Around 4:30 am, when I got off the bus at Sucat from Pioneer - saw a traffic jam in the middle of the of the road. Curiosity got ahold of me and I went closer to inspect. The driver and conductor of a bus were running around, chasing one drunk man who appeared to be was harassing them in the first place. They caught the man, and beat him up. There he laid, sprawled, lifeless on the ground. Police then entered the scene, the man had just passed out due to the beating or to his drunkenness, that I do not know.
Leaving the scene, I just had this feeling of disgust and remorse. We live in a world full of violence and hate. It’s just so wrong. I, for one, haven’t been in a fistfight my entire life. I never wanted to see anyone hurt physically. That man has a family he’ll be going home to, and just how would they feel? Ugh. I hate this world. I hate society. Good things are hard to find, much less good people.
I used to see a billboard with this image in SLEX, way back 10 years ago I think. There’s also one somewhere in Manila and another at QC. I dunno why but the first time I saw this, I felt goosebumps all over my body. Maybe it’s because of the implication of the message itself.
Now everytime I pass by the same highway, I look out for the same billboard but it’s nowhere to be seen. It’s probably been replaced with an advertisement about a no-good product. o.O
They shouldn’t have removed that one. That billboard gives such deep meanings, a path for those who are lost, a heart for those in need.
Yung tipong bihira mo makita sa labas. Yung bihira maglaro ng basketball, bihira gumimik, bihira makihalubilo. Ako yung tipong palaging nakaharap sa computer, o kaya’y nagbabasa ng libro. Yung tahimik sa klase, tamad magaral, bihira matulog. Mahilig magluto, ayaw sa maingay, walang kaaway. Malalim magisip, palangiti, hindi maputi. Maraming pagkukulang, mataas ang pangarap, simple lang ang gusto. World peace. I thank you. *BOW
Love a girl who thinks deep. A girl who understands and does not judge. Simple outside, yet a complicated thinker. She does not need to be a writer of some sort. That's the one I'm looking for. Love a girl who reads.
Met with highschool/college friends at MOA, plan was to just have coffee at SB Ecom. But then one of them has to go to work, so it was just me and Gary who remained. Went around and purchased a book at Booksale for 75 pesos. Yay. It was him who recommended this one, though I really am not into suspense/thriller books. But I haven’t got a choice since I’ve finished Hunger Games a looooooong time agooooo - 4th year college, that is. They also mentioned that Game of Thrones is a really good series, so that’ll be my next target.
Then went around, thought of drinking a bit, and called up Mhyron. I was like, ” Mhy, inom tayo. Now na, Marina, MOA.” He just said, “Okay, text ako pag nandyan na ko, bihis lang.” Whole conversation lasted 24 seconds, and indeed, he got there after 30 minutes. Now that’s one hell of a friend. Talked about a few things, specially the future, our jobs and such. Drank ‘til 1 am, then went directly to Mcdo Kabihasnan to purchase Burgers for the folks here at home.
Guess what the people behind the counter were singing about?
Lots of things might happen. That’s the thing about writers. They’re unpredictable. They might bring you eggs in bed for breakfast, or they might all but ignore you for days. They might bring you eggs in bed at three in the morning. Or they might wake you up for sex at three in the morning. Or make love at four in the afternoon. They might not sleep at all. Or they might sleep right through the alarm and forget to get you up for work. Or call you home from work to kill a spider. Or refuse to speak to you after finding out you’ve never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. Or spend the last of the rent money on five kinds of soap. Or sell your textbooks for cash halfway through the semester. Or leave you love notes in your pockets. Or wash you pants with Post-It notes in the pockets so your laundry comes out covered in bits of wet paper. They might cry if the Post-It notes are unread all over your pants. It’s an unpredictable life.
But what happens if a writer falls in love with you?
This is a little more predictable. You will find your hemp necklace with the glass mushroom pendant around the neck of someone at a bus stop in a short story. Your favorite shoes will mysteriously disappear, and show up in a poem. The watch you always wear, the watch you own but never wear, the fact that you’ve never worn a watch: they suddenly belong to characters you’ve never known. And yet they’re you. They’re not you; they’re someone else entirely, but they toss their hair like you. They use the same colloquialisms as you. They scratch their nose when they lie like you. Sometimes they will be narrators; sometimes protagonists, sometimes villains. Sometimes they will be nobodies, an unimportant, static prop. This might amuse you at first. Or confuse you. You might be bewildered when books turn into mirrors. You might try to see yourself how your beloved writer sees you when you read a poem about someone who has your middle name or prose about someone who has never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. These poems and novels and short stories, they will scatter into the wind. You will wonder if you’re wandering through the pages of some story you’ve never even read. There’s no way to know. And no way to erase it. Even if you leave, a part of you will always be left behind.
If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.
The Philippines is not a “reading” nation. Books in this country are considered a luxury. Underpaid and poor, most people here would rather save money for other home essentials than spend on books.
But I want to tell you some things about people who read. It’s really about finding your Mr. Darcy—to date, marry, and grow old with.
Date a man who reads. Date a man who invests on books rather than on clothes, food and electronic gadgets. His may be a messy room—with tools, magazines and electronic gadgets scattered all over. But in the litter, you’ll find a “spice.” Books. Which would make you smile.
Guys who read books do not necessarily wear eyeglasses. They are neither nerds nor emos, nor are they introvert and antisocial creatures. They would hate you for sticking that stigma on them.
Date a man who reads. Social networking sites do not spoil his life. He can survive without Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, or e-mails, but not without a good read.
Date a man who reads. For he does know the value of poetry. Yes, science, engineering, math, law and medicine, they are great pursuits. But the man who reads values love, life, true happiness—with passion.
Date a man who reads. A great place for him is a coffee shop, or anywhere cheap that he finds conducive to reading. He knows when you are upset, or happy, or guilty. He knows it because he is familiar with human emotions. You don’t need to give him a clue.
Date a man who reads because he will not take you to jampacked movie houses on premiere nights. He understands that a good movie is adapted from a great book. He knows that any movie adaptation is always inferior to its book original.
Date a man who reads. He knows that you’re going to give him a book for his birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries, but still he will be so eager to see what’s inside the gift. For he is so in love with literature—and with those who love the things he loves. Reminisce your childhood with the lessons from Dr. Seuss, “The Little Prince,” and the mysterious “Charlotte’s Web.” He’ll admire you for being familiar with those great stories.
Date a man who reads. He knows what is true, and what is fiction. If it’s possible in novels, why not in real life? Talk to him about Sherlock Holmes, of the magic kingdom of Narnia, and the best series so far, Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings.”
Date a man who reads. You’ll find him in a park, beneath a tree, with a newly acquired book whose pages could be white or yellow; or sitting by the bus window, relishing the yellow light, his perfect aphrodisiac for reading. He always welcomes a conversation with a stranger who likes to read Austen, Bronte, Woolf, Dickinson, and Niffenegger.
No, you will not find in his wallet a condom or a thick wad of money, or credit cards. Instead, you’ll find a list of books he wants to buy, and love letters and poems and quotes that he had earlier come across and that caught his interest. He does not put money in his wallet, unless he’s going to buy another book.
He knows when to make it with a girl. He doesn’t need to flirt. He has had enough flirtation in the books he had read. When he’s in love, he’s in love. He understands the concept of serendipity—and waiting. It takes time and patience to finish a Tolstoy novel.
He can spend the night with you, without sleep, and without sex, just talking endlessly about novels, and stories and poets and their lives. That Sylvia Plath committed suicide, Robert Frost took the road less traveled, Margaret Atwood knows the variation of sleep and love, and that John Keats’ last request was to place a “Here lies one whose name was writ in water” in his tombstone.
Date a man who reads. He does not judge a book by its cover. Or will he judge you by your appearance. He knows you have interesting stories “within” you, and he will listen to them, and fall in love with them. He knows how to make you smile. He’ll just read a good line, and you’ll know you’re inspired. He shares everything: the stories that break, and the ones that stink. Aside from reading, he gives you ample time—to eat, to pray, and to love. He accepts the fact that you need to find and discern yourself, sometimes.
Marry a man who reads. Make love to him as the two of you make new stories together. You’re guaranteed that your children will not have a boring childhood, that he’ll be there to tell bedtime stories because he believes (still) in fantasy even though he’s not a child anymore and he’ll play out the characters in children’s books.
He appreciates comedy and satire. His most precious belongings are his books and your family, which are to him a big story and a big event in his life. Although it is not quantifiable, he trusts the word “forever.”
Grow old with a man who reads. He knows that the worlds he has read in books will sometimes be more colorful and livelier than the world you two will actually live in. But he will not leave you. People die. Children come and go. But the memories and stories will be with you. Forever.
By the way, he believes in women’s lib, because he accepts that women are good readers, and writers too.
Public transportation is not new to me. I mean, it’s been part of my life since, well, high school. I remember the first time I commuted by myself, I was studying at ParSci that time and was still a geeky geeky individual. I was riding a jeepney at 5am in the morn, it was raining so hard and I can’t see anything outside. I didn’t even know where to had the jeepney stop. I just summoned up my courage, said “Paraaaaa!” loudly, and by chance, had the jeepney stopped at the right place.
I also tend to sleep while riding, well, anything. From jeeps to taxis, buses to FXes (I honestly don’t know how to call them in plural, bear with me). It just takes me 3 minutes and 5 nods in order to doze off and revitalize. I never wake up far away from my destination, and have never been pickpocketed yet (knock on wood).
Presently, I have been taking the bus to go to Pioneer for work. I prefer sitting near the doors, specially by the windows. When it fills up, it’s true that you’d be able to see women standing up, with men averting their eyes or feigning sleep just to keep the seats. My weakness is that I never want to be sitting while there’s still a woman standing on the bus. I don’t know why, it just doesn’t feel right.
Anyway, even though driving a car to work is much more comfortable, I’d still prefer commuting because it’s waaaaay much cheaper.