So today I emerge from my kindle, having spent the most of last the month stuck reading about Pendergast. 8 books. I was brought along his advertures, striding through mysterious hallways of the New York Museum, swimming in deep sewers of Central Park, to cornfields in Kansas and to Italy learning about Violins and what-nots. It was a grand adventure. I'm quite certain you would have enjoyed reading it yourself, had you been given the opportunity and time to read too.

But I stop. I must stop. I've spent too long sitting and only reading. Someone said I am addicted. Maybe I am. Truth is I am contemplating whether to read the remaining books 2 in the series I haven't yet read in the last month, but have read at some point inn the past year. The outcome of my contemplations would soon be obvious tomorrow morning as I board the train.

Here's my rating. The first book, Relic, I give it an 6 out of ten. Reliquary, I give a 9. The Cabinet of Curiosities, I give a 9. Still Life and Crows, 9. Brimstone, 9.5. Dance of Death, 9. The Book of the Dead, 8. The Wheel of Darkness, 7. Fever Dream, 10. Cold Vengeance, 11 out of ten.

The last book would come out December 2012. I can't wait!

At least in books, I could neither disappoint the characters nor could they disappoint me.

When I was a kid, I always smelled of two things: the dried sweat you get after countless hours of playing under the Manila sun and, two, dried dog saliva.

The sweat was mine. The saliva wasn't. It belonged to a German Shepherd named Carla. Unlike most German Shepherd's, Carla's fur did not have black spots. Her fur was a marbled cream with hazel colored veins in various degrees of saturation. When the sun was right, and you were looking from the correct angle, her fur gave the impression that she was made of sweetest of caramel icecreams. Her stature was majestic and together with her unusually bright fur, she was quite angelic. The cats in our neighborhood might not agree, but this is my blog and what I say goes.

My sister, Dinty, loved Carla, and Carla loved her back. They were inseparable. They would run around the house playing games of their own invention. A few times my sister would go inside the house and lay near the slit under the door where Carla could still sniff her presence from the outside. My sister would then leave her shirt there and go out through our backdoor. She'll creep behind Carla. Carla would be crying and scratching the door and the floor to get to my sister, not knowing my sister is right behind her.

Then my sister would whisper “Carla.”

Carla would turn her head, astonished, ears pricked like towers, eyes the size of baseballs. Then she'd tilt her head in confusion. At this point, it is difficult to tell whether she is human inside or not.

Their time together was filled with such moments. The dog acting human and the human acting... or rather when the distinction between the two is erased.

If only beautiful things could stay the way they are. Sadly my family went through tough times. We were so poor we only had enough food for the family. We had no table scraps--let alone dog food--for Carla. There was nothing for her to eat. Carla became weak. We couldn't feed her; couldn't bring her to the vet for help. She began to thin fast and horribly. And before we knew it she could only lie in the shaded corners of our garage, watching the games my siblings and I played, games she used to participate in. She was so emaciated, she hadn't had the strength left to support her own frame.

One evening, we were watching TV. The sun had set for the day. Our helper called out, "patay na si Carla." Carla was dead.

We refused to believe it. I couldn't believe. Carla was always there, has always been there. And I was too young to understand the meaning of losing someone.

We went out to garage and there we saw her, the dog we loved dearly, in the middle the floor, lifeless. Her tongue was stuck out touching the pavement. I went directly to her head and gingerly tried to push the tongue back in. It was dry. And it refused to stay in her mouth.

I did not like seeing her like that. I knew we were poor but my parents succeeded in shielding me and my siblings from the horried truth of our poverty until the time. Carla's tummy was a placid flap of skin. I couldn't stand it. Tears welled in my eyes and a scream broke out.

I saw our helper was laughing at me and my siblings for being affected. I became furious. I pushed her off from where Carla lay. I felt she did not even deserve to be near our dog. She did not love her.

When it sank in, that Carla was truely gone and no amount of consoling could bring her back, we just cried. My siblings and I cried the entire night. I don't remember how the news reached my sister, Dinty. But I remember her staying in her room the entire weekend, barely eating, barely reacting to anything.

And that was lesson 1 for me in the subject of loss. I am 29 years old now and each lesson on loss feels like it's a first.

I find it hard to believe that this world is the same world I was born in. There is so much cruelty on one side and so much apathy in the other.

One would want to say, "where are the heroes?" or "I wish Superman were real", but they keep their sentiments to themselves. They are afraid--not of disappointment--but of being ridiculed.

I'll tell you one thing though, in this time and age, amidst all the cruelty where we are all both victims and offenders alike, to remain human is already super. So if you feel the shame to admit you are a member of the human race, brighten up! That means you are not completely apathetic. And there is still hope.

Thought I'd share about this beautiful video by Matthew Brown. These are my thoughts and sentiments inspired from the clip.

It's been a dream of mine to live on a hill,
far from any city filled with pretentious citizens.
I want to go back to the earth, plant my own trees.
Walk barefooted on dirt; swim with mudskippers.
I'd like to climb up trees to bask in the 3pm Sunlight.
I want to find leaves in my hair of all colors and sizes.
I want bugs living in my arm pit hair.
I want to lose the array of men's hygienic crap...
...and be one with honesty.

Real civilized men aren't apathetic.

⁴Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

⁸Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. ⁹For we know in part and we prophesy in part, ¹⁰but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. ¹¹When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. ¹²Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

¹³And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

This is the one true definition. Don't be tempted for settling for second best.

Don't you think that there are times when the questions are designed so that it's impossible to have the correct answer?

And that life sometimes follows suit?

There is a time for waiting, there is a time for giving your all. You do not choose when. Just as the flowers do not choose when they are to bloom. And yet who could deny their beauty?

If you could be anywhere in the world, where would you be?

That question needs to be qualified. If you could be anywhere in the world, with anybody you want, sponsored by some rich NGO and you could return to the job you love whenever you want, where would you go, how long would you be there and who would it be with?

I wanna be right next to the paper taj mahal I sent for Chirstmas and right next to the broken espresso handle.

Sometime early December of 2004, I was sleeping on my bed and my Pops woke me up. He told me with a smile on his face, "it's time to say goodbye to your car."

My dad rarely woke me up. When he did, it was because we had an exciting trip to make early in the morning. We didn't have any trips planned for that day. I thought my dad simply wanted me to help him with the car.

My dad would get up early to go to the gym. Instead of using his car which was parked within the house's garage, sometimes, he'd opt to use my car instead.

Chip, the name I gave the car, was a white charade. She was given to us by Daihatsu after we let them have advertisements in our show when I was a kid. After a while, it was given to my brother when he got married. Later, my brother got a new car, it was passed on to my older sister. By the time, it was passed on to me, she was old and graying.

She was my first car. And whether it was because of that or something else, she felt like she was alive to me and some of my friends.

I'd frequently visit this building with indoor parking. But somehow, I always felt uncomfortable parking Chip inside. I would instead park her under this big Acasia tree. And just like any horse, she'd be grazing while she awaited my return.

Friends would always ask me if they could ride with Chip. I'd bring them all home if they could all fit. But Chip was small. She had a 1000cc engine. When we went up ramps, we needed good momentum or we'll stall halfway.

What happened that morning that prompted my Dad to wake me up was something friends find hard to believe if it wasn't for the photos I was able to take.

My Dad did try to go to the gym. On the way, he noticed there was this feint smoke coming out from the Chip's engine. The folks having their breakfast in front of the stores all stood up as they saw Chip. It was like a standing obation except for the look of alarm painted on their faces.

My Dad pulled over. By this time, the feint smoke gave way billows.

Chip, wasn't just a car for me. She was more than that. She was old and rickety. When it rained, somehow water managed to seep in. I saw one inch tall shrubs growing on her carpet once. Still, she'd provide shade from the glaring Manila sun. Chip's back seat was also where I stored all my research findings for my thesis. I spent months gathering the piles of paper that eventually became the second layer of seat cover my friends sat on when they'd hitch a ride. If I lose my research, I would have to spend another year in college.

One week before the morning my Dad woke me up, I had this unsatiable desire to organize my life. It was really short-lived. I passed by National Bookstore Katipunan and bought a green box. My neat-freakiness quickly dissipated once I stuffed all my papers into the box.

When my Dad realized Chip was really about to go, he looked behind for things that need to be salvaged and saw my green box. He brought it home safely and I finished my thesis that same year.

I was groggy that morning. I didn't even brush my teeth. I didn't think you need clean teeth when you only need to push a car back home. I intended to go back to sleep and savor more of the Saturday morning. But as we were driving I saw a pillar of smoke coming from behind houses. It was a block away. I looked at my Dad and his smile was true. When we turned a corner, I saw small firetruck giving Chip what I later learned was to be Chip's last bath.

I was shocked. But my Dad's smile calmed me.

Chip was a sight to behold. There was a gathering crowd. All with fearful faces. Joey, our mechanic arrived with a hangover and a bucket of water on each hand. My Dad had to stop him. My Dad said "it's okay. It's time to say goodbye." The neighbors were amused. Joey started crying. I asked him what was wrong and he reminded me of the countless hours he spent on Chip. We gave the parts they recovered from Chip to Joey. It was a small token to show how much we valued the services he rendered Chip. But I kept the plate number (and eventually left it somewhere I can't remember LOL).

It took my Dad less than ten minutes to get a tricycle ride back to the house, wake me up, and drive back to the scene. And yet, by the time I saw Chip, her steering wheel was reduced to a 5 millimeter thick wire. There were only springs left, where there used to be car seats. The dashboard and the rest of the uphostery including the carpet that once served as the nursery bed for that tiny shrub I found one morning, all reduced to soot.

Later I decided to post about Chip. I wrote my first blog entry as a Tribute to Chip. I lost the original article. This post was a sad attempt to remember Chip. I'm not even sure about the dates. But all my friends were affected by what happened. And they all paid tribute to Chip in their own ways, mostly with a comment or two. That was Chip, Remembered.

I read a lot. Books are my preferred company when on the train. I would consider my taste for books, a trust-worthy measure, despite my unavoidable developed eccentricity toward certain kinds of books above others.

I do love reading. Reading for me is a passion I developed late in life and yet, to say it left me unchanged is an understatement. Reading has rocked my world. When I was first swept away by Duma and Hugo, I did not know that I would never be able to uncomplicate my far complicated life.

I've read gems, nuggets, treasures and garbage. I've also read books that taste like nothing but what it literally is: paper. Some books on the other hand are glamourous gastronomic pleasures that make you tear for thousand times more. Reading opened a sixth sense that could never be satiated. Occassionally, there'll be a book that would come close to that. Michael Gates Gill's book "How Starbucks Saved My Life" is a book that comes close. It was so easy to read. My biggest complaint against the book was that it finished so fast.

"How Starbucks Saved My Life" was such a touch of reality and a joy to read that I had to write a little something about it:

Thank you, Michael Gates Gill for sharing your story!