saturday sneak peek

I rested for most of the morning because I had been on the verge of falling ill the night before. The cat stared at me from the other end of the bed, probably wondering why I was still not up.

When I felt a bit better I tagged along with my parents and sister to check out a garage sale by friends who are moving out. I got myself this pair of ceramic cups which are perfect for holding my pens and highlighters. You can never have too many pens and highlighters.

I was still feeling a bit under the weather but I made myself deal with long-postponed chores that could help ease and release stagnant energies in the house. I finally got around to organizing the bedroom bookshelf.

I also finally got around to clearing and organizing the art corner (which also happens to be the room's love and relationship bagua so maybe something nice will happen in that aspect of our lives). 

I have sideline/dayjob work to do and I just keep telling myself that it will all be done soon enough.

wednesday

Attempts at making sense of too much information. Sitting at a cafe while waiting for a fellow consultant to work together on a project.

Had cinnamon sugar cronut and coffee.  Both very good.

After the meeting I peeked at the secondhand bookstore on the way home and got pulled in and the next thing I knew I have five "new" books. 

My Reading Buffet, or Why I Read More Than Ten Books At A Time

Ten books is an understatement. If I were to trust my Goodreads record I actually have about eighty books on my Currently Reading List. But I want to keep the number to the books I have been actively reading through for the past two weeks.

Reading multiple books naturally slows me down but just to be clear, I do get to finish them. According to my Goodreads record, again, I am 28%, or 11 books, ahead of this year's Reading Challenge.

Books are my therapy. More specifically, owning them, reading them, and highlighting my favorite passages, not to mention copying those passages and using them in my various writings. I read both fiction and non-fiction, popular as well as literary works. I am partial to fantasy and mythologies and books with magic.

But why do I read so many at the same time? Because I get impatient. And I have this irrational need to feel that I am moving along more than one story. Maybe it is a way of filling my near-absent social life, filling in my social calendar with different stories instead of different parties. But I also like pursuing a thread of thought or the urge of a mood as soon as possible. That is the impatience working. The thought or the urge could be triggered by anything. It could be a genuine need for knowledge and information that could be useful for my work. It could be pure whim or curiosity from hearing a book or an author or a subject mentioned in fils, or even another book, that has moved me in some way. Neil Gaiman gets me going on a lot of reading, helping me discovering authors and genres in the process, expanding my reading appreciation. So does Joseph Campbell and Julia Cameron.

I have this strange constant sense of running out of time. As if I am forever cramming for an exam or a graded recitation. I have this constant hunger, every single day, to learn something new or to feed myself new images and words and stories. I can feel that what I read buoy me up and help me survive every endeavor and every encounter. What I read may inspire me, or literally provide me with a nugget of knowledge that will enable me to save the day, or guide me in the decisions I have to make. Books are my lifeline. They anchor me amidst the sea of unpredictability of the everyday. They remind me of my values and set examples by which to conduct my life (Thank you, Jane Austen).

I seek the variety because it makes me feel that I am covering as much ground as I can. Who knows when familiarity with a specific subject might come in handy? I guess I also don't want to be limited to a very narrow range of topics that could severely limit my already challenged conversational skills. I make up for not being updated with current news and events by being well-versed in books. (I avoid the daily news because I avoid all the negativity and anger and vicious circles of blaming.)

I cannot be idle and not read. While I do enjoy the occasional meditative silence of being still, for most of the time I have to have a reading material of substance in my hands. A book or two in my bag plus books loaded in my smartphone and tablet give me the same comfort as a fully-loaded survival kit in a zombie apocalypse.

My reading list covers a wide range. I follow my heart which pages it wishes to explore at any given moment because that is also when I know that I will get the most from a book.

As of today here are what top my active list:

In my Kindle I have:

The Cuckoo's Calling, by Robert Galbraith
The Twenty-Four Hour Mind, by Rosalind Cartwright
Daily Rituals: How Artists Work, by Mason Currey
Writing Well, by William Zinsser
Writing To Learn, by Willian Zinsser

I love finding unexpected connections between the books I read, even when they seem so different. The important lessons gets echoed because they are important. And when I badly need some clue, a hint of budge in the right direction, my books often come to the rescue. Or sometimes, a simple line can bring a whole load of comfort when I feel most alone in a dreary endeavor and resolution seems too far away, such as this quote from Kafka:

"...time is short, my strength is limited, the office is a horror, the apartment is noisy, and if a pleasant, straightforward life is not possible then one must try to wriggle through by subtle maneuvers." -- excerpted from Daily Rituals: How Artists Work.

What's on your reading list this week?

a sunday of substance

Yesterday was a great day.

I have been excited for yesterday since I set that meeting with my bookseller friend. I have not seen him for a while and the books I have ordered have been languishing in his inventory for months. I was at the tail-end of a project and a fieldwork and thought I deserved a reward of some kind for being still alive. What better way than finally getting my old orders and paying up and maybe adding a couple new books to the package?

My friend sells good quality second-hand books which I absolutely love. Pre-owned books carrying a history of their own. Yellowed pages, old editions, rare hard-bounds. And that lovely old-book smell. He also sells notebooks – Moleskine and Field Notes and Fashionary. Yes, a dangerous combination for a writer/artist like me.

So I set up a meeting and I was fired up all week looking forward to it.

Layer on the discovery that Before Midnight opened in cinemas in July 10. Marvelous! The theme movie of my generation! If I had to name a mythology of romance for my generation it would be that trilogy. So I set Sunday afternoon for watching it with my sister, while also setting a couple of evenings beforehand to watch the first two movies.

Sunday arrived and I was like a child about to go on a field trip to Disneyland. Well I was. My own kind of Disneyland.

I met my bookseller friend in a cafe. He was late and I was too early. Which was perfect because I intended to get some writing done. I haven't written in a cafe for a long time, and it was such a glorious sunny morning, the cafe was half-empty, and there was this vintage jazzy music playing in the background. The other customers were quiet oldish people, not the usual crowd of noisy young things. Needless to say I felt right at home.

I took out my last Moleskine notebook (I have run out of stock) to write. I just have to say, I caught myself smiling many times at the sheer joy of the moment. In the past week there were little events that somehow perfected the trajectory of my life and I can feel the effect of it. Finding myself in that perfect spot on that perfect Sunday morning, I recognized the wisdom of the Universe and its infinite magic leading me to where I was. Most likely it was also where I needed to be. 

My dear friend arrived bearing my joys. Like a midyear Santa. A heavy bag of books and a heavy bag of Moleskine. He also brought a few vintage books I might be interested in (I was) and those were added to my loot.

I love vintage and old things, especially books. Look, this one survive through the war!

It was time to replenish my stocks. I am halfway through my last ruled Moleskine.

Then followed the kind of conversation that lifted one's spirits and refreshed one's faith in people and the world. Discussions about books, life decisions, the quality of paper, being independent, ideas and insights for improving our respective businesses, astronomy and mathematics, finding niches. An equal exchange without reservations or agenda, a connection that was effortless. I had missed it so very much.

We parted at lunchtime. I had a movie to catch. I also found out that another friend was joining me and my sister to the movie. Oh joy!

Before Midnight did not disappoint. I actually want to see it again and savor the words again. I didn't cry. Only almost. That part towards the end.

After the movie we had coffee and pastries at a nearby hotel. This time I was a content observer as my sister and our friend did most of the talking. But it was also one of those conversations that flowed naturally and without fear of misinterpretations or judgements. Then we went to my home to discuss options for framing my art works which I will be selling soon through another friend with a mobile vintage van (Doesn't that sound like a perfect way to start?) There were also some art and book discussions, analysis of men, women, and relationships, and a little history-digging for examples.

Brazo Bombs by The Legend Hotel. They taste like brazo de mercedes magicked into cream puffs. Very delicious!

The evening concluded with a light dinner. I started to feel tired and sleepy a little before ten. The adrenaline rush since the morning had finally worn off. I was happy. But my introvert self said, alright, time to draw back. If I had pushed myself more I would probably end up with a migraine. Oh, but make no mistake, it was the best Sunday I have ever had quite a long time.

I cleaned up, then tucked into bed with Sometimes The Magic Works. A fitting bedtime read for a beautiful day.

"I have decided, on reflection, it is best just to remember that sometimes the magic really works."
-Terry Brooks

How has the magic been working for you lately?

what i want

But I have had to do a lot of errands and work even over the weekend. I did manage to read and finish Why We Broke Up (third book from top of pile) but felt so horribly guilty and stressed afterwards because I read instead of working. I hated the feeling.

Hence I worked all Sunday, only pausing to celebrate Father's Day with my family, and I secretly envied everyone I saw in the restaurant and in the mall because they did not have to go home to work.

I was feeling so low that I could not even appreciate the books in the book shops, nor was I in the mood for any indulgent snack. The work kept bouncing around in my head and I was busy convincing myself that I would get it done.

I did buy myself a little something to remind me of why I got myself into this bit of a mess in the first place, and at the same time also to remind me of the resolutions I have come to in the past four days. I dug up an old Evernote post and everything was there, all the answers I have been looking for.

"To be 'on purpose' means you're doing what you love to do, doing what you're good at and accomplishing what's important to you. When you truly are on purpose, the people, resources, and opportunities you need naturally gravitate toward you." (Jack Canfield)

"Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary." (Steve Jobs)

My dream of London is as big and as strong as ever. But there are many ways and many paths to get there. It does not have to be a sacrifice, or a costly trade-off of time and passion and joy. The obvious most logical choice does not always mean the only way or the best way. There are off-beaten paths. There are paths behind wardrobes. There are possibilities inside blue boxes.

i am a bookaholic

It started when I was twelve years old. It was during summer vacation and my best friend then took me to the public library. I was the kind of kid who stayed home so I discovered places only when people took me to them. I was thrilled to find out I could get my own library card without much fuss. I did and that was the beginning.

Being twelve, I started off with the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew. But those quickly ran out because I was a voracious reader. I read two to three books in a day or two and I had to go to the library at least thrice a week during the summer and twice during schooldays.

I began venturing into bookstores and touching the shiny brand new books on the shelves. I began smelling books and loved both new-book-smells and old-book-smells. When I was in high school, I asked that my Christmas and birthday gifts be books. Brand new ones from the bookstore. The librarians in the public library became fond of me, and waved away fines and gave me extensions and most especially, allowed me to take out more books than was permitted.

In college I was fortunate to get into a university with a very impressive library. I became its denizen and the librarians there also gave me the same privileges. I used up three to four library cards in a single semester.

Any extra money I saved up from my allowances I used to buy books.

When I started working, I spent a lot of money on books. At one point I had more than a thousand crammed in the tiny bedroom that I shared with my sister in the small apartment where I lived with my family.

I would buy books almost every week. Not just from bookstores with their brand new volumes but also from second-hand book shops. Then the internet happened and I discovered an online auction site for books and I outbid everyone else on the books I wanted. The owner of that site eventually became a very good friend.

Sometime in 1999 I sold off more than half of my book collection to fund a trip.

Two years later I moved to a higher-paying job and was able to replenish my personal library. It was even more intense that time, the book-buying, for the books took the place of everything else that work did not consume. Books became my lifeline to sanity.

Eight years later I quit the job that had been eating up my life and then I started selling off my books again to raise funds to sustain a freelancer's life. Now I wish I had been more discerning because there were titles I wish I never sold.

Three years later I began the process of recovering the books I had lost and adding new ones that feed my rediscovered passions. My library today has about 500-600 books, including those in my Kindle.

In the past three years I have simplified my lifestyle to the point that I have significantly reduced my monthly spendings and have channeled my retail therapy to just three things: books, writing materials, and art materials.

I particularly enjoy fantasy, fairy tales, mythology, basically anything with magic and supposedly impossible things. I also like a bit of philosophy and psychology. I like books on writing and poetry - Susan Wooldridge, Anne Lamott, Ann Patchett. I like the occasional chick lit and I like inspirational books along the lines of Julia Cameron, Zen, Anna Johnson, Paulo Coelho. I have favorites among the classics : Jane Austen's novels, Sherlock Holmes, the mysteries of Agatha Christie. I like food and travel books : Ruth Reichl, M.F.K. Fisher, Jamie Oliver.

In authors I absolutely love Neil Gaiman. Then there's Nick Bantock, Barbara Hodgson -- writers who are also artists. I love Sarah Addison Allen.  Joseph Campbell is right up there with Neil.

I admire bloggers who have become authors -- Holly Becker and Grace Bonney.

There are many others but I don't want to make this a very long list. I will write about most of them anyway as I read through the days.

My latest book loot is from yesterday, when I stepped out to air myself after being cooped up for two days because I was ill. I wandered into the secondhand bookshop in the supermarket and walked out with these:

The Ethnography book is just a geeky thing for me because it is part of what I do to earn a living. And it is ridiculously cheap at Php50.

The Dante Club is something I have been curious about and the copy was in very good condition for only Php148. I plan to read the original Dante before reading this one to enhance my appreciation.

The School Of Essential Ingredients is hardbound and I have a sample of it in my Kindle and it is on my to-buy list. I paid less than half for what it would cost me to purchase it on Kindle. A great bargain indeed.

This week alone I spent twice on books. But I don't splurge on anything else. No more clothes and shoes I would only wear once. No more wasteful time and money spent with pseudo-friends. No more unnecessary products in the grocery cart. Yes, it is all about books, writing, and art now. But most especially books.

snapshots

Bills to pay loom every month. I have to keep working to keep paying. I wish there was a better alternative to all this.

I badly want to make art but I am struggling with work.

A little bit made for someone whom I really like and admire so much and who has been inspiring me no end for the past eight years.

My NaNoWriMo novel is getting some good treatment in between heavy loads of work. 

Recovering old titles I had and loved and sold years before to raise funds for a trip.

Discovered and loving Snapeee, a photo app.

What I hope to do more consistently every single day.

Keep Calm and Buy Books

Keep calm and buy books. Secondhand so you can buy three for the price of a brand new one. Then count the days (6) until you can start reading to restore the wreck you have become after juggling two big projects in an effort to raise funds for monthly bills and dreams of travel (still not enough).

The past few days have been sprinkled with delays and time snarls. In the next few days the repercussions of those delays will be fully felt and I will most likely be a zombie by Tuesday evening.

Still, the work I did this week is not without its hidden nuggets of inspiration. And help does come in some form when you absolutely need it. And there is always my health and my skills to be grateful for. And there is always Sherlock and the Doctor and Neil Gaiman.  

Looking back, when this month was just beginning...

I was in a hotel somewhere down south of the country, about to begin fieldwork for a project that I am currently eyeball-deep in and trying to craft a report for.

N Hotel, Kauswagan, Cagayan de Oro City, Philippines

Even then I was already a bit behind with organizing my data. What with my disk drive dying on me and respondents suddenly deciding to be difficult.

Yesterday, in an almost desperate effort to improve the pace of my work I tried out something new. I tried using Scrivener, an app that I use for writing my books, to write my report and to organize my data.

And guess what, it seems to be working! Nothing as dramatic as getting the report done by end of the week but at the very least I can hope for a finished rough draft that I can polish next week (simultaneous with the start of fieldwork for another project). I will write a full separate post on the wonders of Scrivener after it has taken me through the Finish Line for both projects (that would mean a bit of a wait though, like, around July).

Meanwhile I bear the pain of not being able to read the books I got on sale from Cagayan de Oro City -- Less than Php500 for all of these:

 
Doctor Who keeps me company on the very late nights that I force myself to stay up. But it gets more difficult each day, trying to trick myself to do the same amount of crazy work I used to do when I was in my early twenties. There are more important things for me to do now than work. My body knows it. My heart knows it. My spirit knows it. They have all gotten wiser to the tricks I make to make them work too hard or too long.

I bear it all for a chance to be in London.

geek alert

I joined Scribd, which is hailed as a YouTube for Documents. There are catalogs from various book publishers, class lectures, serious papers -- lots of pretty useful stuff if you're doing research or merely curious. I found a paper discussing the shift from Feudalism to Capitalism which I saved for later reading. Don't ask me why. Certain things I just find interesting.

The site also shares book excerpts and I discovered this:

I have to admit, I want it.

Stuff like this interest me. Plus I really really like studying, as long as it's on a subject I like. There is a secret part of me that actually wants to be forever in a university, studying and doing research and writing papers. Spending days in the library. Hanging out in coffee shops and bookstores. Having exciting conversations with fellow learners.

If I could, I would like to go back to college and earn another degree, or two. Maybe I could. I wonder if I will survive the long homework nights as well as I did when I was eighteen. I'll take up Literature, Creative Writing, and Psychology. Then maybe take extra courses on History and Language Studies. All those reading to be done! Perfect excuse to stay curled up with books, paper, and pen for whole days.

a post on books (with other bits on the side)

Early birthday gifts to myself which I hope to add to before my birthday month ends. Of course it's just another excuse to buy books. I got these on the first day of February. Already finished reading two of them, and re-reading one (Campbell). The Campbell book was also a gift from the Universe because it sharpened my focus in life and in my daily goals. I was actually on the way out when it caught my eye as if it was hollering out at me and waving a flaming torch. And when I held it in my hand I felt that old familiar shiver when a Thing Falls Into Place.

I got Alice's Adventures in Wonderland because... I have never read it in full. Or maybe I have but I can no longer remember.

Sixty-One Nails is an adult urban fantasy that is being compared to Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere. By adult I mean that the main character is an adult (a divorced man, actually) instead of a teenager who has all the convenience of only going to school and not worrying about paying the bills and getting food on the table - thereby having all the luxury of time to go off on adventures and fall in love for the first time and discover one's identity. I think there should be more fantasy/other-world stories with adult characters, like the adult versions of the likes of Clockwork Angel, Hunger Games, and Divergent (I love all of these series.) Neil Gaiman does adult fantasies so well, there should be more. Or maybe I just haven't come across them so let me know if you can recommend anything. More urban fantasy type, because there is also enough of the likes of Game Of Thrones and Wheel Of Time (Yes, I'm reading them too).

The novel I'm writing (which I started during last year's NaNoWriMo) has adult characters, set in a land where magic is part of nature, and with the substantial focus on relationships like young adult fantasies but with the complexity of adult concerns and realities, and then situated in the bigger context of saving the world, or a world (aren't they all?) I read somewhere that you must write the book you want to read, so I guess I'm on the right track. I want to discover more of those kinds of books.  Sarah Addison Allen's books are pretty good -- I have read all of them and they often make me cry because they chip away at my jadedness and cynicism. Others that are along similar story-lines tend to be too chick-lit, the crafting itself lacks the pull and impact that Allen is able to put in her stories.

There, I think I have rambled on enough about books. It's just that I caught myself fantasizing this morning over my coffee, that I would love to spend the morning of my birthday browsing for hours in the bookstore, and then coming out with bagfuls of purchase, and then having a late lunch with coffee and dessert with Someone who would probably need to sneak out of the office to do so. Then I would go home and sort through my purchases and maybe paint a little, while I wait for Someone to finish work and then we would have dinner. It could even be home delivery, or I could even cook as my own token for the occasion (it's my birthday AND Valentine's Day, so there) so we could go barefoot and stretch our legs and then just step out again for coffee at McNeighbor.

Yes, that would be just perfect.

The Gifts of 2012

This old year coming to an end has fulfilled its purpose in my life. Today, on its last day, I want to write something for many reasons -- to end this year with awareness instead of just letting it slip by, to have a post to read on the same day next year, to set my mind and my heart for the new year, and most especially to be grateful for the gifts that this year has given me.

I had thought 2011 to be like a dark tunnel as it led to the Rebirth promised by 2012. Little did I realize that the Rebirth was to be accompanied by intense labor pains that came in overwhelming waves. But with every push there was an aspect of myself that breathed into life.

I wrote a novel. That perhaps is the biggest gift I am grateful for. My rebirth as a writer. I won the NaNoWriMo challenge at the first try and have unlocked the rusted gates of my storytelling.

In addition, I have also written more profusely than ever since I lost my muses sometime way back in the early 2000.

I painted and made art more than I have ever painted and made art in that past sixteen years. I have also invested in a watercolor painting and a photography workshop to help with my creativity.

I have finally regained my reading pace (which I also lost sometime in the early 2000) and met my target of finishing 24 books this year. I have even exceeded it and am close to doubling the number.

I have authenticated the relationships in my life ---letting go of those that harm me and those that inhibit my growth. I have made my peace with those worth keeping, and I have begun to be more nurturing of those I wish to keep and evolve. I have also reached out and forged new ones so that I may deepen and expand my own web of kindred spirits. I made choices and I made decisions on whom I want to share my life with.

I have fallen in love, then out, then in again, (all with the same person) which has certainly messed up my heart's landscape like a hurricane. But in the process I learned new lessons that I never managed to learn in my past heart stories. I am officially retired from leaping "bravely" and blindly into voids without nets, because one of the most important lesson I learned is that when it is truly meant to be, I will not be leaping alone (and Gandalf's friendly eagles will be swooping down in perfect timing to catch us). This year ends with me in love and not totally immune to imagining movie-like last-minute declarations of mutual affection.

I have gained clarity on my career and how it must complement my creative life. And making it work is probably the biggest challenge I will face in the coming year. The rebirth it brought me took me back to square one, on a different playing field, but square one nonetheless. I pray for fortitude, and bucketfuls of optimism.

I have achieved a calmness of spirit that I never could before. I will dare and say that I am even finally learning to be truly patient, and sometimes I can't help but think that the moment I grasp this one single lesson of being patient then everything else will fall into place, because all this time it has only been my stubbornness that has been keeping everything on hold. Who knows. I let go and let the Universe weave its magic and I will not utter a single question of "Is it here yet?"

Have I mentioned that I have fallen in love? Oh yes, I have. More than everything else this is the matter that dangles in front of my eyes as the year draws to a close, like a teasing mistletoe hanging in a roomful of couples where I am the only one without a partner, and the clock will soon strike twelve.

I end this post with a poem, in honor of the rebirth of my writer self, in honor of the creative spirit that dwells in me, and in honor of the love that inspired it, written for him who told me something about how love is like a dance between two people. Maybe one day I will know what it exactly means.

Happy New Year Everyone!

around the mango tree

I had lunch with a very dear friend today. He also used to be my boss and is a believer in the kind of research work that I do (i.e. my dayjob). At the same time he is a staunch supporter of everything else in my life. But most importantly he has become the best kind of friend anyone can ever hope to have in a lifetime.

We agreed to meet up at a bookstore by noon. He came from a meeting so he was a few minutes late, which meant that I ended up discovering and finding books. There was this blank moment and then I am suddenly in possession of three new books that I could barely afford (although they were priced quite low for a regular book).

My friend and I had lunch at a Thai restaurant called The Mango Tree. We had pomelo salad with prawns for starters, then grilled steak with thai sauce and seafood with hot basil. We were so engrossed with catching up that I totally forgot about taking a snapshot of the food. But here's a snapshot of the ever delicious Illy coffee.

I always believe that people and events come upon us when we are ready to receive the message. Something along the line of the saying that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. For today, my friend has been the strong gust of wind that blew on my sails and helped me move forward with an optimistic heart. He shared a number of inspiring stories, particularly how the tide turned just when he thought it never would. I like that image of the tide turning, of last-minute plot twists, even a deux ex machina, a divine intervention, an explosion of magic.

Today my well of hope has been refreshed. Even when many things are still up in the air and seem to be evading resolution.

I have started re-writing my novel after letting it rest for a couple of weeks. And again I am experiencing that joy and calm that lifted me up before amidst the uncertainties and trials. Anger, despair, and fears are channeled into this creative endeavor. When nothing much is happening in real life, it helps to make things happen on the page.

On the way home I finally made myself purchase a large old dictionary with yellowing pages for a creative project that I have been wanting to do for months. I was postponing it because I thought it cost too much given my budget constraints. When I checked again today, however, the shop was on sale and the price was a third of what I thought it was.

I walked home from the mall (where the secondhand book shop was), my arms aching with the weight of the dictionary. But I treated it like a little exercise and did not mind the burning pain in my muscles as I dodged traffic and marched steadily through the varying slopes of the sidewalk.

I am now back on my writing desk, CSI: New York playing in the background, and chores lined up for the evening. It has been a good day.

a particular fantasy

This is the side that faces visitors to my home. On the other side there are more shelves filled with books. On the other side is my sleeping corner. The postcards on display are from the Griffin and Sabine postcard collection that I bought way back in the 1990s. It's a pity to keep them hidden in a box so I put them up. They also inspire me in my art-making.

For almost two weeks now I have been beset by one particular fantasy. If you have been reading this blog for a while you will know that I have been on a very strict budget because of my adamant pursuit of happiness and satisfaction in my work. Unfortunately such kind of work does not always come hand-in-hand with a satisfactory amount of money. Maybe it will, at some point, but right now they do not share the same sphere in my life. Hence, I cannot indulge in my usual book-shopping.

I have re-learned to live without a lot of things since I simplified my lifestyle to afford my journey of true paths. I have whittled down my wants and needs to the essentials, and one of those is books.

I could easily find torrents of e-books online but I find that nothing fulfills me as much as a bound volume of paper in my hands, with the scent of ink lingering on my fingertips.

For the past two weeks, especially since I finished writing my novel and while I am currently editing it, my hunger for books to read has been sharper than ever. It is like the writing had consumed so much "word energy" that I desperately need to replenish it. I crave for more stories, I yearn to meet more heroines and the men who torment their hearts, I long for the fairy tale endings that are such a comfort after hundreds of pages of almost losing hope that things will turn out well.

I have this particular fantasy of dressing up. I would be wearing a favorite long skirt, a perfectly complementing top, a pair of comfortable shoes that add twist to the whole ensemble. My hair would be behaving perfectly, cascading in soft waves down my back. I would be wearing my favorite spider turquoise bracelets layered with my pair of bracelets from India (for luck). Maybe my butterfly earrings. Or the tea and cupcake pair. My bag slung over my shoulder carrying my simple survival kit that includes a journal notebook and an inked fountain pen.

I enter the bookstore, slowing down at the entrance enough to take a deep breath like what I usually do when I enter libraries. My eyes scan the New Arrivals, the Special Discounts, the Bestsellers. But I know what I want. I weave through the many shelves to find the sections where countless joys await me. The classics, poetry, fantasy, contemporary fiction, literary fiction. I am drawn to stories with magic. Once in a while I would venture into food and travel. But I linger longest in fantasy, crashing through age lines, picking from children's as well as from young adults's. But how I wish for adult fantasy that retains the sweetness and wonder and magic of the young adults's. (Maybe that is why I am attempting to write one now.)

I run my fingers across the clean straight spines. I delight in feeling the embossed letters and images beneath my fingertips, like tracing a tattoo on someone's skin. I like the books with unevenly cut pages. I risk paper cuts on my own skin by sliding my thumb down the rough thick press of pages.

I pull a book out and open it randomly. I caress the paper, then slowly bring it up to my face so I could steal a breath of ink and pulp. My eyes play on the fonts. I like fonts that are well-spaced, not too cramped, and not too default. I like books that have been printed with care and consideration. Good paper, just the right thickness and weight and with that charming aged tinge. There are types of paper that you just know will age so beautifully. I check the solidity of the spine. Few things are more disappointing than a new book that falls apart, especially in your hands, while you're still reading it. It should be able to stand the abuse of being rolled over in bed, stuffed beneath the pillows, or slept over for hours in awkward positions.

I have a growing pile of chosen volumes beside me, as I sit on the floor, between rows and rows of books waiting for consideration. My long skirt is like a sacred circle marking my space in front of a shelf. Other people walk around me, dare not to disturb me.

I have lost track of time. Time is of no consequence. I am immersed in silent conversations, weighing promises and judging covers. My heart beats fast. It is in a constant state of agitation, of anticipation, of expectation. My fingertips are cold. They tremble with excitement at the thought of plunging into all those worlds. Of repeating the same journeys but always living through each one as if it were the first time. Of meeting every possible version of the same man who will break my heart just as he would break the heroine's heart. Of suspending my belief long enough to take me through the breathtaking climax of a happily ever after.

I expel a deep sigh that carried within its weight the litany of prayers that continue to prove my faith in fairy tales. I take my pile of books, my pile of dreams, to the counter. I become thousands of pesos poorer, possibly sacrificing the week's groceries and I would have to survive on crackers and jam on some days. But in exchange I gain days of sanity and hope as I balance along the edge of a long leap into the void.

One day, fueled and inspired by all those stories, I will finish editing my novel. I say by early next year. One day, I will be brave enough again to make one story that I will do instead of reading or writing it.

the worst of times, the best of times

from http://fivejs.com/for-book-lovers-everywhere/

This has come true for me in its literal sense. I am job-hunting now and have been living on a very strict budget. The job-hunting seems to be going as well as my lovelife - which means there have been many possibilities but they have so far left me hanging or waiting indefinitely. I crafted a visually engaging CV which is both honest and brave. It has stuff in it that are not necessarily meant to impress but instead meant to express. It has a bit more heart, a bit more spirit, which were my intentions.

Today I went to the supermarket to buy food and cat litter. The cat litter could not be compromised but the food could. So I halved my food budget (less meat, more plants) so I could buy these two books.

I have wanted to read Anna Quindlen since I read a sample of her book Lots Of Candle Plenty Of Cake on Kindle. The Solitaire Mystery is a book I have read years ago and would like to read again. I never had a copy of this because my sister just lent me hers to read. I believe it's time I got my own, and it even has the printed autograph of the author.

I have this dream of getting a well-paid job in a publishing house or a book shop or a library.

When I was fresh out of college, after my mandatory stint as a teacher in my high school alma mater (a condition of my scholarship that mysteriously surfaced when I was already halfway though university), I sent out applications to many companies, one of which was a publishing house. That publishing house was the first to call me for an interview. So I went and they interviewed me, and made me take an editing test. They seemed to be very pleased with the results because the very next day they were offering me a job. Except that on that same day I also got a call from a well-known advertising agency requesting for an interview. I was young and naive. I declined the publishing house and went for the advertising agency (associated with fame, glamour, and ridiculously high salaries), which led me to a very successful career that I had to leave fourteen years later because I was longing for something like what I would probably have become if I had chosen the publishing house.

"It's odd when I think of the arc of my life, from child to young woman to aging adult. First I was who I was. Then I didn't know who I was. Then I invented someone and became her. Then I began to like what I'd invented. And finally I was what I was again."    -Anna Quindlen, Lots Of Candles, Plenty Of Cake