Bookstores don't have closets

I guess I have been breathing books even before I knew the pleasure of orgasm. Both my parents are from the academe, and I would spent significant parts of my childhood surrounded by shelves and closets of books and my dad's physics journals. In my mind, I traveled with Anne of Green Gables and moved mountains with Matilda.

To escape the realms of this world, I have to read.

I have read Sherlcok Holmes and Dr. Watson, Dorian Gray and Sir Henry, Batman and Robin but the notion of what I know now as bromance was for me, just pure friendship. Nothing like the Jane Austen type of novel. Mr. Darcy, for me, was an attractive fellow and Cyclops in his tight suit is the man. It was, in my young mind, a very usual attachment.

It was not until I felt different that I scrambled through our mini library to look for fictional characters that I might relate to. The closest I got was Oscar Wilde's (thus my fascination for his greatness), Mr. Hadolini in Catcher in the Rye and Patrick from The Perks of Being a Wallflower. But scrambling more through our house, the closest I found to explain the attraction I felt was in my father's books about gravity.

That moment, I realized how prejudiced my situation was. While Elaine, the school queen bee has Stargirl to giggle with whenever the cute guy from the higher level looks at her, I was trying to fit myself in the Bronte sister's tales despite the fact that I was falling for the boy who leads the flag ceremony. And while she reads A Walk to Remember when she found out he is already taken, I was stuck in the real world, with no avenue to travel to another world.

When I wanted to escape the most, confused with what was happening, there were a few worlds to rely on- that was my sadness. Deep inside, I thought, even great minds hide inside dark closets to escape the real world's skepticism.

Years after, I still seek for solitude in those worlds read and created by my mind. I would still check the Gay & Lesbian shelf in National Bookstore in Cubao and sigh when I see the conservatism in such place that is supposed to be a collection of all sort of portals. Despite my smiles when I see the growing numbers of non fictional books in the university's main library, I still think of those young struggling kids who was in the same situation as I was before-why couldn't Sherlock Holmes just marry Dr. Watson, they're perfect together!

There is no such thing as a moral or immoral book, Books are well written, or badly written. Perfect words from Mr. Wilde.

If there's one thing reading has taught me, it is that the world out there is big enough for me. Maybe not as vast and understanding as the fictional world I am used to, but definitely worth living. And that there are always opportunities to scavenge through old and dusty closets to search a world even greater than what C.S. Lewis could imagine.

Back to the story

"I really like you. Okay, I also like her, but that's it. I can like any other person, right? But with you its really different."

Bullshit. You can now go back to being a slimy and disgusting frog.

Now, I don't believe in commitment but I respect those who do. One reason: my bestfriend believes in her fairytale and her knight in shining armor. Through the years, I saw her earnestly wait for that guy and swallowed my own pride to catch with her bombshell dreams.

So I was ecstatic when he told me about him. A few weeks after, she introduced him and would invite me to third party their date. The few months, I saw my bestfriend strut through busy workload and stress with a smile. All the time, I saw stars in her eyes, I wondered if maybe I am wrong.

Then the above quoted words. I don't care if I won't have time to read the freaking assigned cases. This is one of those very seldom times I leave neverland and squeeze the humane in me. All for her, to hell with that guy-frog.

One word or act, and the fairytale starts to crumble. Snow White enticed by the redness of the apple, took a bite; Aurora, in her curiosity, touched that one thing she had never laid her eyes on ever. And that guy fucked the whole things up.

I am in no position to mutter "I told you so", but she let her fairytale crumble and told me I may be correct. From the person I least expected to agree with me, I felt like the evil witch in every tale.

And there, out of nowhere or maybe of desperation, I told her she did not do anything to be like me. I still believe she is the princess of her own fairytale and I don't want to be the one to blame when she ends up being the evil queen.

And just like that, I threw the black coat of cynicism and tried to weave back her aspirations of love and hope. Without the deep sleep, Snow White or Aurora won't get that true love's kiss. For a moment, I believed, for her sake.

Chances are, she's already crying herself to sleep now. And I was left lying in my bed, with books and papers scattered on the floor, thinking.

One guy told me I am in the borderline of misanthropy. I don't think I am. But the world is one wicked stepmother's poisonous apple, its beauty baneful, its sweetness deadly that left me nothing but doubt.

The walking dead

Right after I was quite sure my parents were willing to pay for my yet another four years of school, I told myself I have one semester to actually sort things out. You see, while most were rejoicing to be part of the 15% who passed, I was talking to my thesis adviser with tears in my eyes.

You know when they always tell you to choose the good path? I bet your Sunday school teacher taught you that, too. But I was often caught in a situation where the few options remaining seem to be better than the other. And with no time in my hands, I went with my guts.

I saw myself with an enrollment form and cases to be read even if I wasn't enrolled yet. I prepared for a life of- oh, no life.

But I told myself I have to settle everything after the semester so it won't be too hard to go back to point zero in case thing fall apart. So sembreak it was, make or break.

But the last two weeks just saw me watching foreign movies (thank god torrent, forgive me laptop), catching up on unwatched series and starting new ones, and reading novels bought during the semester. And since I am broke, I sticked to reading The Walking Dead in PDF. Some morning I spent drinking coffee with my parents, some spent in the bed hugging the cold fresh wind on the country.

It was two weeks of absolutely no heavy thinking, except for some guessing game with my high school friends about who's who with whom.

And just like that, the semestral break was over and I was up facing another yet miserable months ahead of me with a mind of blur. It's like when Rick Grimes woke up in the hospital bed and saw the world devastated with zombies but has no idea how suddenly every human body is like a entrée.

And now, I have to sleep early because tomorrow is yet another day. Or I could just finish reading TWD and go to class tomorrow with bloodshot eyes and rotten attitude.

To hell with the starbucks planner...

I'm buying this.

Witty will save the World's 2011 planner! Check it here- http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=44927&id=138551186159717

Or if anyone out there is willing to buy me one, I would really appreciate.

Merry Christmas! :D

Fireworks

I was quite the corky kid in my WorldLit class back in college. I ran against almost all of the majority's point of view. I thought Medea is but amazing and Yokio Mishima is the most underrated Japanese writer. I went against this cocky engineering student who still wear elephant pants when talking of human nature in discussing The Iliad.

But I guess it, the cynicism, took its toll when we took up Inspirational literature and Paolo Coehlo. As far as I can remember, I was the only one in the class arguing against the mysticism surrounding the sudden boom of books that tells me everything is going to be alright. Don't get me wrong, I actually think Coehlo's Eleven Minutes is quite good. But the fuss behind literature being inspirational that tells one how to live his life is not quite beyond my catch.

But sometimes some good "it-will-get-better" moments are needed. Especially now when things are changing at a pace faster than I never would imagine when I was back in college.

Ah, cynicism at its best.