The Philippine Online Chronicles

I owe my little grasp of the English language to my hobby of reading. I would like to believe that I was a wide reader when I was younger, when all that busied me were tagu-taguan and the afternoon cartoon show Princess Sarah. They say that I took after my dad who was himself a wide reader.

In our very little house in Makati, my dad had piles of books and the names Robert Ludlum and Clive Cussler is a staple in his collection. He also owns a collection of children’s classics which he asked us (my siblings and I) to read because as he said, everybody knows these stories. But the titles Arabian Knights or Tom Sawyer never quite got my interest so I never read them.

My interest in reading started when young-adult fiction books became a trend in grade school. Every girl, during break, was quietly reading Nancy Drew or Sweet Valley books. The boys, though very few of them, read Hardy Boys. Sweet Valley Twins was greatly in trend back then. It is a series of books, stories about identical twins Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield and their friends in their young-adult lives. The story of the Twins is almost exactly our own stories: friends, families, school, fashion, and young romance. Only that the setting is in California. But then, in my elementary school, to be state-side was to be susyal. So every girl in grade school, or at least every one who reads Sweet Valley, wants to be a character in the California-set Sweet Valley universe.

I noticed my father’s silent delight when he saw me holding a book. At last, someone in the family grabbed a book not out of obligation. My older brother had no interest in books whatsoever. When I was addicted to Sweet Valley, he was into skateboarding, guitars, Guns ‘N Roses, vandalizing his closet and big tits. What people did not realize back then was that I inherited nothing from my Dad. What I read was something my Dad would perhaps vomit at. My Dad’s delight was because he did have a clue what I was reading, and all that mattered at that time was that, I WAS reading.

I saved up to purchase my first ever book. One Sunday, I asked my parents if I could buy a book, that I saved up just enough from my baon to buy a book. My mom was proud that at a young age, I endeavored to save up to cover for my wants. My dad was simply proud that I will be getting a book. So after the Sunday mass, we went to Goodwill Bookstore which at that time sells so much cheaper than National Bookstore. Goodwill’s Sweet Valley books were only 40.50 pesos only while National sold them at 54 pesos.

When we entered Goodwill Bookstore, my dad asked which book I wanted to buy. I said, “Sweet Valley Twins.” I had noticed how he made a face. My brother pointed to the far right, to a huge streamer board which says Sweet Valley. I ran so my parents would not have to see which book I was buying, hoping by the time they catch up, the book was already wrapped in plastic by the cashier. I arrived panting looking for the first book of my life but unfortunately, I was very slow and my parents caught up. My dad then asked for the title I was particularly searching. “Elizabeth’s First Kiss,” I replied shyly. “Bakit naman ‘yun ang gusto mong basahin?” He asked annoyed. And I could not think of any good answer that will not shout, “Duh, I’m actually a girl.” So he just said, “’Dun muna ako sa labas.” And he walked away while I hurry to find the book. It was my brother who found the book.  He had a very naughty look in his face and I frowned at him. And so, that’s how I got my first book.  And that somehow gave my Dad the sign that while we both loved to read, we read different things—he might be addicted to spy stories and sci-fi as I was addicted to stories of first kisses.

There is a certain level of respect that readers give to each other. My dad and I had that. I could not appreciate conspiracy stories of armed macho men and I suppose my dad would not have read romance. But silently, we admired each other for having had a common hobby.

My dad would be proud now that I am into books that he probably may read himself. My adoration for the Wakefield twins turned now to the fairies, elves, sorceress, witches, and vampires of fantasy books; to Elizabeth I, Bloody Mary, Anne Boleyn, Katherine of Aragon of history; to the goddesses and heroines of mythologies—all nice read, I think, for women like me who loves the possibility of fiction to happen in their lives— though my dad would perhaps read this in a totally different perspective.