ANTEROGRADE TOMORROW BY CHANGDICTATOR

 

“I’m in love with you, damn it, but I still have to introduce myself to you every ing morning and do you even understand how that feels?—No, you don’t, because you don’t actually love me. Without all my notes, there is nothing. There is actually, exactly, really nothing. I’m really just a stranger to you, and this relationship is all just a play. It’s just another novel. Fabrication. Everything. I’m not even writing a ing novel, , I’m living it.” -Kim Jongin

 

 

 

 

 

Hello there :> Blue here :D I was supposed to post this review for Antergrade Amnesia a while ago, but I was really consumed in editing my banner up there.  SO.. Yeah. Here goes.

REMINDER: THIS POST WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS, SO READ THE STORY FIRST.

The story is a Kaisoo fanfic, I read it just because of a simpe reason.

Oops, sorry for the blinding gif. But THAT is, why I read the story, and of course, because of my curious mind in trying out this incredibly tragic story.

First, I'd like to talk about Absolute Chanyeol, my inspiration of Thirty Days with a Pianist. (I'd like to lower my shame and promote this story to you. HAHA XD)

 So, yeah. Absolute Chanyeol, I read it and it was really good. I've read the whole manga of Absolute Boyfriend, and I could say that it lived up higher than my expectation. Not that I'm judging here, I had been reading romantics since I dunno, sixth grade? I started out in mangas and now here I am.

Enough with my personal life. Many people compared Anterograde Tomorrow with Absolute Chanyeol, which I just read a couple of days ago, so I wanted to try it out.

Before reading the fic, I was like: "Okay, if people said that this'll be like AC, maybe I'll cry just a little bit." 

 

BUT I WAS DEAD WRONG.

 

 

As I started to read the fic, I was surprised by the amazing play of words by the author. I'm not some expeert, I've always disliked those kinds of fics, deep in meaning and full of metaphores. I just wanted simple ones, easy to understand. But I proceeded anyway. After reading the prologue, a tear escaped my eye. It was just so dramatic! I immediately remembered Fifty First Dates where Drew Barrymore was the one who had the same condition as Kyungsoo.

So I thought to myself: "Hmm, yeah maybe this is worth my bleeding eyes and brain. After all, it's Kaisoo for heaven's sake." It was the day before yesterday, I stopped at the prologue part because I was finishing Thirty Days.

And after finishing Thirty Days, I decided to read the fic last night. It really was hard for me to read, because I'm not used to such complicated comparisons, but I continued anyway, ignoring the complex words and just tried to understand it even more.

I stopped at the first part last night, because my eyes were giving up on me, so I started again after I woke up this morning.

The second part was good, I really liked how the author described every scene in detail, every thought of the characters well played. I really pictured my mind that it was Kaisoo, which had a bad-ish effect later.

 

And then I proceeded to the third freaking part. And damn did I LIKE it.

Don't take me the wrong way, I REEAAAALLY loved the fic. It's just that I'm really pissed that it made me cry buckets.

Let me just point out the major tear jerkers of the fic:

 

“Hyung,” whimpers the boy at his door. What Kyungsoo takes in is a conflation of ashen lips and swollen eyes, shivering under a thin hospital gown with nothing save for snowflakes on his hair and plastic slippers under his feet. The boy might have been trying to smile, the traces of which are left tugging sadly at the corner of his mouth, but it all thaws away when he tries working his jaw again, “Hyung,” and it’s a sob, “hyung, hyung…”

On their way to the hospital, the boy introduces himself as Jongin. He gives Kyungsoo four facts in the backseat of a taxi. One, he’s a writer. Two, they’ve met before. Three, he’s dying. Four, he’s taken himself out of Kyungsoo’s notes or scrapbook because of those facts.


“They said I had six months left. Maybe a year if I behaved,” Jongin says, eyes reflections of the dawn flying past the windows, “So I wanted to play a hero. Let myself be forgotten, to save you from all the yesterdays and leave you with all the tomorrows but… then I heard that I had pneumonia. It wasn’t six months. I had four weeks. Maybe three. And I cracked. Being stuck with the yesterdays while you moved on without me suddenly wasn’t all that appealing anymore and—really, I’m sorry. I lied. I’m not a hero. Just a coward.”

“Will you say my name? One last time.”


Kyungsoo clears his throat and tries to replicate the syllables, but somehow they’re stuck to the sides of his throat even as he opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. By the time he reaches up to touch his neck, he realizes he’s shaking and that there is something wrong with him. The world is coming down on him in slow motion and his heart hurts really, very bad.


“Jong...” Kyungsoo gulps down the hesitation and focuses on the bare syllables, “Jongin.”

“When I first heard I was going to die, I thought—finally, thank you—but now, now I just—I just want one more minute, one more millisecond—I want more time, with you, hyung… I haven’t loved you yet, I’m not done…” and his eyes close before Kyungsoo has a chance to grab his hand and tell him that they have enough time. That there’s no rush, that it’ll be fine, because he’s going to go home and write all of this down—Kim Jongin, west wing, room two-twenty, Seoul Hospital, take the taxi to the southern entrance, we’re not finished yet—so that he can come back tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after…

Damn. I'm speechless in this part. Love's really like that huh? I won't rant that one. I don't know what to say anyway.

 

 

Honestly, this part didn't make me cry, but I want to point it out anyway because it had a big effect on me. I mean, imagine the all y and overflowing with appeal, KIM JONGIN, say this to you. Wouldn't you be affected?

 

“I’m in love with you, damn it, but I still have to introduce myself to you every ing morning and do you even understand how that feels?—No, you don’t, because you don’t actually love me. Without all my notes, there is nothing. There is actually, exactly, really nothing. I’m really just a stranger to you, and this relationship is all just a play. It’s just another novel. Fabrication. Everything. I’m not even writing a ing novel, , I’m living it.” 

 

Credits to all the owners of the pictures I posted. Well, besides my banner. :)