was twelve, they will tell you that I was absolutely obsessed with the Divergent series. Like, crazy obsessed. I´d type <4 instead of ❤ to represent my undying love for Tobias Eaton and had this weird fascination with cake and dauntless-sounding things (i.e. skydiving, zip lining, knife-throwing, people-punching, etc.) Honestly, I was nuts and if I ever came face-to-face with preteen me, I´d probably be scared…I was a ball of pent up energy and freakish fangirl-ism.
But at the same time that I was the embodiment of the whole Hyper Teenage Girl stereotype, it was also a time that I was finally settling into myself. I stopped trying to fit in, and decided to just be me; I read books by the truckload and dove headfirst into writing. My love for Divergent fueled me into discovering what I loved and who I wanted to be.
Aaaand it also introduced me to the delightfully devastating world of Young Adult books. I´d already read The Hunger Games by then, but it was with Divergent that I learned about the concepts of fandoms, OTPs and fangirls (and fanboys). This book series introduced me to the world of fandom accounts on Instagram, book blogs, Book Tube, shipping, reviewing and so much more. Now that I think about it, I probably wouldn´t have this blog if I hadn´t read about Tris and her trials- I discovered blogging while browsing through Veronica Roth´s posts about writing and her books in general.
Also, one of my biggest life mottos comes from the Dauntless manifesto in the first book: “We believe in shouting for those who can only whisper, in defending those who cannot defend themselves.” At a time when I felt insecure and confused, Tris´ bravery and strength showed me that I could be more, and that with whatever I had (in my case, words) I could help others.
Some of my best memories from Middle School have something to do with Divergent. Be it screaming my head off in P.E. about being Dauntless with my friends, or dressing up as our Factions for Spirit Week, this story evokes lots of jokes and happiness. Even if sometimes it got out of hand (I apologize to all who witnessed my single-minded focus on being “badass” with butter knives).
Honestly, even if the last book left me devastated (and I mean devastated), I love it. It reminds me of good years and memories, and it sort of represents the type of thing I wanna do: write stories that make people think and wonder and imagine.