What Happens in Vegas...

I thought I was the only one who has issues on stationary bikes.  Richard has, too, but he did something different about it.  What I did was stop using our probably-twenty-year-old bike and started walking.  I stopped but just got back about three for four months ago.

His doctor told him a metaphor about the cholesterol inside our body.  He says that they are like, say, four people working outside the street.  That they also get tired, and that they also need to rest, and that if they won’t rest, they will eventually die one by one.

But anyway, as with anyone else, Richard started biking because his doctor said so, and his cholesterol [workers] said so, too.  But eventually, he got bored and decided to move it somewhere at the basement of the building and did a “forced perspective” painting on the wall.  Boy, did he enjoy that painting.  This reminds me of the virtual golf thingy where you hit the ball and the gadget tells you how fast, how far your ball is.  Now I am thinking if it is really possible to have “virtual biking” where you can actually go places and there’s a gadget that will tell you your mph and the distance you traveled.  I think I’m going to buy one of those if ever there would be.

Richard started to love biking the moment he did that drawing (SK said it can never be called a mural). It made him lose weight, allowed him to do his freelance drawing work, where he eventually made good.    He bikes for two hours in front of  that ‘painting.’ He even has an alarm set which meant that it makes him feel so good that something had to remind him it was time to stop.  How I wish I get the same thing if I get back to biking.   But what I wouldn’t want to get is how he began to feel see, and eventually, what began to happen.  What happened changed his life again, and he doesn’t know how to get it back.

He continued to bike just the same, because he tried to stop, but once he did, he also stopped working and the workers start working, rising his cholesterol level once again.  He knew it had to stop because it’s not doing him any good.  So, he started biking again, and he began working again, and the workers well, he did meet some workers when he tried to map out his bike routes.  Four people who looked like construction workers doing some work at the side of the street.  But Richard doesn’t know whether these people wants something from him or wants to do something to him.

All I know is, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

But what happens inside Richard’s body, our body… well, that’s another story.

I've Had Harvey's Dream

I think it was two days ago – or maybe it wasn’t – that I dreamed about snakes. Yeah, not just one of them, nor two. There were a lot. I don’t know what triggered that dream. It might be the vacant lot in front of our house that is now being filled up with soil. Or maybe it’s something else.

I have had dreams about snakes. One of it was so many years back, but I remember because it was sort of funny, the snake being a colorful cartoon character. The next that I remember was probably a month back and couldn’t come up with at least the scene, if not the story. Then this one. I was walking on a soily road (just like the filling material from the lot across our home) and was about to step on a snake when someone snatched it to keep it from biting me. He told me to take care because there are many snakes. And as I walked along the road, I saw people passed by me carrying snakes that as if they are catching them for some reason. I walked and another snaked I nearly stepped on. Nearly, because someone scooped it, looking as if he was really catching it as a prize for a game. Then, I continued to walk and then woke up. So, do you think the soil triggered the dream?

But whichever it may be, I just hope it’s not like Harvey’s dream. Shit! I really hope it’s not like Harvey’s.

This is, I think, the third of the thirteen stories in this book; the shortest of the three. It was only ten pages, which is really quite a short story. But this is the scariest so far. Or… was it scary just because I had a dream about snakes?

Just After Sunset

She lived in her Toughskins and shell tops, hair scrooped back behind her in a ponytail.  She and her best friend Becka watched old Eastwood and Schwarzenegger movies on TV instead of the Olsen wins, and when they watched Scooby-Doo, they identified with the dog rather than Velma or Daphne.  For two years in grammar school, their lunches were Scooby Snacks.

And they climbed trees, of course.  Emily seemed to remember her and Becka hanging out in the trees in their respective backyards for one whole summer.

Micaela

Micaela is the second wife of Robert Saviano's father. She is a lot younger and comes from Romania. Saviano described her as a Romanian who left her country without knowing what she would be up to. All that she knows is that she is leaving her country; and that just by leaving Romania is fortunate enough. This is true with other Romanians.

In the Philippines, there are also a lot of Micaelas. Micaelas who leave our country, not to mention their families, to seek fortune somewhere else. But, is it fortune enough that they have this chance? A lot of Filipino women also ended up like Micaela, married to a local guy from that country and have kids, too. Is it fortune enough to be married to a local guy of that country? A good many of them left after signing a teaching contract, only to find out that they will end up as nannies and/or domestic helpers, but they do not complain: is it fortune enough that they have a job? A job that pays a little more than what they get in our country?

There are so many of these fortunes that I would rather not talk about. Probably, it is still fortune enough.

I guess sometimes it really pays to read about someone else's fate. Like to read something else about other country's. I don't know if it fortune enough to know that our country is not far from different from Micaela's. But does it really make it any different to know that your country has something in common with another country? Even if it is with regard to these same situations?

Well, I guess it is still fortune enough to know that these people - whether from my country or somewhere else - are fortunate enough to always look into the brighter side of things.

It IS really enough fortune to not lose hope that everything would be better than not doing anything at all.

The Cut, The Visitor and The Kleenex

The cut is essential: caffeine, glucose, mannitol, paracetamol, lidocaine, benzocaine, amphetamines - but in emergencies even talc and calcium for dogs are used.  The cut determines the quality, and a bad cut attracts death, police and arrests.  A bad cut clogs the arteries of commerce.

What I read today is really something that I would not forget.  The thing is, from the wholesalers, 30 kilos of cocaine can become 150 kilos or even 200 depending on the cut.  The cut is very important to drug dealers.  A good cut will bring profit, will make you famous.  A bad cut will, like Saviano said, attract death, police and arrests.

How do you test a cut?

You test the cut with the Visitors.  They are the addicts desperately in search for cheap hits.  The men of the clan organize a meet up with these Visitors and give them hits for a very cheap rate.  On this particular day, the Visitors got suspicious about the cut that everyone started to stay away from the men.

A couple was there waiting.  The man looks desperately in need for a hit.  His girlfriend took the syringe from the men and jabbed it on his neck.  After a while, the man started to sway with his mouth frothing, then jerked and fell to the ground, stiff and closed his eyes.

One of the men called someone and said that he (referring to the man on the ground) looks dead to him.  He then started to do a violent cardiac massage, thrusting his foot on the man's chest.  The girlfriend started shouting, telling the man to stop what he's doing and that he's doing it wrong, told the man to stay away from them or she'll shoot.  The man made another call:  Oh, the Kleenex, he said.  He laid a piece of Kleenex just under her boyfriend's nose.  This is to test if her boyfriend is still breathing.  He started to move, and again on the phone he said, "He's dead."

The man left, and the rest of the Visitors started to follow.  Saviano stayed behind and was surprised with what happened.

The girlfriend moved on top of her boyfriend, put her pants down and peed on his face, making th Kleenex stick on his nose and face.  After a few seconds, the boyfriend started to move, regaining his consciousness.

Is it because of her piss?

This is how they test the quality of the cut.  The bring it to the outskirts of Naples and sell them cheap to the Visitors.  If it is a bad cut and brings someone dead, there would be no investigations because they see it as a case of overdose.  If a bad cut goes out to the market without any testing and it kills someone, it will entail an autopsy and an investigation.

So it's better to it this way.  The Visitors are the guinea pigs.

More Business

The System revolves not just around the textile mafia.  It also maintains a vast empire on drug trafficking where many people are getting rich dealing with drugs.


But there came a point when they saw the opportunity to do business with the Chinese. The high-tech market was tested and when they proved it to be genuine, digital cameras, video cameras and power tools with brands such as Bosch, Hammer, etc., were marketed all over Europe.  The Secondigliano System has actually foreseen this opportunity even before their government did.  I am wondering if this is what started the global demand for cheap digital and video cameras around the world.  Back then when I was in Dubai, I got the chance to go the the Chinese-dominated place they call the International City.  It’s like a big warehouse-like supermarket where you can find almost everything that you need and want, made in China.  Mobile phones are everywhere as well as cheap clothes, mobile accessories, furniture and appliances.


Everything was doing fine and everyone was getting along very well with The System.  Until one of the bosses initiated transformation.


I actually lost track of this transformation that somewhere around after the middle of the story, I began to think of how it was shifted to drugs and all its structure that I had to go back to the first few chapters to find out and refresh myself.


It all pointed back to the suburbs of Secondigliano and Scampia, under the hands of one of the families, the Licciardi family.


La Scimmia – the monkey – was the one who started the metamorphosis.  He transformed the place – Scampia, a place without a shopping center, or even a store, yes, this awful, into a drug sales hub.


One of the strategies they implemented to get this place started was getting almost everybody to be in the business.  They even have a plan suited for pensioners: if you invested your 300 euros worth of pension, you’d double your money’s worth in only a month’s time.  I was really surprised that they were able to even tap this segment of the market.  You might think that this is a little risky since you don’t have anything to hold on to but their word.  But in an economy that has grown sick and tired of trusting banks, this proves to be more of an advantage since, as Saviano said, the profit outweighed the risk.

System

Around here, there is The System. But as Saviano said, it is a mechanism rather than a structure. It is how the clan operates the criminal economy. The economy that they started to dominate. Operating at the outskirts North of Naples, almost nothing is impossible there.

In this place, you can find what they call true fakes. If you are looking for a brand and quality for a cheap price, you can get what you are looking for right here. The only thing missing is what they call the authority of the motherhouse. But who cares? Does anyone ever asks you when you’re walking in the streets if that Gucci you’re wearing has the official authority of the owner?

Around here, true fake is one word short of the original. Where it came from, nobody knows. Or should I say somebody knows but chooses not to talk about it, to just keep quiet at all.

Pasquale

Saviano became friends with one of the common people. His name is Pasquale and he is connected with the textile industry, or textile mafia, if you like to put it that way. I would not go into details as to how the textile mafia works around here, but I am telling you, you would be surprised if you read and find out. One of the things I found out is how it was possible that there were so many surplus production of signature brands in the market that looks as good as the original. I couldn’t believe at first but having thought about it long after, all I could say is, “Yeah, sure, that’s really how it is. That’s why how it comes to that.” The fact that so many of these clothes are closed to if not equal to the original one.

Pasquale is a very talented man. But like a lot of people all over the world, he wasn’t given a chance. Or should I say, the chance was taken away from him. He remained poor and his talent unrecognized. He works as a designer for one of the textile businesses in Italy, who in turn sell their business to big brand names in the U.S. and some place else. What he gets out of this is a little more than enough to feed his family, and, he lives in one of the poorest areas of the country. So much the same with Emmanuele, you could say. But in spite of this fate, he still loves what he does. It showed in his work.

Until one day.

He was watching t.v. It was the Oscar’s. His jaw dropped with what he saw. It was Angelina Jolie.

Two months later, he was a driver, driving legal and illegal stuffs for a certain business.

He never was the same after the Oscar’s.

Remember, this is a true story.

Emmanuele

I think writing about death is not a spoiler for this book. I read about death in almost every chapter. So, let me talk about Emanuele. He is 15 and his death touched me the most so far, in the story. He was shot by the police while doing what he does best, while doing the only thing he knew that would put food in his and his family's mouth.

My mind questions his death. As Saviano wrote:

The fact remains that he was fifteen years old. At that age, the sons of families born in other parts of Italy are going to the pool, taking dance lessons.

Emmanuele, however, waits for his time to rob someone for a living. He sits there until the right time comes. Until one day, what he thought was right was actually wrong. A wrong that caused him his life, his future.

But come to think of it, what would he be at 20? Would he be someone else other than a thief? Would his life change at 25? Would he be an entrepreneur at 30? I would like to think so.

I would want to believe so, because it could have been possible. But in a place like this, change is almost inevitable, especially if you are living within The System.

Emanuele's funeral was well-attended. The priest who did the service said:

The fact is that the only thing you learn here is how to die.

Mind you, this is a true story.

The Other Mafia

I bought this book I think while I was reading "The Godfather" by Mario Puzo. Or, maybe after reading it but was still intrigued by the story. At the same time, this book was posted on a blog that I follow which talk about books. I thought that those were signs that I should buy the book. Finding it wasn’t difficult although I had doubts that it might be banned in the country that I was in when I thought of it.

But the hardest part is yet to come. I think this is the first time that I have read a non-fiction book. Actually, I can't remember ever reading a true story. A movie based on a true story, I have read a lot. But not a book.

On my note pad, it said I started reading this book over a month ago. But I never posted anything about it. Well, one of the reasons is that I wasn't motivated for some reasons I couldn’t understand. I just stopped. The other is it was so hard to bring myself down to write about the book or something about the story, or something at least related to the story, which is primarily why I started this blog.

Now that I've had the winds back and brought myself to write, it was so hard recalling those instances and scenes that I want to write about. But I am now trying to. One of the things that hinders me is I might lose the chronology of the story and messed up the entries that's why I must do my assignments.

Anyway, this is Italy's other Mafia, as the subtitle goes. I am already half-way with the book, and it's a little hard for me to make myself to read it at times. It's hard to relate with all those names. And it's even harder to relate with all those bloodsheds.

But I'm keeping up. Because this is the underground where I never thought a lot of people were involved. With Mario's, I just thought it was the Corleone's and the underboss, the consiglierie, capo and their soldiers. I never thought a 15-year old would be involved.

Let the stories begin… on my next post.

Italian Mafia

According to investigations, it was Genard Marino McKay who made the place so profitable. He's the clan's point man in the area. And that's not all. Paolo DiLauro likes the way he runs things so he gave him franchising rights on the local market. McKay operates indepen-dently; all he has to do is pay a monthly fee to the clan.

The White Tiger. Done.

I didn't think twice about picking another book and started reading it. After contemplating about starting with it for a few weeks now, I really thought that I was ready for it. It was a thick book, that's the reason why I [even] tweeted about it; like, am I ready for this book?

So, I started.

But the introduction alone took about fifty or more pages. It, alone, started to bore me. I started to get confused about the characters of that book and those others that were written by the author. I am not saying it's not good though. It's just that I just didn't feel the need to even go through the introduction. But, I persevered. After a few days, I was done with it.

The first chapter of the book.

I read several pages then stopped. The characters are confusing as well as the plot and the setting. Yet, they're saying that this is one of the best books of all times. I think I'm just not ready for it. I just can't see the point of reading that book... at least for now.

One Chance... The Last

Here is a strange fact: Murder a man and you feel responsible for his life – possessive, even. You know more about him than his father and mother; they know his faetus, but you know his corpse. Only you can complete the story of his life.

Considering how poor they were, Balram wanted a change. He wanted his life to be better. He wanted to be an entrepreneur; and he became an entrepreneur.

How, how I wanted to write about what he did… what he did to become one, because this would be my last post about the book.

I don’t know whether to justify or crucify him for what he did to change his life. He was a poor man. He just didn’t drive; he became a driver. He cleaned his master’s feet. He cooked his master’s meals. He was made to confess a crime he didn’t commit. He saw what it was like to be rich and not like to live that kind of life. He felt how it was like to eat in cozy restaurants but crave for street foods. He knows how a bag with a million rupees inside it looks like. He witnessed crimes committed bloodless within the four walls of the parliament. He know how it felt to drive a Honda City. He saw an opportunity.

After all, his granny said he was a white tiger. Only one chance to have for every generation. And he only had one chance, and maybe the last.

Wouldn’t you have done the same if you were the white tiger that your granny says you are?

Beauty

Truth to be told, I finished this book several days ago. One or two days short of a week maybe. But I feel like there is a lot that I wanted to talk about the book.

They remain slaves because they can't see what's beautiful in this world.

Aravind quoted Iqbal.

I don't know whether to believe this though. About a week or more ago, I read about Filipinos being treated as slaves in a nursing home that was raided by the authorities in the States. These people were allegedly convinced that they will have a decent job in the States if they pay something like $8,000 for the processing of their visas. After getting there, these people were made to work almost 24 hours a day with very low or no pay at all.

So, does this mean that they remain slaves because they can't see the beauty in this world? They were forced into it. Not like in the story, it's their caste that made them slaves. It's like it was their destiny to be where they were supposed to be. Balram was born to sweet makers and that is his caste, and that is his fate. But as his grandmother told him, he is a white tiger. So, maybe Balram was able to see the beauty in this world, that's why he fought. He fought to change his fate. He fought to change his destiny. And he succeeded. He became an entrepreneur.

In that nursing home, I think those people will now see the beauty in this world. The home was raided and they were freed. Like Balram, they can now work their way out of their fate. I wouldn't say it's destiny though. Because they weren't destined to be slaves in that home.

Drive

Halwai. Balram came from this caste family of sweet-makers, but he wanted to become a driver. So, after working at a tea shop with his brother, Kishan, he decided to learn to drive. For three hundred rupees from his granny Kunna, and a promise of sending money from his wages once hired, he learned. But the taxi driver told him:

"It's not enough to drive. You've got to become a driver."

And he did become a driver. For a family who was also from their town.

Not only did he do tasks as a driver. He massages their feet, bathes their dog, cleans the house, sweeps the floor, everything that he can do when he’s not driving.

I think half of Balram was spent being a driver. Although at about ten years old, when the school principal went to his class for inspection, he was told that he is a white tiger. That he is different from the rest. He can get a future if only he try. But we try, don’t we? Then we need opportunity. How many of us gets the opportunity? And when opportunity is there, how many of us see it? How many of us let it pass?

Balram’s life as a servant hasn’t change. I am past half of the book and still he was a driver. Although at the time of writing the narrative, he was already an entreprenuer.

I want to find out what drove him to become one… how he drove himself to become one. How he drove to get to that road that a miserly servant like him from a miserable village seldom have the rare opportunity to be on.

The White Tiger

The next day I went to the bank - the one that had a wall made of glass. I saw myself reflected in the glass panes - all in khaki. I walked back and forth in front of the bank a dozen times, just gaping at myself.

If only they had given me a silver whistle, I would have been in paradise!

Kishan came once a month to see me.

Tom's There

Nearing the end of Huck Finn's adventure, I was surprised that Tom Sawyer was part of the story.  Yeah, i know that they were friends.  He was actually in the first part, too, when they were planning to rob and do some things on people.

I actually wrote about Tom's influence on Huck's decisions and it became even more evident when they were together and had to decide on things.  I think that most of the time, Huck's decisions were wiser than Tom's, but just the same, it was Tom's that prevailed for the simple reason that Huck believed Tom knows everything.

The twist at the end was really unique though.  It was really unpredictable.  I should say that one thing that I sort of didn't like about the story was how it evolved on a pack of untruths (if there is such a word).  Come to think of it, the journey or adventure of Huckleberry Finn started with faking his own death.  One untrue story after another after another after another.

I guess this is the only way the adventures could be put together in one story.  And I believe that it's the only way to make the story work.  But it really takes a good imagination and an excellent creativity and an amazing talent to piece them all together.

THE END

THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN

MARK TWAIN

The Island

If not for the adventure and fun of it, I would have stopped a few days ago.  I am having a hard time reading through words that are spelled like slang.  There was a notice at the beginning of the book though.  Although reading it was an entirely different experience.  I have a taste of this with "Little Women" by Loisa May Alcott.  But that one was only for a few pages.  There are things like how more is spelled mo', once is wunst, poor is po', going is gwyne, took is tuck, them is um, nothing is nuffin', first is fust (also posted here).

Like this (also posted here):

Chickens know when it's gwyne to rain, en so do de birds, chile.

Here, I think I'd have to bear with it since Jim was the one who's speaking that way and he's Huck's company thru his adventures.  I wonder if he'd be dropped from the scene soon?  But I think dropping him would be a little boring for Huck... and the story, too.

Anyway, right now, Huck decided to go to the island where he accidentally found Jim and they became companions.  I think due to his youth, he still doesn't realize the consequences of his decisions.  He was so influenced by his friend Tom Sawyer who he left in town.  Most of the time, in his decisions, he still thinks what would Tom Sawyer do on situations he encountered.

Jim is a good company for Huck.  Jim reminds Huck.  Jim is a little superstitious, but I think that's good in situations like where they are now.

Huck Finn

I landed, and slopped through the timber and up the ridge and into the cavern.  There, Jim laid, sound asleep on the ground.  I roused him out and says:
" Get up and hump yourself, Jim! There ain't a minute to lose.  They're after us!"

In a Hurry

So that's what happened with Rose Madder.

I wanted to finish the book soon.  Not because I wanted to know the ending but, sorry to say, just so that I can get over and done with it and start a new book.  You might ask, "Is it that worse?"  And I shall tell you, "Yes, so far the worse of those I read by Stephen King."

The plot was good.  There were actually instances that I am so engaged to reading that I am confusing to reality.  The concept of a wife like Rose is truly something that is worth writing for.  The idea of redemption was unique.  I actually thought that it should be how everything should be, after being left with no choices.  How real can it get?  That is the question.  But still, I think there is something that was overdone here.  Like the detailed thoughts of Norman.  I think SK overdid it here.

The irony of it all is that is one thing I actually admire with Stephen King; the way he writes about the characters' imagination.  I'm just not sure why it seems that it doesn't apply here in this particular story.  I am close to thinking that I maybe longing for another kind of adventure or writer that I now view it in a different color.  I started exploring different writers and genres, I am even into classical novels.  I just don't know if this is one of the main reason why I think this way.  It's almost to say that I didn't enjoy the book because I was yearning so much to know the ending just so that I can start a new one.  I might have missed some adventures worth ruminating on because of this.  But I don't have any regrets.  The end wasn't what I expected, although I am giving it the thought that in this kind of situation - if I am in this situation -  this might be the one I can actually wish for.

THE END

ROSE MADDER

STEPHEN KING

I Repay

That's what she said.

And that's all what Rosie can remember, at least for now.  She was in a dream she can barely remember.  But a lot of things spring up telling her it may not be a dream at all.

Dreaming?

Too tired from two days of going out, I still managed to read a few pages of the book.  Rosie's on her conquest.  A different kind of quest.  I said on my previous post that this will take her out of the past and might change her future, I have yet to know.  But the thing is, she's either in a dream or she's dreaming of something real.  Again, I have yet to find out.  But it was hard.  Too hard.  This is a world far different from where she is now.  But wait, way too different from the world she lived in for fourteen years.

I think she will...   No, I pray[as if this is real] that she may get out of this not only alive, but be able to change everything in her life that she's been wanting to change.  Rosie's been through a lot and if I were in her shoes, it won't matter to me if this is a dream or living a dream.  I want to get this over and done with if it means that I will be able to live on my own, free and easy.  That I may be able to get a new haircut, read a novel (no matter what kind) and have a beautiful painting on the wall... that makes her hear crickets and see clovers.

I wouldn't really mind.... Hell, No!

Quests

This is the third time that I have read something on SK's books that deal with temples.    As far as I can remember, that is.  Last year, I read about three books by Stephen King and two of them had scenes on temples.

'Salem's Lot.

Duma Key.

Now, Rose Madder.  It's not that there is a pattern.  It's just that I am just awed by how SK uses this place as a start of the quests of the characters.  Sometimes, it even poses as a transformation place for these persons because it's as if they realize something as they pass through the temples of their stories.
You might think that there will be a similarity to these stories.  But no, there aren't.  Three very different stories.  One icon to deliver the message.

===============

I am now on the part where Rose is somewhere within something she doesn't know.  Like her, I am still trying to figure out whether it was just a dream, a reality or a part of the painting.  All of them seemed real, and if it were, then this has something to do with her quest to forget her past and change her future.

Inside

I stopped reading the book for a few days now.  I have been busy with a lot of things and the only time that I get to read it is during late afternoons when there is enough sunlight from the window near where I sit and do reading.  But having stopped reading doesn't mean that my mind was off the book.  I am actually thinking about it a lot oftentimes.  Like it sometimes just pops out of my mind.

Rose was able to get away.  Far.  About three hundred miles.  I kept on asking is it far enough?  How far is far enough?  Daniels is maybe three hundred miles away, but it only takes one snap and the memory will start everything again.  I sometimes feel afraid for Rose.  And even if I still have a lot to know what are those that she's been into during those fourteen years, I cannot help but imagine more things other than already told.

This happens.  To how many I don't know.  But sometimes it gives me the creeps just thinking about Rose; what more if I will know more, like give me a figure to give me an idea how much women are went through, are going through, and will go through what Rose has been through.

Is there anything we women can do to prevent this from happening?  How do we know that some guys are really prone to doing this?

Frankly, this is nothing new for Stephen King.  I have read "Dolores Claiborne" and I think it was really very creative.  As I read through the first few pages, I was thinking that this is another "Dolores."  I almost put it down thinking that I've read this kind of stuff already.  But then again, we know Stephen King... we don't know what is he still capable of thinking.  That's why I have always like reading his works.

But.

Having read a few classical stories like Dickens, Hugo, Fitzgerald, Eliot, I think I am missing the genre.  The fact that what I read before this was about the German/Hitler times, I think I'll grab another classical after King.

Rose

That's a point of pride with us.  And you'll eventually pay for your room and board, although we like to think the prices here are very reasonable.  She smiled that brief, preening smile again.  "You should be aware that the accommodations are a long way from fancy.  Most of the second floor has been turned into a dormitory.

How many women are like Rose?

This is the question that came up in my mind as I started reading the book, as I started reading about Rose.

She couldn't get out.  The worse part is she didn't want to get out.  Out of the house that she knew very well, out of the life that she's been living for the past fourteen years.  Her reason is simple.  But is this the same reason they all have?

All the women like her?

Fear Is a Strange Thing

She would rather be the one who was persecuted than the one who did the persecuting.  Both had a terrible price to pay, but she would rather endure the humiliation and fear than grow numb to what it was to be human.

Fear is a strange thing.  It strips off masks… In some people it brings out the lowest instincts, while others become more compassionate.  Both have to do with survival.  But the choice is ours.

Your friend whom you will trust with your life suddenly becomes a stranger.  You start doubting whether just a simple thing you say will be used against you.

Trudi lives through these times.  Actually, at some points, I even forget all about Trudi.  Consumed by what is happening around her, I often forget about Trudi's condition.  I often forget about Trudi's problems, her hopes, her fears, her dreams.  But then again, how can you hope?  How can you dream?  When all you have to worry about is the fear.  The fear for your life, the fear for your friends, and the fear of the war and what it was doing to all of them, to their town, to their country.

But even so….

She felt dizzy longing for peace, a longing as powerful as the passion with which she used to will her body would grow as consuming as the passion that had fueled her revenge on the boys who'd humiliated her.  And what she wanted more than anything that moment was for all the differences between people to matter no more - differences in size and race and belief - differences that had become justification for destruction.

Goodness? Goodness!

I was surfing the tv last night during prime time and not a thing caught my interest... until the animated Disney version of "The Hunchback of Notre Dame."

I think I mentioned when I was reading this book about two months ago that I am kind of intrigued as to how this kind of story will be made into a movie by Disney Pictures.  And I was glad that I saw it yesterday.  So, I tuned in and started to watch.  The part that I came upon was when Quasimodo and Esmeralda were talking and later on, Quasimodo took Esmeralda to a 'trip' around Notre Dame.  More later,  one of the men [didn't know who] was almost begging Quasimodo to let him down.

Quasimodo and Esmeralda talking and taking a trip around Paris?  How can they talk in the first place?  How can Quasimodo understand Esmeralda?

As I read through the last parts of the story in the book, the thought of this being a Disney movie always come upon me.   How can you make an ending to such a story?  And how can you turn it into an animated movie having such a plot, such an ending?

I didn't finish the movie.  All because I know that it would be totally different from the original story.  All I know is that they tried to circle the story around the goodness of Quasimodo; whitewashing everything to make it look good on the eyes of child; on the eyes of those who haven't read the story.  But if they wanted something to bank on the goodness of Quasimodo, I think they could come up with someone else in the likeness of Quasimodo with their army of artistic imaginative people.

Goodness!

No One

At this point in her life, Trudi is starting to realize the good things of her being different.

One thing is that she can decide to be something that was not allowed to girls her age.  She is starting to feel that, after all, being not the same as everyone else will put her in situations that she's not required to because she's different.

But still, there is something that she wanted to do so badly.  Something inside her that desires more than the conveniences of being different.

At some points in reading the story, I could almost feel for Trudi.  And there are some points that it feels like I have had enough of everything that has been happening to her.  Every pain, every sacrifice, every lost friend, lost love.  But the will to go on reading is stronger.  I want her to realize that there is more to life than being different, that there is more to life than being normal, and, that there is more to life than being how everybody is supposed to be.

I look forward to the time to see Trudi triumphed against all that she dreaded; against all the pain she felt.  I look forward to seeing Trudi see what else is there for her and not what she's been looking for all the time.  I'd love to see her see the other side of her that is waiting to be acknowledged, recognized and reinvented.

I want Trudi to know what Pia meant when she said:

"No one but you can change that."

As if I can change her fate.

As if I can turn her life around as I turn the pages.

Violated

Her secret place was hers only.  There, she can do what she wanted, she can be what she wanted to be, learn things she ought to know, think calmly.  There, she is the normal person that she is, that she always thinks she is.  But this is just a secret to herself.  A secret that only happens in her own secret world.

On that day that her secret place was violated, she should have listened to that mist of cloud that she saw as a bad sign.  But we people always choose to learn the hard way.  She went on until the four boys decided to go for a game they call water fart.

Trudi thought that hiding behind the big rock would give her the chance to know their secrets that these four boys might be keeping in her secret place.  But she was wrong.  Instead, they found her and then it was her turn.  Small as she is, she does not have the strength of even one of them.  Overpowered, obviously, she couldn't do anything.

They took her away from her secret world.  Inside the barn of one of these boys, they began to touch her, violate her.  Touch her in a way that was even worse than what normally happens to normal people - normal women.  You wouldn't believe it, but how Trudi wished they did touch her the way they would touch a normal girl.  That way she would have been just like any other normal victims.  The way normal women get violated.

All of them did except Georg.  Yes, her friend Georg was one of them.  Although he did not touch her, he didn't do anything to stop them from violating Trudi.  Because if he did so, that would not be normal.  He would not be normal; thus, he would not fit in.

After all these, she went back to her secret place - her secret world.  The place that was witness to what was bound to happen.  There, she threw four stones.  One for each boy who did this to her.  She vowed to take revenge, and I think she couldn't care less how long it took.

Between The Lines:

In real life, she knew it was not that easy to tell whether the villains were, and even if you could identify them, they were not total villains.  No one was entirely all of one thing.  Cowards could be courageous in some matters, and love was not always declared and might not be pure love, but mixed in with hate and fear and powerful wish for revenge - like what she felt for Georg Weiler, who went to great efforts not to glance in her direction, even if both of them stood in front of their houses.

On Being a Freak

If you lost something you'd once had - a limb, say, or an eye  - people didn't treat you like a freak; they remembered you the way you had been.  But if you were born without arms or sight, you were a freak.  If your body didn't look like the bodies of others, you were a freak. And if you lived in a freak's body long enough, though you didn't feel like a freak inside - what could you do than to make sure your body wouldn't turn all of you into a freak?

Just Like Them

She stopped wherever other kids played hopscotch or ball, wishing they'd understand that, inside she was just like them.

On Friendship

The first sin he become proficient in was lying.  It became a necessity.  But he would never tell a lie to Trudi.  Not even after he'd grow up and marry Helga Stumm and lie to her.  He'd never tell a lie to his first friend, the only one who accepted his difference so much easier than his own, though he would come to betray her in other ways.

On Having

Georg was lucky when it comes to rolling the tiny balls into the hale he'd scooped into the damp soil between the two sets of steps, but he was just as generous in letting Trudi borrow marbles from him if she lost hers.  To keep playing was far more important to him than winning.

We All Pay

We all pay.

Gertrud told Leo.

But Leo did not understand.  He probably never will.  And it was Trudi who eventually knew why.  Hegi's style of revealing the story behind Emil and Gertrud is very unique.  The kind of thing that required the character a good imagination and the kind that requires the reader a better one.  It took me to reading, repeating it a few times in order for me to get the whole thing; to get what she's trying to say.  But, still, it feels like there is still something missing; something I am still missing.

The secret.

We all have secrets to tell.  We all hold secrets told by others.  Trudi held a secret at a very young age.  I wonder if she's too young to hold on to this one.  Because sometimes it feels like a secret becomes a burden, even to an adult.... too much to bear.  Sometimes, it felt like this becomes an even more burden to a child.  A guilt formed for knowing the story because they become part of the story, part of the sin.  A pain for being a child and not being able to do something about it, or rather, not being allowed to do something about it.

Only you were there.  Unless you told.

Her mother says.

And now it breeds more fear.

Sometimes it's better not to know.

Different

The agony of being different.

Trudi is different and she's in agony.

Aren't we all different from one another?

But she's indeed different.

But, I say, how different can we be to be considered different and be in agony?

The Good, The Bad and The Gypsy

The occasions made me a little busy though I should have been busier if not for the operation.  So, this means less time to read and more time with a lot of other things.  But I get to finish the book just a while ago.  I am kind of affected by the way things went on the last book.

This is in fact one of the most tragic books I have read by far.  This means that from the books I have read this year alone, and all those books I have read since I can remember.  I thought this was something fairy-tale-ish, since the thought that comes to me whenever I hear the title is those drawings made by Walt Disney.  Right now, I am still wondering what is the movie all about, considering what I have just read.

I am kinda sad because Quasimodo's life was never happy.  As it said in the book:

He mused on the wretched lot that providence had meted out to him - how woman, and the joys of love, were destined to pass under his eye without his ever being more than a witness to the happiness of others.

Everyone in that town sees him as a monster.  But with his actions, he never was to me.  Claude Frollo, on the other hand, was the good in the story.  Or, was he really?

Now, who really is the good?  Who is the bad?

The twist is that they both fell in love.  I was really quite surprised by the way each of them handled their emotions.  Not to mention the actions they took just to be closed to the one they love.

The mystery of the pink shoe was revealed but I must say that I had the idea of what this was all about at some point in the story.

The good, the bad and the gypsy all died.  Something that makes me wonder how the Walt Disney people presented this in the story, if they ever did at all.

As with Victor Hugo's style, I find it that, sometimes, due to the profoundness of the though of one of his characters, I feel that it was almost totally detached from the story.  That it looks far too perfect to be a part of the story and that it can be distinguished as the thought of the writer himself, and not the ordinary common character.

Some quotes:

I would rather be the head of the fly than the tail of a lion.

For, though one believes in nothing, there are moments in life when one accepts the religion of the temple nearest at hand.

It's often our best friends who make us fall.

There are two sides to every human act.  One man gets praised for what another gets blamed for.

Memory is the tormentor of jealousy.