GILBERT

Caveat Lector (let the reader beware): This is an Ego-boosting blogpost.

This blogpost is prompted by the message of Gibbs Cadiz asking for a link-up and telling me he's also Gilbert. I hope this blogpost will serve as a clarion call to the Gilberts of the world in uniting to make ourselves felt and known.

Gilbert is of French-Germanic origin which means bright promise or pledge. Variations: Guilbert, Gilberto, Hilbert.

First, a little history of how I got to be named so. When it came time for me to be baptized, a little discussion ensued. Mama: I want this baby named Leo or Leon after his father, Napoleon. (Lola's voice-over: The parish priest won't allow animal names for baptism!) Papa (thinking to himself): I want him to be my junior! Some relative (probably my religious aunt): According to the almanaque, the baby was born on the feast day of St. Martin of Tours so his name should be Martin! (imagine me now if named Martin Tan) Mama (2nd attempt): Since I was born in Luzon, Napoleon in Visayas, and the baby in Mindanao, let's call him Luzvimindo! (Again, imagine me now if named Luzvimindo Tan) Lola: He looks like a Gilbert to me! And that's final! And so with Gilbert, baptized I was. Was I glad I wasn't born in 1982 otherwise, I would have been named Rambo (Rambo Tan!) by starstruck parents.

I first became aware of the first of my many tukayo (namesake) at age 6 while exploring the plastic globe given to me by an aunt. I found Gilbert Islands in the Pacific.

In high school, I discovered the priest- detective Father Brown books written by Gilbert Keith Chesterton. This tukayo's wit was enviable: "My country, right or wrong," is a thing that no patriot would think of saying except in a desperate case. It is like saying, "My mother, drunk or sober." I think this tukayo was my first inspiration to become a writer-journalist.
Then in college, I read to smithereens the small book of Gilbert Highet, The Art of Teaching. "These are not books, lumps of lifeless paper, but minds alive on the shelves. By taking down one of these volumes and opening it, one can call into range the voice of a man far distant in time and space, and hear him speaking to us, mind to mind, heart to heart." His book planted the teaching seed in my heart.

In the 80s, a tukayo, Gilbert O'Sullivan topped the worldwide charts with his Alone Again Naturally. This song remains one of my personal faves:

In a little while from now
If I’m not feeling any less sour
I promise myself to treat myself
And visit a nearby tower
And climbing to the top will throw myself off
In an effort to make it clear to who
Ever what it’s like when you’re shattered
Left standing in the lurch at a church
Where people saying: "My God, that’s tough
She's stood him up"
No point in us remaining
We may as well go home as I did on my own
Alone again, naturally

To think that only yesterday
I was cheerful, bright and gay
Looking forward to well wouldn’t do
The role I was about to play
But as if to knock me down, reality came around
And without so much as a mere touch
Cut me into little pieces, leaving me to doubt
Talk about God and His mercy or if He really does exist
Why did He desert me in my hour of need
I truly am indeed Alone again, naturally

It seems to me that there are more hearts
broken in the world that can’t be mended left unattended
What do we do? What do we do?

Alone again, naturally
Now looking back over the years and whatever else that appears
I remember I cried when my father died
Never wishing to hide the tears
And at sixty-five years old, my mother, God rest her soul,
Couldn’t understand why the only man she had ever loved had been taken
Leaving her to start with a heart so badly broken
Despite encouragement from me, no words were ever spoken
And when she passed away I cried and cried all day
Alone again, naturally, Alone again, naturally.

If you've read somewhere that if all the issues of National Geographic Magazine are stacked in one place on earth, that would tilt/change the Earth's axis, then you have Gilbert Grosvenor, its editor in chief to blame. :-)

Of course, let's not forget the devastating Hurricane Gilbert, recorded in history as the second most intense Atlantic hurricane next to Hurricane Wilma.
Then there's Gilbert the Great, a children's book by Jane Clarke about a smiling shark that looks like a cartoon character in Nemo/Shark's Tale.
And the early film of Johnny Depp, What's Eating Gilbert Grape?
And lastly, a Hollywood hotel named Gilbert:

I'm Getting On with the Years and So are You . . .

Before I turned Golden Boy last year, I prepared myself for it by buying and reading up on books dealing with the middle age (reckoned by various sources as between the ages of 35 - 65, so I'm right smack in the mean, or is it median? However, Chicken Soup for the Golden Soup is meant for those sexagenarians - 60 year olds for you). I sure need a roadmap to navigate that part of my life's journey. If, as they say, life begins at 40, then I will be 11 this November. :-)
Time Flies by Bill Cosby. Filled to the brim with wit and wisdom. A sampling:

• I wear glasses, primarily so I can look for the things that I keep losing.
• I am just like any typical nuclear physicist. My office may look messy, but I know where every atom is.
• "Don't worry about senility," my grandfather used to say. "When it hits you, you won't know it."
• I remember my wife's birthday because she announces it well in advance and momentously, the way astronomers announce Halley's Comet.
• Instead of writing it (a message) down, I decide to keep it in my head, perhaps because of all the room for it there.
• I am not a physicist, but I'm sure that the theory of the conservation of energy was discovered while watching an eight-year-old pretend to work.
• In my old neighborhood, a boy stopped playing when he began to lose his pulse. And then he became the referee.
• Never let the younger people know that you think a compact disc is a sturdy spine; and never say to them, "That was before your time," because the last full moon was before their time.
• In spite of the profound love I have for my wife, sex at my age has become exhausting, which leaves me yearning for a younger body, or longing for a good nap.
• If you put a boyish face on a man of seventy-three who can't bend over, you have a new kind of centaur - and the horse's ass is the man who had the surgery.
• What I pray is that all the parts of me do not shut down all at once. What the man of fifty has to avoid is an orchestrated falling-apart.
• Immortality is a long shot, I admit; but somebody has to be first.
• There is a saying that goes: Youth is a gift of nature; Age is a work of art. Well, I hate to disagree with Confucius or Hallmark, but if age is a work of art, the artist is one who belongs in the subway and not in the Louvre.
• Memory has a sugarcoater and we can never remember pain. (If women could remember pain, we would be a nation of single-child families)
• You can teach an old dog new tricks. You just don't want to see the dog doing them.

When My Parents were My Age, They were Old (Or Who are You Calling Middle-aged?) by Cathy Crimmins. Very funny justapositions between our parents' middle age and our middle age like: while our parents start to go gray and dye their hair, we begin putting highlights in ours to enhance its natural shine.

Body checklist for the mature: you use tweezers in places you've never thought before, you notice that dim lighting makes you look at least three years younger, sucking in your guts starts to feel natural, when you play sports you care less about winning than about finishing the game without getting hurt.

The Big Five-Oh! - Facing, Fearing and Fighting Fifty by Bill Geist.
Bill Geist takes comfort in the statistics that everyday 11,000 hits the big five-oh (one every 7 1/2 seconds). He starts his book with 50 ways to tell you're 50; here's some :
takes three times to call own kids by correct names, can't read menu, plays air-guitar to unplugged songs, ear hair, can't see own dick, leaves turn signal on, says "eh" and "huh" a lot, falls asleep (rather than passes out) at parties.


Ten Things I Wish I'd Known Before I Went out into the Real World by Maria Shriver. Armed with her Kennedy toothy trademark, Maria Shriver gives us a mouthful to wish we'd known before it's too late for us: pinpoint your passion, no job is beneath you, who you work for and with is as important as what you do, your behavior has consequences, be willing to fail, superwoman is dead...and superman may be taking viagra, children do change your career, marriage is a hell of a lot of hard work, don't expect anyone else to support you financially, and have lots of laughter in your life.

Kurt Vonnegut Jr., 84 (A Literary Hero Dies)

One of my literary heroes, Kurt Vonnegut, just died (April 11) from irreversible brain injuries caused by a fall several weeks ago. Read the New York Times report here.

His books were my oasis on the way to self-discovery amidst the intellectual desert. His books were friends I would never tire of. Palm Sunday is Vonnegut's hodge-podge autobiography which i read in paperback. His writing style always enthralled me.

Vonnegut was a student paper editor, soldier, news reporter, teacher, and artist/designer. We share the same birthday, November 11.

He was celebrated for the Wear Sunscreen commencement speech he never wrote or delivered. In fact, it was written by Mary Schmich who wrote about the funny confusion here.

Vonnegut's son Mark (named after Mark Twain) wrote The Eden Express: A Memoir of Insanity.

Summer Reads Part 3

Teacher Man by Frank McCourt

At age 66, Frank McCourt published his memoirs, and Angela's Ashes (Pulitzer Prize winner) and 'Tis. Ten years later, his third memoir has come out. This book focuses on 30 years of teaching experience that shaped McCourt's writing career. Hmmm, let me see, I'll be on my 26th year in teaching. So there must be hope for me as a writer yet. :)

I've read his first two memoirs and they were really moving and poignant. Angela's Ashes reads like an Irish version of a poor Pinoy's life in the slums. Squalor, nerve- and gut-wrenching poverty, bigotry, sickness, death, you name it. 'Tis chronicles his life in the USA and the struggles he went through to carve his niche.

A Monk Swimming by Malachy McCourt

First, before you get turned off by the "sacred & profane" image evoked by the title, an explanation from Malachy McCourt, Frank's younger brother: the title is from the prayer Hail Mary: Blessed are you amongst women (the last two words misheard by him as a monk swimming).

Following in his brother's footsteps, Malachy carefully avoids treading the same biographical ground (their common childhood) by recounting his upbeat life in the USA as a raconteur, actor, bar owner.

Now this is a serio-comic tandem of books I plan to read back-to-back.

Lenten/Summer Reads Part 1

Powerful Prayers by Larry King

This is one book I never tire to read. Larry King distilled a heady bouquet of a book from his interviews with various personalities as to their encounters with the divine. I dip into this book when things don't go well in my life. It never fails to make me look up and thank the Lord. King's exchanges with Rabbi Irwin Katsof (who co-wrote the book) are at turns serious, funny, irate: evident of well-founded friendship between the two. King paints a very human picture of himself in search of God in his life punctuated by numerous divorces, operations and trials.

The Book of Virtues (A treasury of great moral stories) Edited with commentaries by William Bennett

One hefty book, this (832 pages!). I've started reading this since I bought a used copy last month. As with Powerful Prayers, I intend to dip into it from time to time. Bennett used very good writers like James Baldwin to retell the stories and featured stories from the Bible, poetry from masters like Robert Frost, Longfellow, et. al. The book is divided along the virtues Bennett spelled out: Self-discipline, compassion, responsibility, friendship, work, courage, perseverance, honesty, loyalty, and faith. Regardless of his republican politics, he presents a direction going back to the virtues that once made USA a great country. As a former Education Secretary, he should know where he speaks of.

Kokology 1 & 2 (The Game of Self-Discovery) by Tadahiko Nagao & Isamu Saito

An intriguing read for those who are attempting to know themselves more. Kokology (Kokoro Japanese for mind/spirit) is defined as a series of psychological games designed to uncover emotional and behavioral traits of the players. Here's how it works: You (and others) answer question(s) and based on your answer(s), an interpretation is given in the book. Example: It's your birthday and you're expectant of greetings and gifts. When you check your mail, you find out someone you'd never suspected has sent you a card. Who sent it? You also get lots of gifts. Who sent you the biggest package? The interpretations to your answer(s) are quite revealing and eye-opening.

PSICOM, Batjay, Tito Rolly, Me and Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point

Let me start at the beginning. When the second half of our 13th month pay was released in November last year, I went to National Bookstore (NBS) Davao to buy some books to tide me over the yuletide season and to give as gifts to close friends, nephews, nieces and godchildren.

That was when I saw Kwentong Tambay (mga kwento ng isang sira-ulong Overseas Filipino Worker) by Nicanor David Jr. aka Batjay on display at NBS. I was surprised to see that it was published by PSICOM whose previous books on text messages and ringtones, comic books and horror books I also bought in previous years. I thought that after reading all those depressing news items on suicidal-dying-dead OFWs, this book could be perfectly upbeat in maintaining the Christmas cheer.

So I bought several copies of it, browsed through it during the 3-hour bus ride back to Gensan. I was smiling and giggling as I read Batjay's debut book; so often I presumed that my seatmate and other passengers were becoming wary of my presence. My seatmate looked like the Tower of Pisa leaning away from me. Poor guy!

Fast forward to March 2007. I was rereading Kwentong Tambay and some info finally registered in my brain. First, like Bob Ong's books were culled from his blog, so was Batjay's. Second, unlike Bob Ong, who is incognito and remains shrouded in mystery, Batjay seems accessible (totoong tao). (I know Jessica Zafra - love her books - also blogs but I can't/won't risk an ego-bruising/ball-busting encounter on the 'Net with her) Third, Batjay is an alumnus of Notre Dame of Manila (more on this later).

So i googled for his blog and voila! I have read several blogs before his, but was turned off by the inanities and self-indulgent tone of many of them. Anyway, right smack on the first page of his blog was hard to find, difficult to leave, impossible to forget, an account of his reunion with ND Manila '83 batchmates in California. Serendipity, I thought to myself. Seeing an opportunity to connect with Batjay, I posted a comment:

hi nicanor,

mas nauna kong nabasa ang book mo kaysa sa blog.
as a UP Diliman student, i had visited NDM in ‘76-’77 when my aunt, evelyn yap was the guidance counselor there. i also met a ms. david who’s in-charge of the canteen. was she a relative of yours? i was also a notre dame alumnus pero dito ako nagtapos sa gensan (pacman & tuna country). hail, hail to our notre dame!!!

I got a prompt response from Batjay which started the ball rolling towards Tito Rolly, so to speak. In one email, I told Batjay about my new blog and that I'd appreciate what he thought about it. After reading my blog, he emailed and introduced me to two teacher-bloggers like me. And that's how I met Tito Rolly.

When I browsed Tito Rolly's blog, I was pleasantly surprised that one of his favorite blogposts was on Desiderata which is a significant part of my life (and will be a the subject of another post in this blog later) so that was where i started reading.

In that post, I read Batjay's comment about how Desiderata influenced him and he even embedded a recording of his narration of Tito Rolly's Filipino translation of the classic prose/poetry. And so I posted my own comment and offer to email the mp3 file of the original recording to Tito Rolly and others.

Tito Rolly said he already has a copy of it, but he most wanted to have an mp3 of Tom Clay's What the world needs now which featured actual voice clips of JFK, RFK (the assassinated Kennedy brothers) and Martin Luther King Jr. Right there and then, I logged on to my MIRC group and asked my chan-pals where I could find it. In 30 minutes, I was able to download and email it to Tito Rolly. I imagined he was like Aladdin having been granted a wish by the genie of the blog.

In subsequent emails between us, Tito Rolly told me it was Batjay who got him started with blogging for which he is deeply indebted. I told him the three of us are kindred spirits brought together by serendipity.

Now, where does Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point figure in all these?

Serendipity, as defined in most dictionaries, is an aptitude for making fortunate discoveries by accident. What i thought was serendipitous in my meeting Batjay and Tito Rolly may be an epidemic, an idea posited by Malcolm Gladwell in his book as "... any number of mysterious changes that mark everyday life ... Ideas and products and messages and behaviors spread just like viruses do." An epidemic has three characteristics: contagiousness, little causes having big effects, and change happening not gradually but in one dramatic moment called the "tipping point."

I think PSICOM started the epidemic which brought together Batjay, Tito Rolly and me. When it started publishing books on texting ang ringtones in the late 90s, PSICOM started its first contagion. A number of publishers followed suit but were not as successful. The contagion (texting/ringtones) was spread through cellphones creating wide rippling effects in terms of connecting people's lives and thus, making the Philippines the texting capital of the world. Think of texts/ringtones as the virus spreading through cellphones made operational by telecoms. Think of lives enriched/wrecked by those EB/SEB-inducing texts/ringtones. The tipping point here was EDSA II, a revolution made possible through texts.

The second contagion started by PSICOM was the publication of its horror books which spawned copycat books, local horror TV shows and movies. True, it became contagious that people started seeing/recording via cellphone cams the "paranormal." But this seems to be waning as horror books are now being overshadowed by the specter of real-life horrors like hunger, poverty, global warming, etc. No tipping point here.

The third contagion was when PSICOM started putting out books culled from blogs of Pinoy writers like Batjay and Jay Panti. Although Bob Ong's books were bestsellers, it was not "contagious" in the sense that it created no big changes. Maybe Ong's secret identity has something to do with this? Readers may find it difficult it to relate to a writer they can't put a face on.

In an epidemic, Gladwell named three players: connectors, mavens and salesmen. And this is where Batjay, Tito Rolly and I come in.

As this contagion has yet to play itself out, let me focus on the role of Batjay in it. Gladwell would call Batjay a "connector," someone who knows lots of people and has a truly extraordinary knack of making friends and acquaintances. Being a blogger since 2001, Batjay surely has made lots of connections with bloggers and blogreaders. Definitely, he connected me to Tito Rolly.

However, as to Tito Rolly, Batjay's role is that of a "salesman" who influences people to make changes in their lives (without twisting their arms). Tito Rolly confirmed that Batjay persuaded him to go into blogging. I've been toying with the idea of blogging since last year when I was wired, but getting connected to Batjay gave me the impetus to start one. I'm sure a lot of Pinoy bloggers out there would give Batjay credit for giving them the push. The fact that Batjay was named blogger of the year is a testament to his role as "connector" and "salesman."

Tito Rolly appears to be a "connector" too as he was able to connect to his students and poet-friends worldwide.

As for me, I would like to think that I'm a "connector" as well as a "maven" which Gladwell defines as a collector of information motivated to educate and help. As a "connector," I hope I was able to link up Batjay with my aunt. As a "maven", I was able to use my connections to help Tito Rolly locate an mp3 file he's been searching for a long time.

So, dear Breader (blogreader), what do you think about what i just laid out in front of you? Does it make sense? Or should I stick to believing it is all serendipity? Is there a tipping point we should look forward to?

‘The Lady or the Tiger?’: Facing Life’s Choices (My Favorite Book Winner June 5, 2005 Philippine Star)

December 1999. With the Y2K scare and end-of-the-millennium jitters hovering in the air, I found myself in a bookstore for some last-minute Christmas shopping. I was looking for the abridged versions of the classics Heidi and The Secret Garden to give to my nieces when I saw a vaguely-familiar title on the shelves: The Lady or The Tiger and Other Stories. As I traced the embossed title with my right index finger, a particular memory flooded my consciousness.

1970. Our sophomore English class of 40 boys was quiet as our teacher, Mr. Roger Rebucan, read aloud Frank Stockton’s short story The Lady or The Tiger? in a voice with a slight tinge of Hiligaynon accent. Our yet-to-be-raging hormones and our boyishness were piqued by the intriguing title which promised romance and adventure. We were not disappointed by the tale that unraveled before us – a love affair between a young man and his sweetheart whose father, the semi-barbaric king, wants to end. The king sentences the guy to choose between two doors. One leads to a beautiful woman; the other, to a hungry tiger. With bated breath, we struggled with the protagonist as he wracked his brain as to which door to open. If he opened the door to the beautiful woman, he would be forced to marry her. Opening the other door would mean his instant death. We heaved a collective sigh when Mr. Rebucan read the part where the princess signaled to the guy by moving her hand to the right but were abruptly shocked to hear the story’s final sentence: And so I leave it with all of you: Which came out of the opened door – the lady or the tiger?

Just as it did in 1882 when it was first published, the story spawned a cacophony of arguments among us which, for one whole week, spilled over to recess times, lunch breaks and lulls in between basketball games played after school. If ever there was one single story that the boys of Notre Dame of Dadiangas Boys’ Department (NDDBD) Batch ‘73 remembered having read, I am sure their aging selves now would shout in unison: The Lady or The Tiger?

It was one powerful tale that made such an impact on my life. It made me realize then, as a 13-year-old boy, real life’s lesson No. 1: life is full of choices. Later, I would find some choices easy to make, some so difficult that it dredged up every metaphor I’ve come across: to be between the devil and the deep blue sea, a rock and a hard place, Scylla and Charybdis.

The impact was even greater with the influence Mr. Rebucan had on my intellectual life. As our English teacher, he taught us a language that resonates with dynamism when used as a tool for self-expression. He was as sports-minded as he was an avid reader. Being not much of the sporty type due to my myopic eyes, I would read library books while keeping watch over the school bags and uniforms of those classmates who played in the field. I would often see Mr. Rebucan reading in between ballgames he was officiating, in the canteen while taking his snacks, in the faculty room when he had finished checking our papers, and in the parade grounds while waiting for the civic-military parade to start. I was drawn to him because we shared something in common – reading. Pretty soon, I approached him for titles to look for in the library. With him as a mentor, my love for words and reading became boundless. He did not stay long in the teaching profession as he later worked for a government agency and a soft-drink bottling company. Years later, he and I would often cross paths in search of reading materials in local bookstores and magazine stands. Cherished books were exchanged between us.

December 1999. It has been 29 years since I last heard/read Stockton’s 120-year-old story. My pulse raced as I discovered from the book’s back cover blurb that the story has a sequel: The Discourager of Hesitancy. That clinched it! This book would be the perfect gift for Mr. Rebucan. I was sure, he, too, would be as interested as I was to know how the story ended. I bought two copies and sent one to him with a short note that I hope one day we could meet and debate on the two short stories.

As I reread the story that night, I reflected on the motivations (mine and others) that led to choices impacting my life, career and relationships. I realized that at the high and low points in my life, some people acted as the semi-barbaric king who forced me to make hard decisions while others, like the princess, led me to "ladies" and "tigers" as consequences of my decisions after considering their advices and maneuverings. Whatever their motives, I thank them all because through them, I have learned to accept responsibility for my own decisions in life. As Frank Stockton aptly said in reply to the countless questions he got about the story’s ending: "If you decide which it was — the lady or the tiger — you find out what kind of person you are yourself."

[This essay was the winner for the week ending June 5, 2005 of the My Favorite Book contest jointly sponsored by the National Bookstore and Philippine Star. It was published in the Philippine Star June 5, 2005 issue.]

Books I'm engrossed in

Life of Pi by Yann Martel (Man Booker Prize Award). First 33 chapters of Part 1 are interesting. Main character Piscine Patel gets ribbed about his name ("Pissing"). Yann Martel approximates the Hindi cadence of speaking in his characters. Intriguing discussion on Hinduism, Islam and Christianity when Piscine (later changed to Pi) finds wisdom in these religions and settles the scores by declaring "I just want to love God." There's a mention of Manila Zoo in one of the chapters. I can't wait to start Part 2 . . .
Part 2 opens with a shipwreck, Pi and his family decide to relocate to Canada and sold off the animals in the zoo his family runs. So the boat they'd boarded sinks. His parents and brother missing, Pi finds himself sharing a lifeboat with a tiger, zebra and hyena (animals bound for zoos elsewhere).

Barbra - The Way She Is by Christopher Andersen. I bought my copy at Booksale SM Baguio City. Another in the long list of unauthorized biographies of the musical icon. There are new insights though to mark the usual milestones in Barbra's life (her second wedding, failed love affairs/flings, son Jason, etc.), although she remains an enigma to us mortals. Until SHE writes her own life story, we will never know for sure. As i flipped through the account of her life in the 90s and the present, the irony struck me that while she is a gay icon, her initial reaction to her son's homosexuality left much to be desired. However in the last live concerts she did, Barbra made sure to show how she loved Jason by singing Not While I'm Around (from the musical Sweeney Todd): No one's gonna hurt you,
no one's gonna dare; Others can desert you, not to worry, whistle, I'll be there . . .

Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs. Chapters are bite-sized but compelling. Burroughs paints a very contemporary memoir with broad strokes of dark humor (just when I am about to cringe at what I am reading, he goes for my funny bone). Just as he, as a kid, envisions to head a beauty empire, I flip to the inside back cover of the paperback and see the the author's bald pate. And i'm hooked!

knowrish (know/cherish) part 2

As a pupil of Dadiangas Philippine Chinese School (now Junior Cultural Academy), i discovered the library at the faculty room. The books were all contained in one medium sized cabinet! I was able to borrow and read the books in it in one year (because we were allowed to borrow only one book at a time). But i discovered at Grade Five that a Grade Six pupil was a fellow bookworm. So from her I was able to borrow the Wizard of Oz book series and others (Enid Blyton & Bobbsey Twins).

We were lucky to have the Philippine Readers series written by Camilo Osias and illustrated by Fernando Amorsolo for our English classes from Grades 1 to 6. The series contained an exciting mix of myths, legends, classics, prose and poetry. The poem Abou Ben Adhem by James Leigh Hunt stands out in my memory because of the line may his tribe increase! In Filipino class, we had our fill of Mga Kuwentong Griyego (Greek Myths) and were further entranced by Edith Hamilton's Greek Mythology in high school.

Aunt Evelyn initiated me to book hunts/haunts. She would bring me to Pauline's which sold magazines and occasional books. She once gifted me an issue of Jack and Jill magazine and boy! did she ever regret that. The magazine was ideal reading for young bookworms like me. It had stories galore and colorful illustrations, but what kept me occupied was the centerfold. It was a cutout-pop up project of castles, seascapes, underwater scenes. So with scissors in hand and glue in another, i would proceed to cut and paste portions that should be joined. The finished product I would further paste in a clean coupon bond creased in half and then I would request the labandera (washerwoman) to iron it for me. After that first issue, i was hooked on Jack and Jill and would pester Aunt Evelyn to buy me the monthly issue on display. Eventually she would go by herself to Pauline's on the sly. When I get a place in the periodical top ten in class, i would ask my parents to buy me an issue of Jack and Jill as a reward.

When Aunt Evelyn pursued her education degree at Notre Dame University in Cotabato City, she would bring me along during the summer session for a brief vacation there. And again we would hunt/haunt the few bookstores there. While there, she would have a coterie of college boys escorting her and the official chaperon (me!). I would eavesdrop while she discussed books with her coed friends and male admirers. Her book choices veered towards the Catholic church-approved ones like those written by Archbishop Fulton Sheen. I remember asking her innocently what Sheen's book It Takes Three to Get Married when only the groom and bride do so (at my age love triangles and orgies were still far from my pristine mind.) She said the priest that officiates the wedding represents Christ as the third person in it. Every summer, she would bring home the books she was able to buy during the school year. These books would be kept in the glass covered bookcase in Lola's house. The top shelf would be locked and and the books like Sheen's were off-limits to me because of their adult content. The second shelf contained Thomas Hughes' Tom Brown's School Days and other "safe for kids" books. The lower two shelves was stacked with Reader's Digests and other magazines. I would spend many a summer afternoon reading on a sofa. Lola or one of my aunts would find me asleep on it during siesta hour clutching a book or magazine to my chest.

On my own, I started my book hunt/haunt in Dadiangas (old municipal name of Gensan). Aside from Pauline's, there were a handful of bookstores cum school and office supplies stores. There was one next to the Talion building in Magsaysay Avenue which sold religious books and other novelty items. Uncharacteristically, i was more drawn to the novelty items. Once I asked money from Lola, Mama, aunts and uncles so i could buy the small carton cylinder on a string which made bird sounds when twirled overhead.

In high school, there was Crown Bookstore owned by the Napalas and City Bookstore. I would scrimped my weekly allowance so I could buy books I'd like to read. The very first book I bought was the science fiction Those Who Watch by Robert Silverberg (book cover shown in this page). It was about three aliens who came to earth and assumed the features of an old man, a young man and a pretty woman.

A resident alien and Ram's Bombay Bazar owner, Mr. Jethanand Balani, once showed me his collection of books on India, Gandhi and others. Unfortunately, these were written in Hindi. I remember visiting classmates' homes and seeing their 30+ volume encyclopedia sets displayed prominently in their living rooms. In the 70s, encyclopedias seemed to be the status symbol of the local middle class. I would needle my classmates why they had to copy homework from me when they had encyclopedias within their reach while I had to do research in the high school library. They would answer back that their mothers never allowed them to handle the volumes for fear that these might fall apart and get torn. An encyclopedia salesman almost closed a deal with my parents. At only P300 a month, they could get the whole set plus bonus sets of science volumes, etc. But they balked at the last minute. Later as a teacher, when I was able to buy a desktop computer set, the first cd-roms I bought were the Encarta and Britannica encyclopedia.

In college, I widened my book hunt/haunt to Davao City where Notre Dame of Dadiangas College had its school publication, The Vox, printed. As its editor in chief in second year college, I went through scrutiny by the Media Board based in Davao City. It was the Martial Law way of censoring college school papers and each article went through a fine-toothed comb by its director, Gil Abarico. The Vox, to my recollection, was the only college school paper in Gensan allowed for publication in 1973-74. While there, Deciderius Erasmus' "When I get a little money, I buy books. And if there is any left over, I buy food" became my guiding principle and with it, I was able to buy my first hardcover book Roots by Alex Haley. While it is fiction, Haley's epic novel drove home to me how slavery changed the course of the lives and history of black people. It shamed me because before reading Roots, everything I knew about blacks were based on s/explotation books written by Kyle Onstott and Lance Horner.