October 2, 2010

Musings on Reading, Unreading, Rereading

  Another month just folded, another one is unfolding, and between them are books bought, hoarded, and yet remained unread. One of the recent purchases was Octavio Paz’s On Poets and Others—a collection of personal and critical  essays juxtaposing poets’ lives—the mundane side—as well as their respective writings and styles. His personal encounter with Robert Frost, which was the first presented in the collection, made me contemplative about my compulsive buying disorder—solely applicable to books, I might say. Robert Frost wot that we should only read few good books. The beauty, art of reading, he said, lies in rereading—which shares […]
April 25, 2011
Backpacking with a Book

Concluding Holy Week

Yesterday marked the last of Holy Week. I went home for three days, rendering this online home unattended, silent. Yesterday I had a regretful afternoon and sought refuge in halu-halo, late unlimited-rice lunch, and  J. M. Coetzee’s words. He continues to teach because it provides him with a livelihood; also because it teaches him humility, brings it home to him who he is in the world. The irony does not escape him: that the one who comes to teach learns the keenest of lessons, while those who come to learn learn nothing. —J. M. Coetzee, Disgrace
May 1, 2012

Of Reading Fiction and Damaged Camera: Sad, Promising, Consoling Stories

Daku Island, Siargao Group of Islands, Surigao del Norte, Philippines  One of my camera’s last winks . . . A Sad Story “I have to admit, when you found out your camera was broken, you just laughed about it. I guess, others would cry,” Brian declared, whom I met during my Siargao trip. “I had a camera, not because I wanted one. I needed one.”  I was tempted to say that photography, in some ways, covered my writing frustrations. Others would cry.  I know, not because they are materialistic, Brian. The camera becomes an integral part of one’s being.  I didn’t cry, but […]
June 19, 2012

An Entry of Happiness

The fledgling ventured beyond its one-meter realm. With its still fluffy feathers, it returned to its nest once in a while. Its chirps accompanied my veranda mornings in Tuburan, my seemingly sleepy yet happy hometown in midwest Cebu. Nestlings confront life as soon as their wings can take it. They never hesitate. They fly. In the past three weeks, I measured my life with chirps, waters, early mornings, greens, bites and devours, coffee, and mouthing Iloveyous in the crowd or in a room. I lost count. I’m happy. Life has never been this beautiful. And it’s scary. I. WORDS Words—they pain […]