Memoirs of a Bookworm Part 2

Being Belisa...

If I were to live a life out of a character from a book…I would be Belisa Crepusculario. I would make a living out of words and spinning stories. I would wander from one place to another, trudging the edge of the earth until I find a worthy place, and like her I would set up a tent, with no advertisement or promotion of whatsoever, only wits, a formidable spirit and a gift to make optimum and artistic use of words.

My patrons shall arrive in droves and patiently wait for me to attend to their requirements. I would write love letters for my love struck patients and weave believable stories to take away the sorrows of distraught families caught in war and cases of hopelessness. I would also look forward to writing high and mighty speeches fit for the top official of the land. Like Belisa whose prominent name and talent travels as fast as the wind, my words shall be sought after by both noble and peasant, honest and crook, sick and healthy etc.

Going back to reality, I cannot imagine myself traveling from one place to another like a nomad peddling my wares to strangers. Well maybe in a lifetime I shall have a share of solid clients composed of family and friends. In this age where internet technology spells the big difference in the way people communicate, I feel that Belisa Crepusculario may not be able to compete and will be forced to close shop.

Currently almost everybody exchanges information in a speed of lightning through the internet. We sent letters both personal and professional through email. We are provided with a luxury to share a bit of ourselves, both real and imagined, through blogs, public emails and forums. The postal service is nearly becoming obsolete as majority are getting in the loop and are convinced that the internet is indeed the best and fastest way to get the message across. Now traffic is not only a condition in our roads, it has also become a phenomenon in cyberspace.

Some people say that we have come far in developing our means of communication but we have left out a major component which is the interpersonal. We no longer have the patience to wait for our mails to arrive nor take time to scribble our sentiments on paper. Given the above scenario, I would still want to be like Belisa Crepusculario and writing is just one way of becoming her. Heck! I just want to write so give me a break.

Memoirs of a Bookworm Part 1

The first one was a brief read, yet it left me hanging on the air. At 10 years old, I wrestled over the analogy presented through the isolation and redemption of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. My father lend this book to me, the very day I took courage to finally ask him that I wanted to read the green book with Greek Doric column designs on the cover entitled “ Ideologue & Utopia.” Exerting an effort not to douse my curiosity and hurt my feelings, he gave me a blue book with a seagull printed on its cover instead. Not to be deterred, I further inquired why I was given the blue book when I wanted the green one with Greek designs on it. He just muttered something less than audible like…”You’ll appreciate why I gave you the blue one someday.”

As I leafed through the pages of the blue book, I realized that it was not a lesser alternative, the first page bore my father’s scribbling, a dedication line for my mother. I felt honored to be the first one among their children to read something that has played a part in their courtship period. For me, the book has transformed into a sacred document and so is the powerful story about a seagull’s life that has settled in my being.

During that period, my reading fare was quite limited to Youth magazine and children’s books from the school library. The Youth was a free subscription availed by Papa for me which I got through mail every month from the US staring 1985 to 1990. By my 1st year in high-school, the free subscription to this very informative magazine ended. I also got a book from its sister-subscription, which targeted a more mature audience, entitled “I am the Devil’s Egg.” It may sound daunting from the title alone but this book contributed a lot to my reading addiction. Its content included the author’s struggle over alcohol and drug abuse but it was the first readable book that I was able to digest in such a young age since the writing style was firm, straight and conversational.

However I do not have the absolute access to all the books in my parent’s house. I dare not touch my mother’s collection of Harold Robbins nor my father’s philosophical and ideological books. Being raised in a traditional household, my parents always practiced quality control on our reading materials. I got an hour of scolding from my mother when she caught me with a stack of english love story paperbacks compliments of our neighbor. Much as I want to discredit these books, I could not, for you need to be exposed to various types of reading to earn that distinct skill and taste that performs reasonable discrimination of a good read and a bad read. Of course with my young aggressive reasoning I lose that argument to my adamant mother.

My father is a great influence in my life when it comes to my love for reading. He bought me a Caroll Lewis book (Alice Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass) at 5th grade. He also granted me access to his parapsychology books that included “The Third Eye” and “Behind the Iron Curtain.” My dose of parapsychology was beginning to take shape as I kept a pyramid in my room to make pyramid water and to observe the growth of plants placed inside it.

After my paranormal phase, I diverted my energies into something more sophisticated. My father introduced me to Ayn Rand in high-school. I was swept by her writing and philosophical system called objectivism. I was so into her that I wanted to be an architect like Howard Roark, the protagonist with an enduring individualism in her novel, “The Fountainhead.”
A significant book that I would credit my mother for would be “Flowers for Algernon” which I read and re-read in 6th grade. I guess in every re-reading that I made I only wanted to change the fate of Charlie and whenever it comes to the same ending, I only have tears and swelling eyes to offer. I found solace in this book when I got struck with a nerve disease in 1991 that forced me out of high school for a year. I felt like I have become Charlie. This episode in my life where everything seem to have stopped brought me closer to reading and so I became like all the women in the stories of Isabel Allende. These courageous women who fought for their love of country and self and others became my inspiration. This was also the year I met Khalil Gibran, the greatest poet that this world has ever produced.


Every now and then, I buy a book for my children in an attempt to foster their love for books. I wish my children to have this gift. When they are done with their purple dinosaur and talking trains, I would love to introduce them to Mark Twain, JK Rowling and CS Lewis for starters. I want them to appreciate the intricate art of weaving words and nothing more.

Acknowledgements for Photo Sources:

AvonBooks Publisher of Jonathan Livingston Seagull

HarcourtPublisher of Flowers for Algernon

Kidzworld.com for Alice in Wonderland