Something to learn about my frustration

I started "Letting Go of the Camera" by Brooks Jensen yesterday.  I bought this book second hand at our local book shop.  They had a buy-one-take-one promo and I got this together with "Angela's Ashes" by Frank McCourt for a mere Php 150.00.  If you ask the date, I already forgot but it was even before April of this year.

I used to own a Nikon Fm camera back in college and was able to practice photography back then.  I filed all my negatives in a shoe box together with the information for each of the shots that I took (whenever it was possible).  But they're all gone now.  The big flood Reming took away a lot of my memories, this one included.

Anyway, I have yet to get myself a DSLR camera but I want to read about photography, hence, the book.

Here's the first five sentences on its page 68.

     If you are not prepared for this subconscious overload and the subsequent overflow of creative ideas, you run the risk of diffusing much of the workshop's benefits.

     Play a game with yourself before the workshop.  Imagine the workshop instructor is with you in photographing or darkroom sessions over the week and months before the workshop.  (Most workshops require advance registration; so you probably know far in advance that you are going to attend.)

     At every opportunity, think what you would like to ask the instructor at that moment of peak activity.  Jot this question down..  

Full of Profound Thinking

I'm finally done with the book.  My Goodreads.com account said that I started it somewhere in August and it took me over a month.

The book is full of profound thinking.  The wisdom contained are countless and as deep as they can be.

I must admit that I stopped reading for some time.  Some of those days are actually because of my treatment.  I have been  undergoing chemotherapy since April of this year and at times, I couldn't bring myself to read.  Actually, I haven't been reading since April.

Some of those times are because of the internet, which is my greatest distraction on reading.

The last reason is the fact that it was really quite hard for me to bring myself to pick up the book because of its profound nature.  That is, at least to me.  There are a lot of things that needs time to actually think about.  The kind that you need to go to a somewhat quiet place, read a chapter or even just a page and contemplate on what St. Therese is really trying to say.  And a quiet place is one of the hardest to find these days.  Not to mention, again, the internet distraction.

However, I might want to read the book again.  There are passages embedded on the book that are really worth ruminating on.

Story of a Soul by St. Therese of Lisieux

This entry is really late.  Because I used to do this even before I start a book.  My page 68 entries are done that way.  So, my apologies.  I know that my chemotherapy treatment should not be an excuse but that's all there is.

My mood swings are really bad especially during the first few days after the drip.  I can't even bring myself to read even if I wanted to so much.

But I know that after five cycles, I know I have to fight this.  If you have noticed, I added a widget that shows I challenged myself to reading six books before the year ends and I really hope and I'll really try to meet this goal.

So, here we go.

On page 68 of this book, it's blank.  So I decided to move forward to the next page with writings, which, in this case is page 71.

While I was speaking about the visit to the Carmelites, I am reminded of the first visit which took place shortly after Pauline's entrance.  I forgot to speak about it, but there is a detail that should not be omitted.  The morning of the day I was to visit, I was thinking things over in my bed (for it was there that I made my profound meditations, and contrary to the bride in the Canticles, I already found my Beloved there).  I wondered what name I would be given in Carmel.  I knew there was a Sister Therese of Jesus; however, my beautiful name Therese could not be taken away from me.  

I can't find her.

I am already in the middle of the book, but there really isn't much to write.  Her essays mostly point out to her experiences as a single woman who chose to be and stay single.  Most of them were realizations and turning points.

I tried to google her - Theresa "Jew" Lariosa.  But the funny thing is the number one site that came out is... this page... and most of them are only online catalog of her book on e-lib.  I couldn't find a facebook profile, well, not even a friendster profile (if there is still friendster). 

I wanted to find out more of her - like which newspaper does she writes for or magazine.  But I couldn't find anything.  I wonder. 

Bulalo Soup for the Sole: Jew Lariosa

She had found someone who loved her truly, regardless of the conditions that society imposes on us.. 

He loved her enough to sit through the whole ceremony in front of three priests and a huge crucifix looming overhead.  He loved her enough to endure the coaxing for friends and family to drink some more.  He loved her enough to beam at his wife and dance with a bunch of sloshed cousins, though he was burning with fever.  He loved her enough not to say a peep when they served pork at the table where he dined.

Still no go after second attempt

Again, it's been a while.

Apart from not bringing myself to read these days because of the effects of chemotherapy, there are still other reasons.  Chemotherapy effects make me sleep a lot of times, especially when I'm on the fifth day after the cycle.  But, needless to say, I stopped reading long before the third cycle started.

I guess I would have to admit that I was having difficulty reading between the lines.  James Joyce is really hard to decipher, but that doesn't make him less of a writer for me.  I guess the timing isn't just right and I am not ready for a James Joyce book.

I stopped on the part where Stephen Dedalus and his friends were somewhere on river - this I am not sure - and some of his friends ready for a swim.  I remember they met someone - a navy or a sailor - and was trying to teach them some things.  Halt!

So, this brings me to a point where I have to look over my old books to see if there were copies whose fonts were large enough for me to read.  I don't think this is what I need, because I think what I need is a new pair of glasses.  This thing has been with me since 2006.  But anyway, there weren't old books with fonts large enough so there goes my motivation for reading.

Then, a good friend of mine who learned about my medical condition voluntarily sent some two books that I could devour.  She said she wanted to send one more but she checked and I've had that book as a gift to me since I can remember.  That book - the gift - was also a spiritual book which I stopped reading by the time I reached the third chapter.

I must admit that seeing those two books she sent for the first time, I wasn't interested since the first one that caught my eye was a spiritual book and I felt like I am not inclined to that one... at least not yet.  So, both of the books sat on the table for days until yesterday when my hunger for reading was growling louder than my stomach upset.

The first book I opened of the three was the gift to me.  It was Rick Warren's "The Purpose-Driven Life."  I started reading the first chapter and hopefully I could go on to finish it in forty days, as per his recommendation.

I skipped the second book which was "Story of a Soul: The Autobiography of St. Therese Of Lisieux." I think I'll start it later.

This brings me down to the third book.

It's not a spiritual thing.  "Bulalo Soup for the Sole" by Theresa "Jew" Lariosa.

She's a local writer.  And the book is a compilation of her "Essays for Savoring Life as a Single Woman."  That's what the title of the book says.

I wonder why I haven't heard of her nor her writings.  Was it because when her book was published - 2007, I was in Dubai?  And the whole time that she was writing articles I was in Dubai?  And if so, where is she now?  I haven't heard about her now and would have wanted to hear more of her at least on the tube.  I can google her whenever I want but I want to hear about her on the news.

Anyway.

I'm going to finish this book this week.

I'm back with Ulysses on my hands

I'm back with Ulysses on my hands, a photo by hengeworx on Flickr.

I started "Ulysses" today... again... and from the top.

It's a good thing that I started it from the top, because even in just in the first paragraph, there were things that I didn't understand the first time I read it.

I hope I can sustain reading it this time.

The reason why I stopped the first time is that I can't seem to relate to it.

And the reason why I am getting back to it now is that those other paperbacks that I have right now have fonts that are too small for me to read nowadays, even with my reading glasses. And it's a good thing that I bought trade paperbacks back then.

I would have started with Stephen King's "The Dark Tower" series which I have read way back in college. I have read it until the fourth book, the last one at that time. I was able to buy illustrated books (I don't know what to call this editions) when I was still at the call center, four of them. BUT, I just discovered and remembered that I wasn't able to find the first book, "The Gunslinger," in the illustrated edition. So, this means that I can't start this series. I don't want to start the series again until I get the first book. I wonder if I can get the same edition as the four that I already have.

Anyway.

I just wish that I could sustain reading and writing about Ulysses this time. To say the least, I am on my way to my third chemotherapy cycle and sometimes I don't really get the mood. I've been lagging behind my reading. My Shelfari says that I haven't read any book this year, so that's how bad I've been lagging.

I'll post something about the book tomorrow.

No, it was not a good move.

No, it was not.

Blogging about the books I read on my other blog is not good, at least for me.  I think it's not going to work for me since it will get mix up with my other posts that is not even related to books.  It's going to be hard for me to get back to those previous posts whenever I feel the need to.

But at this point, there is really nothing to worry about yet since I haven't been reading since my first entry about the book, Dubliners.  I kind of lost the appetite to read.  Well, I got preoccupied with a lot of other things aside from this little business that I am starting just recently.

I am hoping to get back to reading some time soon.  I do not want to say when because that would be very definitive.

But I definitely will... soon.

I am moving this blog to my main blog.

From now on, my entries about books will be posted on my main blog here.

Thank you to all my followers and readers.

Dubliners had to wait.

I already started with the book. But the season gave me some loot to get hold of the eighth book by our local writer, Bob Ong.

"Ang mga Kaibigan ni Aling Susan." The Friends of Aling Susan, translated literally in English, written by Bob Ong.

I've been kind of following him. But not really since I haven't read some of his books. The irony of things is that when I have the loot to buy his books, I was out of the country and cannot just get it from bookstores there. And now that I am finally back home, I couldn't just buy his books, too, but now it's because it's not on top even included in my budget list.

The book was short. A hundred or so pages.

But it was entirely different; entirely fucking different from his previous books.

Bob Ong's seven previous books are all about humor. His humor amazed me, caught me, engaged me. Well, that goes to say that in about those several books that I've ready by him.

This one is mind-boggling, thrilling, horror.

I don't normally read reviews, but this time I wish I had. Because I wouldn't have bought the book and read it had I known the plot.

But on the other hand, it's a good thing that I didn't read any reviews.

Because had I read reviews, I wouldn't have discovered that Bob Ong is also good in writing horror/thrilling books.

The book is the diary of Galo. It started as a school project. Something that I used to do, or we used to do in high school as a requirement. But after that project, he went on writing by himself and for himself.

And I guess this is the reason why the book has many loop holes.

• The fact that it was started as a school project, he wouldn't, shouldn't couldn't write anything that was happening around him.
• The fact that it started as a school project and he continued it all by himself, all we can see is what he wanted to document; deprived of the actual things that were actually happening.
• The fact that it started as a school project and that he continued it all by himself made it more magical, because the diary slowly began to have a life of its own.

My sister (she read it because she got curious by my remarks as I read the book) and I both agreed that this is just the beginning. There are still things to find out.

What is there in the town of Tarmanes?
Who are those that live in Tarmanes?
Where is Tarmanes?

Angela gets well but they had to move.

This is going to be my last post about the book.

Things had been busy since November.  I was reading bits every now and then but not posting.  I think I got tired of writing, too.  I couldn't get myself to sit down and write, even in my two other blogs.

But anyhow...

Malachy the father was home for Christmas.  I didn't know whether I'd be happy for them or what.  But I know Frankie was happy to see his father.  He got them some chocolates, but that's all.  On that same day, the night of Christmas, he also left for England.  I don't really know what's on their father's mind, but I know that in more ways than one, Frankie and the kids were happy, even just for this day.

They couldn't pay their rent and they'd be locked out if they didn't move out.  Frank's grandma got them a place to live, about two miles outside town, in a place owned by a guy called Laman Griffin.  I think Laman was somehow a great help for Frank in getting access to the library and having the opportunity to read.  Laman sends Frankie to go to the library and get him books, and Frankie had the privilege of access to books.

But things weren't good.  I couldn't describe it.  You will have to read it yourself.

Frankie left Laman's house and never wanted to come back.

Now that his grandma is dead, he asked his uncle if he could stay in her place.  There was no problem.  He got a job and was saving his way to get to America.  He was determined and was blessed to get jobs that helped him support himself, give a little to his family and save some for his ticket to America.

He got the money by the time he turned seventeen and told his mother the day he bought his tickets.

Frankie left his mother and two brothers.  His father and another brother, Malachy, was both in England when he left.

He got a word from the Mr. Sliney, the guy his mother is taking care of.

Never smoke another man's pipe.

I know what this means.  But I don't exactly what Mr. Sliney was trying to tell Frank.

Angela snubs her Woodbines

Now, it's Angela.

She lied down one day and never got up to smoke her Woodbines.  She moans and says lemonade.  Frankie didn't know how to get her her lemonade because they don't have money; they don't even have coal for the fire. So, Frankie goes out and plans to ask Mrs. O'Connell if she can loan him a bottle of lemonade because his mother is sick and would pay them as soon as his mother gets the dole.

But, Frankie didn't have the courage to ask.  He saw the delivery truck of lemonades and saw Mrs. O'Connell having tea and bread and Frankie thought this isn't a great time to ask her.  So, he figured out a way to get more than a bottle of lemonade and a loaf of bread for him and his brothers.

Since Angela couldn't get up in the morning to wake them up, Frankie and his brothers started to miss school.  This went on until the officer from the school goes to their home and discovered what was wrong.  He immediately asked Frankie to go to her grandmother, who, later on, went to get a doctor.

Angela has pneumonia and was brought to the hospital.

However, the kids got to stay at their Aunt Aggie's until Angela gets out.

"My father in the morning is mine."

Since I started reading the book, I feel remorse for Malachy, the father, for not being able to be the father to Frankie and his siblings.  Oftentimes, I had to put down the book and stopped reading - even if I still want to read - all because I feel angry with their father.

But that is only half of my feelings.  Because half of my feelings go out to the kids.  Pity, pity and more pity.  Especially when Malachy the father left for England to work.  He left with a promise of sending money to his family, but up to this point, they haven't gotten anything and I feel and I fear that they wouldn't get anything at all.

In the middle of all these, Frankie finally expressed his feelings.  He said he know when his father has done bad things.  I know that young as he is, he does know these things.  But I felt sad with how he felt towards his father, bad as his father was.

"He lights the fire and makes the tea and sings to himself or reads the paper to me in a whisper that won't wake up the rest of the family.  Mikey Malloy stole Cuchulain, the Angel on the Seventh Step is gone someplace else, but my father in the morning is still mine."

I wish there is a way I can tell Malachy his father about how Frankie felt; about how much he love his father, after all those things that he had done and didn't do.

Initially, I felt like questioning Frankie about how he felt about his father.  But who am I to do so?  I grew up with a father that is far different from his; in an environment more convenient that his, and in a life that is way more comfortable than how he lived.  So, who am I to question his feelings towards his father?

But, still, I feel sad about all these.  How I wish I could sit down with Malachy his father and tell him how his kid feels about him.  How I wish I could tell him how lucky he is to have a child like Frankie, who loves him in spite of.  But I could only with and write it down here.

Then, I begin to wonder.  Frankie is still lucky tho have a father.

How many children whose wish would only be to have a father?  A father like Malachy who builds fire in the morning to make their tea and read the paper.

A father even if it's just in the morning.

The Girl Next Door

Her name is Patricia.

They never really met.  But Frankie had conversations with her while they were both confined at the hospital.  Frankie stayed in a room next to Patricia's, where she stayed in isolation because of cholera.

She recited a poem to Frankie, but never got to finish it.  Patricia died several days later in the lavatory.  She was to use a bedpan and didn't.

They were not supposed to talk to each other in the first place.  That's what the nurses told them.  And I asked why?  Are they going to communicate the disease to each other just by talking while in two different rooms?

I can relate to this.  There are a lot of things that our folks thought and thought wrong.  In our child's minds, we question but never really asked.  Because asking will lead to something else that, as children, looks like a punishment for having questioning minds.  We shouldn't question them adults and their ways.

I said Patricia did not finish the poem for Frankie.  So, Frankie asked the room cleaner if he can find it out for him.

Will Seamus find out?  Seamus doesn't know any poetry at all in the first place.  So, how would he?

Things Became Even Harder

Malachy didn't send anything at all.

Now, my fear came true.

Angela can't get the dole because Malachy wasn't there.  And besides, who would give the dole to the family whose father is in England?  They argued that they can't give money, and Angela almost begged them to consider since Malachy didn't (and I think wouldn't) send any money at all.

Life became even harder for the McCourts.

Frank had to be in the hospital because he had typhoid.

Should we thank God that it wasn't pneumonia?

Fortnight came and went...

I asked the question:  Would the change of environment totally change a man?

Apparently not.

The mailman came and went on the fortnight.  Them neighbors already had their groceries, their coal for the fire, and spent the afternoon at the cinema.

Frank and Malachy (the son) were still waiting.  The mailman had no news for them.

They asked again.  And the mailman was irked.  But, he said he understood, and that he'll ask his office just in case their mail was misplaced.  But, there weren't any.

They don't have tea nor bread, and the fire is losing coal.

Malachy (the father) did not send money from England.

That's why I didn't like Malachy going to England.

He left and I didn't like it.

The McCourts' neighbors have their fathers leaving for England.  Because England needs people to work for their factories.  To make guns and munitions (as Mc Court said it) needed for the war.

Most of the families in the lane have more than bread and tea.  On Saturdays, when the mail arrives, they have money from their fathers to buy food and watch movie at the cinema.  And the McCourts don't have tea and bread, not even coal to warm their home.

Suddenly, Angela asked Malachy if he wanted to go to England.  And Frank seconded the idea.

Then, he left.

It would take a fortnight before he can finally send some money through the mail.  That's because he would have things to pay there like rent and all.

I don't like this.

Would the change of environment totally change a man?

I couldn't wait until the fortnight comes.  When the money is supposed to be on the mail.

From The North

If you read about Malachy, you'll probably hate people who came from the north.  Because that's where he comes from.

He is Frank's father.  Full of pride and shit.

He lets his pregnant wife pick up the coal from this street because he can't do that.  He could sit down and have tea while his sons suffer from fleas in the bed.

He doesn't want to stoop down and do something that the poor does.  But, aren't the poor his equals?

He lets Angela ask for charity from St. Vincent de Paul.  Aren't the poor their equals?

He depends on the money given by the government.  Aren't the poor their equals?

When he gets a job, he loses it a week after fortnight.  Why?  Because he spends the week's salary drinking pints at the bar and wakes up late in the morning for work.  Misses his work, and loses his job the following Monday.

This is why I fear when Malachy gets a job.  This means that it will be the end of the dole from the government.  And this means that all his salary will be spent in pints at the bar, leaving nothing for even just bread and tea for his three sons.

Instead of praying for a job, I pray that he doesn't get any.  For without the job, Angela can always go the St. Vincent de Paul and at least ask for some of the things they need, like the boots for their sons.

Knock and...

They went back to Ireland.

But no one wants them.  There was no space, no spare money for food.

To top it all, even Frank's Aunt Paggie is not happy.  She can't even let them have porridge in their house when they were so cold and hungry.  But Frank's Grandma showed her way around Aunt Paggie's house:

Jesus, says Grandma, 'tis a good thing you didn't own that stable in Bethlehem or the Holy Family would still be wanderin' the world crumblin' with hunger.

The doctor says Eugene died of pneumonia.  Angela says she didn't know.  Malachy says he didn't know, too.  The doctor says, see that's the problem, you didn't know.

But what the fuck?  All Malachy knows is to drink the pint.  He drinks when Eugene is dead.  He drinks while Frank waits for him outside.  He drinks with the glass on top of Eugene's coffin the day they were supposed to bury his body.

What kind of life is this?

Four... No... Three... No...

After Margaret, I thought it was it.

But no.

Frank didn't know, and I didn't, too.  But there was another one.  Another one that we didn't get to see, didn't get to know.

Then Oliver.

Then, six months after, it was Eugene.

That was so many... gone in only within a year.

How do you take this kind of life?

I want to learn from Angela.  I need to learn from Angela.