FOR ALL THE GIRLS WITHIN US

chapters and pages

On a page torn from a notebook was the trademark cursive handwriting of my mother, allowing words to flow on each line. Holding the promise of my name:

It seems you’re a mixture of both. Sometimes angelic, sometimes a menace. Maybe you can do your own research when you grow up. I may have always love the name, but not as much as I love you. Happy 5th birthday! With love always, Nanay.

It was the oldest letter that I have, my 5-year-old-self wouldn’t have understood the depth of it but now this is one of the closest thing that I hold dearly in my heart. In just a few sentences, Nanay told me what my name meant but more than that – what I mean to her. I guess letters will never lose its charms because they contain stories, the contain the heart of the sender, and they capture that of the receiver. It’s a simple way of saying that you value a person that much to put your thoughts in paper. And if this is the case Isa Garcia must have thought about girls or women in all shapes, status, or stages in life long enough to have written letters bounded by a spine strong enough to hold her hopes, fears, and dreams. With this we know that her book not only contains her words, but also her heart.


Two of my favorite postcards from the set

I was just a few pages through it but I already found myself nodding with agreement with Rica’s foreword; that “I am still that letter and stationery girl at heart. I am still the same person who delights in writing and putting my intimate thoughts in a card.”

It brought into memory the giddy 90’s girl in me who will stack papers of all shapes and scents just so I can swap them or exchange letters with friends. Some of those with the best designs were even kept in clear portfolios because they were too beautiful to be written at. Looking through the postcards included in this book was like relieving those days. That’s why even if OMF Lit already gave us a free copy of the e-book, I insisted that I’ll buy the physical copy. It was partly because of the postcards, and partly because I am no stranger to Isa’s writing.

I have been a reader of her words back when she was still posting on her Everyday, Isa blog. I was quite sad when she wrote her last entry for that platform and said that she would stop blogging (that was years ago, but she’s definitely back now). Her writings did not fail to tug my heart strings. There were moments when it would feel like you are talking to a long-time friend, or a soul sister who knows you well. Some words, phrases, paragraphs even would catch be by surprise because it was the reassurance that I needed at that moment. And her book is no different from that.

It’s the letter I wish my younger self was able to read to know that she is not defined by her flaws or insecurities. It’s what I hope I told my too idealistic teenage self when it comes to love and expectations. It’s the gift of words I wanted to give those who truly need it – both for the good days and the bad. And now it is the reminder that I will keep on repeating to myself for the days that I also need to hear them. It’s for the girl in me who is terrified to jump, who likes to run away from pain, who finds herself alone, and yet reminded of the beauty of solitude and vulnerability. It’s for the girl in me who never stops dreaming of romance, and at the same time the girl who believes that the truth is important. It’s for all the girls that I have been and still am. Found: Letters on Love, Life, and God are words that makes you remember of your true identity, words that shows you that there’s a safe place to be, words that welcomes you and makes you embrace yourself through life’s different seasons.

QUARTER ONE READS

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Reactivating my Goodreads account has pushed me to lower the stack of books that has already gathered dust in the bookshelf. To say that my to-be-read pile is out of control seems like an understatement. The nerd in me would express this in a simple equation that the books I read is indirectly proportional to the books I buy. At the start of the year, I had an agreement with a friend that I would only buy a book every three months (and if I end up breaking this rule I need to buy her one too, so far I only failed once). Ah, the extreme measures that I must do just to control my impulse buying and hoarding tendencies.

The books I pick up to read are based on my “mood”; some sort of gut feel that the story would match my emotions or whatever I’m currently going through in life. Here’s the chosen ones for the first quarter of the year and some of my thoughts about it:


I am the Messenger by Markus Zusak
Rating: ★★★★★

“I don’t move because my cowardice tramples me, even as I try to lift my spirit from its knees. It only keels over. It sways off to the side and hits the earth with a silent, bitten thud. It looks up at the stars. They’re stars that dribble across the sky. Go, I tell myself again, and this time, I walk on.”

I did not to set my expectations high for this book. The Book Thief was the first book of Zusak that I was able to read (and it was a brilliant one), and it became an unspoken role for me not to compare two books that came from the same author. They might be penned by the same man but the characters are still different.

At first, it seems just like a simple story, but as I progress with every page the characters gain more depth than before. The storyline thickened into something that you needed to see its end. Reading this made me realize that Markus Zusak is one great storyteller. He can turn simple stories into something that is more amazing than expected. He stitches simple words but does not fail to make it sound poetic.


Girl in the Mirror by Cecilia Ahern
Rating: ★✰✰✰✰

When I give a 1/5 rating to a book, it simply means that it did not make an impact on me. The type of book that you don’t need to spend money on, just borrow it in the library, can easily give away to friends, sell in second hand books. You get the idea. This book was one of them.


The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight by Jennifer E. Smith

Rating: ★★★✰✰

“It’s like reading a map of the future, and she wonders if there are such telltale signs on everyone, hidden clues to the people they’ll one day become.”

Reading this made me realize that my heart has a soft spot for YA novels that are under chick lit. It still made me feel the giddiness of being young and in love. Back when being an adult hasn’t hit you yet and your life was just this lump of teenage problems mixed with a little bit of bliss. Novels like this serve as a good break after reading a heavy classic.


Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli

Rating: ★★★★✰

“At the same time, we held back. Because she was different. Different. We had no one to compare her to, no one to measure her against. She was unknown territory. Unsafe. We were afraid to get too close.”

I’ve seen this being included in a lot of Top 10 lists from other bookworms, so when I saw it last year in a second hand book sale I did not hesitate to buy it. There’s not much to lose for the price of 25 pesos.

And there’s nothing to regret as well as I’ve come to know why a lot of people have fallen in love with Stargirl. It may be aimed for a younger audience, but my 23-year-old self was still able to connect with the characters. It may be printed with large letters but the words formed out of them speak volumes about identity, love, and connectedness. Stargirl makes you realize that you can choose to be yourself even if the world wants to conform you in another way.


To All the Boys I Loved Before by Jenny Han

Rating: ★✰✰✰✰

With its popularity, I was convinced to read this book. The cover seems promising, and as my friend said to me she bought this copy because the blurb enticed her. Apparently, it was a letdown for the both of us. Can I just say that I’m glad that I wasn’t the one who bought it? Haha! The story was bland, and the plot needed some saving.


The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Rating: ★★★✰✰

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.”

For an art aficionado like me, the first part of the book would be a delight. Wilde continuously ingest how art can be viewed through the art of the artist and how the muse can play a huge part in it. I underlined a lot of words that connected to art, as well as some phrases that came out like line from a poem. It became a struggle for me to finish this because the theme got darker and darker as the novel progressed.

If ever you’ve read this books or maybe interested in reading this (hope I didn’t spoil you) , feel free to share your thoughts on the comments below. 🙂

THE HELP

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Yesterday I was able to finish one of the books in my to-be-read pile (which seems to be getting higher each year), it was shelved for two years before I finally got around to reading it. I remember how long it has been because I bought it right after graduation, courtesy of the toga rental fee that mother allowed me to have. I won’t also forget how I squealed with delight when I saw it in the shelf of Booksale; it has been on my list for months and on that day I finally got to take home The Help.

I have a rule that I should read the book first before watching its film adaptation, but this one was an exception. The movie was so good that I just had to buy and read the book. It’s a proof that a movie and a book can co-exist without one being great than the other (because we always tend to say that the one on paper is much better than the one on screen).

Lately, I’ve decided to not let a good book pass without writing about it. Not much of a review, because people will always have different choices and tastes in literature – so, it’s more of a reflection. No summaries here as well, since Google or Goodreads is at your service for that matter. I’ll dwell more on the impact that the words have inflicted on me, along with the thoughts that got stirred up along the way.

If there’s only one word to describe this novel, it would be liberating. There was a simple writing fuel injected between the lines. It’s as if the author and characters are saying that you get to free yourself when you free your words. When you get to write them. When you get to say them out loud or be solidified on paper. The oppression was strong for the women of this story. And I suddenly became thankful for the gift of speech being given to us today, how women nowadays have the privileged to do the things we want to do instead of just being locked up in stereotypes that the society dictates.

It also made me think, how many are still out there not being able to speak for themselves? How many are still being oppressed and not being treated humanely? Just the thought of it makes me weary. With all the trouble going in different places around the globe, plus the political fiasco happening in my own homeland…it challenged me to be mindful of my words. Our freedom of speech has a deeper value, and I don’t want mine to be just wasted away.

More so, I liked the Too Little, Too Late part where Kathryn Stockett wrote about her own experience with their help. Despite the troubles and the history surrounding her own state it is evident that her heart is in it. That she loves the place in all its glory and dirt. It made me wish that someday I can get to write like this for my beloved Philippines too.

I am left with hope that despite the differences, it’s not too late to bridge the gap between us all. We’re going through the last month of the year now but there’s this feeling that pages are now being turned, and a new chapter is about to begin. May our lives turn out to be for the good.

THE LONGEST RIDE

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The last time I read a Nicholas Sparks novel was during my freshman year in college. The university’s library has always been refuge for me, but when I discovered that it also housed a variety of fiction books it became a little bit of heaven. I borrowed books every week and most of it were Sparks’ novels.

It was a two-week marathon of love stories with heartbreaking tragedies; eventually this plot grew familiar that I can already guess who would die or be involved in an accident. The love scenes got too descriptive for me, so after a month I stopped reading his novels. It turned around last week because of much-needed break from all the deep and serious stuff that I’ve been reading. When a colleague/friend offered me to lend her copy of The Longest Ride, I accepted with the thought that giddy or kilig novels can be a good break.

Surprisingly, I liked it! Let’s skip the summary because I’m not good at it and you can always check it online or in Goodreads. I actually missed writing book reviews so I decided to do this again with novels that captured a part of me.

For The Longest Ride, what caught my heart was the way that Sparks was able to stitch the element of art in it. Everything about art seems to get me nowadays. It made me realize that I don’t know much about the classical artists or even the modern ones. It was surprising to know how much money a painting can cost and collecting art can be laborious task to do. But my heart melted when it was used to depict Ira and Ruth’s relationship. (Quotes from the book will follow. If you don’t want to be spoiled, please skip skip skip the images).

The beauty of conversation was also present between Sophia and Luke. In a world that always feels rushed, the characters in this book moves in a slower way. The focus was more on how they started to trust and be honest with one another. It’s also a plus that the love scenes aren’t descriptive. They made love; that’s it. Let’s-move-on-to-the-next-part kind of narrative. (For a person who’s been avoiding these kind of images in her head, this is important. Decided to skip watching the movie adaptation because we all know that Hollywood can twist stories).

When I finished reading the novel, I asked my colleague if I can just buy it from her. I have this weird attachment to the book that I held and read (and eventually liked), that’s why buying my own was only second option. She agreed to give it to me instead! She. Gave. It. To. Me. Oh the joys of being a bookworm!