AT 54, I still do barangay discos.
The village fundraiser dances we called baile in the past century.
I still hangout with teenagers.
Imagine me drinking Emperador Light!
Imagine me at the opening of the food park in Dumangas.
***
But I’m decidedly old soul.
I still read.
One of my new year’s resolutions was to read at least one book every month.
I’m on my fifth or sixth book now.
I’ve read three Asimovs since the beginning of the year.
I started with “Foundation”.
Followed it up with the prequel “Prelude to the Foundation” because I couldn’t find a copy of the immediate sequel “Foundation and Empire”.
I’ve read some poetry, and some young adult novel.
***
This week, I started “The Hours”.
I have read this Michael Cunningham novel years before.
And I found a secondhand copy for £1 in England.
I might have also read it while on the trains of Europe.
But reading while also mindful of the train stops and strange scenery in foreign countries is so different from reading with just coffee and the usual, ordinary buzz of life in a small town.
***
Some books, you can read fast because they are so plot driven.
So as not to be illiterate about them, I also read them like the works of Harlan Coben.
Some books are a little more difficult because, like Asimov, the mind has to imagine the world created in their sci-fi and fantasy.
The Hours can be an easy read, like you can read it on a 17-hour train ride between Warsaw and Bucharest, with so many country stops in between.
Or, you can read it slow, savoring each delicate phrase, each masterful sentence by Cunningham.
For all the lives of the three women in the book, I’m surprised that the novel is just a little over 200 pages!
***
Of course, you can watch The Hours (Nicole Kidman, best actress for the role of Virginia Woolf; Meryl Streep; and Julianne Moore) the movie.
Directed by Stephen Daldry, from the screenplay by David Hare.
I think I’ve seen this movie twice.
And still, I want to watch it again. Now!
***
I cry at the movies.
I go back to the same novels.
To the same sentences, same passages in the novel.
I reread them and cry.
Because they are beautiful.
Because they say the truths all so beautifully.
***
I read masterful works of literature to be inspired.
If I’m blown away by something, I try my hardest to write something that approaches it.
And sometimes, I achieve my goal.
Sometimes, I surpass my goal and create greatness myself.
***
In September to December, I used to take long walks to the farm.
There was my treehouse construction.
Life is not perfect.
I thought that I could start living on the farm, in my treehouse in January at the latest.
But the rains and storms of November and December made sure it didn’t happen.
In January, too, we hardly had sunny days, if at all.
If my diary is to be trusted, we only had a sunny day in Dumangas on January 31.
***
And then, there were nights in the city.
There was Dinagyang, and all the ramifications of a world famous festival.
There were friends visiting from all over.
Many wanted to see the treehouse, but only a few were blessed with a non-rainy day to do it.
***
There were good intentions, like from my high school classmates batch ‘86.
We have all planned to go to La Choza, the fancier name of the treehouse at Hacienda Dom Pedro.
We decided it was going to be a picnic.
We bring our own coffee in thermos or flasks.
We would grill fish and slabs of pork, cook rice on the spot.
It never happened.
***
Because there are now restos and bistros to go to in my hometown.
Why work so hard if you can just pay the bill?
And by God, we are not poor anymore.
So that’s the story.
My picnic idea is old soul idea.
Old soul, old school, old fashioned. Romantic.
And hardly anybody would choose romantic over practical these days.
***
Living in a treehouse is romantic.
Not really practical.
But I’ll still do it. Just not right now./PN
