Reading Adventures

I practically grew up in a library—the Libacao Elementary School Library—a wonderful kingdom where I lorded it over like a potentate, with authors and their characters in attendance at my court, offering a panoramic vista of people and cultures, adventures and misadventures, lessons and all sorts of vicarious experiences.

Tons of interesting books offered magic carpet rides to distant lands.  I wined and dined with royalty, worked side by side with deckhands and flew with the conquerors of the skies.  I was in Shangri-la one day, in Olympus the next.  I have gone on expeditions to the Sahara, and safaris in the heart of Africa.  I have conquered Mount Everest, gone scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef.  I have walked the entire length of the Great Wall of China, and pedaled my way across Eastern Europe.  I have taken the Shinkansen from one end to the other and boarded the Concorde from London to New York and traveled in style at twice the speed of sound.

Like a true-blue vagabond, I never knew where my being footloose and fancy free would lead me.

While I lived in a two-season country, my climatic experience was not delimited to the wet and dry seasons, for I have had a foretaste of the four seasons as I traveled the four strong winds without leaving home.  I have found myself in a blanket of snow and have seen for myself the glory of springtime.

My childhood best friends were authors who taught me countless things that helped develop my personality and hone my talents—especially that of paying attention to details.

Much to the librarian’s chagrin (my Mom, actually), my favorite reading spot was a corner by the window where I lay on the floor, reading between classes until it was time to go home.

I do not know why, but whenever I was reading something that really picked my brain, I always did so sprawled on the floor.  Today, I often read in bed, which is not very good for the eyes.

My interest in books was awakened by my sister Louella who loved books. At first I hated it when she would sit in our azotea on the second floor of our house on Rizal Street in Libacao, just reading. That would mean I would have to play by myself because we were not allowed out after the oracion. One other weird thing about my sister was that she would come home from school with all her assignments already done. Eloquent as she was, I guess she never really understood what “home work” meant. Nyahaha!

I would sit by her and she would read aloud. With a limited vocabulary, I would ask her what those “strange words” meant and she would try to explain as best she could. Eventually, she had to shush me up by giving me books I could handle on my own, valued hand-me-downs that literally opened doors for me. While I was open to a variety of topics, she simply went for what tickled her fancy.  She got into romance books quite early, and not being prepared for that, I gratefully inherited her junk.

We were almost always at the azotea, undisturbed. We would even beg, cajole and argue with Tatay who, with regularity, turn off the generator (Libacao had no electricity back then) at ten o’ clock in the evening.

We were never allowed to bring home books and other reference materials that other people could not bring home.  No library book was ever found in our house.  We were never accorded special treatment.  This included rare tomes which I invariably read over lunch.

We would travel to Manila twice a year, or at least once, during summer. Our parents would take us to bookstores and allow us free reign on our book allowance. We were in heaven.

To this day, I can willingly forego having lunch or dinner for as long as I have a good book.  Between lengua estofado and a really good paperback, or a steak dinner and a hardbound classic, reading invariably, albeit predictably wins.

Oh, and I was never into comics.  Even American comics featuring Tarzan and Superman, Popeye and Dennis the Menace.  I have always preferred reading materials that painted pictures with words.

Indeed, reading opened my eyes and made me interested in vocabulary and the images words convey, giving me an insight into their deeper meaning, and making me realize their power of suggestion.

It was thus that I learned to paint with words.

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