Paperback

I love books. Undeniably.

If you’d ask me what  I have done most in my entire lifetime, aside from writing, I’d answer reading. I couldn’t actually pinpoint, though, the Genesis of such addiction. I started reading books (novels, at that) the moment I learned reading. That’s pretty basic. I continued on my addiction until my optometrist said I would have to wear these annoying spectacles (it’s never cool, unlike what others believe). Alas, I would have to suffer from myopia til my last breath. (Things seem so near yet remain unseen).

Just to clear things out, I’m not writing in here “The Diary of a four-eyed Freak.” That’s awfully, painfully dramatic. Don’t pity me for blurry eyes, pity yourselves if you haven’t tried reading. Perhaps people would find it sooooooo boring just killing time scanning pages. But try it, you would then perhaps understand why a handful of the people go so loco over words printed on papers (not to mention their addicting smell).

Now, what books should you read really? You could all choose from variety of topics – from Astronomy to Zoology. But if you are like this blogger that wants to play movies inside his mind, you’d probably want to cry, laugh, get afraid, amazed and go crazy over these writers whose books would really hook your eyes.

My seven favoritest (the word doesn’t exist) authors:

7. Nicolas Sparks

A great story teller that would make you fall in love and would just eventually break your heart with his novels which endings are tragic. Happy-ever-after is where? With his pen, you wouldn’t find it. For his stories don’t just end, even after you read the last page. In the heart, they remain.

Some of his greatest novels include: A Walk to Remember, The last Song, and The Notebook. And my favorite novel of his, Message in a Bottle.

6. Dan Brown

The author of The Da Vinci Code, Digital Fortress, Angels and Demons and Deception Point.

You’ll get crazy following the signs and insignias and the codes he write. You’d think critically like you never did before. Undeniably a great mystery writer, he keeps you figuring out how, who, what and WHY?  I’ve read all of his novels except for his newest piece, The Lost Symbol.

5. John Grisham

All I love about his is the somewhat “legal” touches of his pieces. He’ll take you to courts and show you exactly what happens. He offers imagination. And he offers it with premium of truths. The Street Lawyer, The Testament, The Rainmaker, The Last Jury and The Pelican Brief had caused me sleepless nights. All I want for summer is his newest, The Litigators.

4. Mitch Albom

Inspiring and unique. Lines of him are too striking; stories, too moving.

   This author behind the well-loved books The Five People You Meet in heaven and Tuesdays with Morrie really knows how to touch lives. His works requires a great leap of change to the readers. You’d change because you’d change. His writings are just great. Nothing more. Nothing less.

3. Jodi Picoult

One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.

The only gal on my list. I first fell in love with her through My Sister’s Keeper. Right then and there, I was hooked up. With her stories with lovely characters and beautiful plots, Jodi had surely made me love life. The stories were great, self-realizing and life changing. Everything’s worth handling with care.

2. Paolo Coelho

Author of the bestselling novels: the Zahir, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept, Brida, The Alchemist, Eleven Minutes and his greatest (to my own paradigm) Veronica Decides to Die.

His works are too philosophical. And he has the greatest lines and words in the world. His stories revolving around people’s deviance to the norm are worth trading with a whole-night review for an exam (reminds me of high school. haha!). Seriously, his books are fantastic. the reasons of my visits to our library during high school. And I miss reading his works. I wish somebody would suffice my thirst. (donation, anyone?)

1. James Patterson

And this. My greatest love.

There’s something in him that I cannot really resist. The fast paced two-to-three-paged chapters of his books make me finish one in a setting. And you’d learn to love the characters of his well-known series. I just wish Alex Cross, Lindsay Boxer (with the women’s murder club), Maximun Ride (and Fang, please) and Daniel X were really existing. Don’t he get tired writing books. he’s the fastest writer I’ve known. And flexible, so to speak. From detective stories to science fictions to worth falling love stories, he’s simply the best of his field.  I pray someday, my collection gets completed.

more of this i want.

    Thanks for reading. And i wish it wouldn’t stop here. Go grab some book. It’s something worthwhile. I tell you.

Fourteenth

Happy Valentine!

I know many hearts are of their biggest smiles right now. This is the day for those whose hearts are in the zenith of bliss and ecstasy. This is for the roses and bouquets in the hands of every woman and for those which fragrance will never last til they rot. This is for the boxes of chocolates, of candies and lollipops and of sugars which shall melt before you actually taste them. This is for the love songs, love stories and love notes which messages would echo through the years. This is also for the poems still unwritten, for proposals never said, for smiles which would just turn into tears, for dinners never attended and for hearts who’d always beat for the person not meant to be.

This is a day for happiness and bitterness, for completeness and brokenness, for the most poetic lines and most heart-breaking phrases.

This is for you. For the inks spilled. For the crumpled papers. For the empty smiles. For the shattered days.

This is for the words unsaid. And for my notes unread.

 

 

A piece from a yellow notebook

It’s raining so hard. I wonder if this still stops. Just like the rain, I wonder if this sentiment of mine ceases to flow for you. I’ve never seen you today and here i find my self staring at the photograph you’ve taken on my cell. I suppose I’d never stop thinking about you even if the rain suddenly decides to stop.I never though this would run so deep. I want this to end.

I’m disturbed with the thought of you. You’re in my mind in every petty thing I do. I wish I never have to write this but this emotion could really kill me literally.

I’m being stubborn again. I should never throw a look for someone like you. I should never think of someone before going to slumber. I should never be like this. But then, I could never stop my self from falling…

It’s raining so hard and I think of you. I wonder if you also hate the weather this very moment. I wonder what you’re doing or wearing. I wonder if I had ever crossed your mind. I wonder of you also feel “incomplete” not seeing me today. I wonder if you ever think of me. I wonder if you also love me.

It’s raining so hard and I’ve got no idea when shall this stop. I just hope that as the sky slowly clears off, my heart will also stop beating for you. I don’t know if that’s possible. I don’t know anything at all. I only know one thing: you are the reason of my struggles.

January 05, 2011

09:45 pm

ROOM 4

Aftershock

This is actually a very late reaction.

I know. I know. You could call me now a loser for I haven’t known an article of mine was published on a national paper last February 4 (that’s a week and a day ago). I tried sending an article to Philippine Daily Inquirer’s Youngblood for the first time last month without giving a damn if it gets published or not. Of course, I was hoping it would happen but I never expected. Not really.

So there I was receiving a text message from a friend that she had read the article. That was last Friday, exactly 6 days after the issue was released. And I was shocked and had felt a bit bad at the same time (because I’ve known it so late). Nevertheless, I was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t even speak a word while the pack was jumping and shouting.

For those who haven’t read. Here’s the article:

Lolo the unforgettable

I remember the times I would run to granny’s room every time he came home drunk at night. As a child, I couldn’t understand then why he was acting the way he did. And I was afraid every time I saw him in that state. But despite my fear of him, I learned to respect him.

Lolo has always been good to his grandchildren. When he was younger, he would bring us fruits fresh from his farm and he loved to play with us and carry us in his arms. My childhood memories of him are still so vivid. And though there’s still that fear of him, I remember him as a very caring grandfather.

My father would tell us stories about how a disciplinarian Lolo was—the spanking, and the kneeling on grains of salt. He would recall in a funny way how he felt when Lolo would come home drunk, which was exactly my feeling too. My father would tell me how he would dance and sing in front of my drunken Lolo. He said he did those funny “foolish” things because he was afraid of Lolo. But through it all, my father still saw in Lolo things he believed he ought to emulate.

Lolo Temio, as we call him, was indisputably a respected leader in our place. A barangay captain for quite a time, he was respected for his accomplishments. This, I believe, was what pushed his sons to continue his legacy of public service.

I remember how big Lolo’s and granny’s smiles were when all of us, their grandchildren, were gathered in their house. We were all unruly, but they never showed a trace of exasperation with our presence. And Lolo, being a good listener, patiently paid attention to my stories no matter how impossible they seemed.

Lolo has only three grandsons (all others are granddaughters), and I’m the closest to him. When I was a small, I loved to sleep with him. He would tell me various things like the war, the flood and many other stories I can’t recall anymore. I played solitaire with him and he always reminded me to be a good son to my parents. I didn’t understand then, but I would tell him, straight up with all innocence, to stop getting drunk because I was afraid of him when he was. And he would just burst into boisterous laughter.

I see how the years have formed wrinkles on Lolo’s face. His hair has turned grey, and his skin is now all creased. But he has not changed, not a bit. He still drinks. He still tends the fruit trees, the fish pond and the house. He still plays the solitaire. But he does these all alone now. Granny died 15 years ago, and all his children now have their own families, and his grandchildren are all grown-up, and we don’t play with him anymore; and, sadly, gathering all of us is next to impossible.

At the age of 85, Lolo is still in good health and a bottle of liquor is still his best friend. “We would all be leaving this world, of course. We all will,” he would say.

Yes, Lolo is old now. But I still see the strength that I always saw in him during my younger days. I still see it now, even through his wrinkled skin.

http://opinion.inquirer.net/22361/lolo-the-unforgettable

 

Steps

They’ve always been the campus’ best pair.

We call them MSUans – those extraordinary individuals whose fashion statements never go out of style. Nope. We don’t actually see their styles being featured in a well-renowned magazine nor have we seen America’s next top model ramp with their denims on. Everything is awfully smarter than that.

A typical MSUan fashion doesn’t follow much of the world’s trends. Simply because they create their own world. And though pages of the world’s fashions turn out from one to another, MSUans’ style would stand still.

The basic fashion statement of MSUans is spelled with t-shirt, shorts, and the campus’s best pair – tsinelas.

Albeit the campus is never situated to some muddy streets, students in here never get away with slippers. We see those pair of cuties being worn in the commercial center, in the corners of seventh and fifth streets, in the cold milieu of ‘Tagaytay,’ and amazingly (though may sound too disgusting for others), inside the classroom, even while taking the exams.

Perhaps, in the history of all Philippine Universities, it is only in MSU that students still religiously wear slippers matched with faded shorts (if not rolled-up pants) and three-week old shirts while attending classes. It is a headache for professors who deem formality inside their classes but at a certain point, the fashion had already been an acceptable part, and funnily a sort of requirement, of being an MSUan.

There’s no certain face of this tsinelas craze, actually. Slippers vary from the oh-so-expensive Havaianas, to the time-tested Islander, to the tatty classic Spartans. Some would be more than an inch thick. Some may even look like it has been rubbed to the surface of the earth for years. There’s the hole, the beads and the ‘tongueless’ cute little mouths of the feet. Some would even be too noisy, too creaky, too eye-enticing and even funny. There’s the floral, the kind that stepped on the beauty of the garden of Eden.

Whatever the weather may be, the pair would always come in handy. It is the best weapon in fighting the devouring waves of the fifth street. And perhaps the very reason why the clumsy gals took their disgracing falls on the slippery ways. It is the greatest fear of the cockroaches (You were too hysterical to see them flying; you haven’t noticed the slippers flew like saucers). Or – for the most poetic line, the one that would protect those little feet from the burning coldness of the floor. You can even throw them to someone you hate so much (kidding). The twin is even the commonest present one would give, come Christmas time.

To the very point of this, slippers, though we least give them value, certainly play a very significant role to the MSUans and the MSU as a whole. The wearing of it had already been a trademark; the never out-of-date fashion.

Certainly, after years of the campus’ existence, they’re still considered the best pair we ride and step on.

Truly, tatak MSUan!