Sherlock

I first read Sherlock Holmes stories when I was fifteen. My older sister was a college freshman and had brought books with her when she came home for a break. One of them was the The Strand Magazine reprint edition of Sherlock Holmes. And from then on, I was hooked. I have the books, both in the dead-tree and electronic format. I often reread them when I seek the comfort and familiarity of favorite stories.

Everyone is familiar with the characters of Holmes and Watson, even without having read the books. Sherlock is, after all, one of the most portrayed fictional characters of all time. It is a classic precisely because it never gets outdated. I guess intelligence is fashionable whichever the time period. All throughout the stories, Sherlock grows on the reader. He becomes a real person with quirks, habits, eccentricities.

Whenever I learn that someone has not read Sherlock stories yet, I am excited for all the fun they have before them. The enjoyment of meeting the characters, joining their adventures. But I realize that it's not for everybody. The archaic language is offputting for some, though I find it engaging. After reading a few stories, I think with a British accent which can be amusing.

It is no wonder that when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle killed off Sherlock in the story "The Final Problem", there was an overwhelming appeal for him to bring the character back. And so the detective was resurrected for another series of stories, starting from "The Adventure of the Empty House". Besides, how can Conan Doyle assume that he can do such a thing? To the readers, Holmes was a living, breathing, crime-solving human being. He lived on 221B Baker Street with his friend Dr. John Watson. He couldn't possibly have died. And so he lived on. He also became the inspiration of other characters -- a favorite of mine is Dr. Gregory House.

Another perpetuity of Sherlock Holmes is through film and television. Based on IMDB entries, there were dozens of releases. I only had the opportunity of viewing four of these incarnations on screen, as follows. Only the last of which I am going to share more of my thoughts. And so off we go.

Sherlock Holmes Returns (1993)

Anthony Higgins (as Sherlock Holmes)

Debrah Farentino (as Amy Wilson - a female version of Watson, for all intents and purposes)

This is the Victorian Holmes who invented and used upon himself a method of suspended animation and found himself waking up in the current day, in America, no less. This is a Holmes that bungles with a new world of modernities, of technology, of culture. A lighthearted approach on how the intellectual British detective could have coped with the changes.

Young Sherlock Holmes (1985)

Nicholas Rowe (as Sherlock Holmes)

Alan Cox (as John Watson)

This Steven Spielberg-produced and Chris Columbus-written work attempts to recreate an alternate beginning of how Holmes and Watson have met. Here, they are schoolboys together, sharing dormitories in a boarding school. It is endearing and aimed to explain some origins of the trademarks of the adult Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes (2009)

Robert Downey, Jr. (as Sherlock Holmes)

Jude Law (as John Watson)

And of course, the most successful Sherlock Holmes film of recent history. This is Holmes in his age, in his time, in his London. For the record, I have always liked RDJ and of course, Jude Law. And this was a very entertaining film to watch -- the costumes, the recreation of old London, the grand sets, the explosions. Guy Ritchie pulled it off - his Hollywood version of Holmes. And being that, there had to be a leading lady in the person of Irene Adler (Rachel MacAdams). Ms Adler was a character from the story "A Scandal in Bohemia", and although Holmes referred to her as "THE woman", it was never in the context of romance, but of intellectual respect. The Hollywood version was fun, though. And I am still looking forward to the sequel.

Sherlock (2010)

Benedict Cumberbatch (as Sherlock Holmes)

Martin Freeman (as John Watson)

And now, we arrive. This BBC's mini-series featured three 90-minute episodes of Sherlock and were created by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, both also behind the Dr. Who series. "Sherlock" is about a modern Sherlock, in a modern England. We have here a younger Sherlock Holmes, early-thirties, tech-savvy, and brilliant as ever. Dr. John Watson is fresh from his tour in Afghanistan (notably, the original Watson also served in Afghanistan).

Apart from the time setting and all the implications that entail, this series is unmistakably faithful to the stories and characters of the books. The names, the addresses, the cases, even some of the dialogue all reverberate from the original Holmes that the readers knew.

The excellence of setting Holmes in the modern day is that it dispenses with the ostentatious sets and altogether avoided the anachronisms. It's not about the horsedrawn carriages, or the pipes, or the deerstalker caps. The series can now focus on the adventures and the characters. They maintained a semblance of the period feel with the clothes and the locations.

Holmes of the late 1800s used all the available resources to his advantage. This modern Sherlock is no different. And because technology abound, he employs the use of every means to aid his investigation: blogging, smartphone, email, internet.

There is an underlying humor in the writing that pervades throughout the episodes.

When accused of being a psychopath, Sherlock had replied:

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath; do your research."

Or when John talked to Sherlock about his encounter with his "archenemy".

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity. We could've split the fee. Think it through next time."

I grinned at the quip about the "three patch problem", an update of the "three pipe problem". And the allusions to the infamous seven percent solution during the drugs bust. It's as if the writers and creators were sharing an inside joke with the readers. A conspiratorial wink. As if nudging and saying, "Remember that part from the book? Hilarious to find it here, isn't it?"

Admittedly, it is also very possible that I am writing favorably about the series solely on the account of my being smitten with Benedict Cumberbatch. Very, very possible. So if you have good sense, you may take everything I say with a grain of salt.

Cumberbatch looks like the younger version of the original illustration of Holmes by Sidney Paget. Tall, very lean, with a high forehead. He has successfully captured the demeanor of Sherlock. He is confident and composed, even dignified. He is very capable of both charm and conceit. And although he is primarily a cerebral person, he also has boundless energy at his disposal. Cumberbatch has portrayed Sherlock with his distinctive traits: Precision in movement. Impatience. Intensity.

I like that they did not introduce Sherlock with a love interest. Because frankly, Sherlock really had no interest in love. They did, however, made fun of the talks that the Sherlock and John are gay.

Martin Freeman I remember from "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and from "Love Actually". I know he is famous for the British "The Office" and by all means, through his interviews, his sense of humor and wit often shine through. Freeman lends depth to Watson's character. He is not just a narrator -- he is his conscience, his manners, his connection to human emotion. He is a partner, not necessarily an equal, but still above a chronicler.

The last episode of the series ends with a cliffhanger that will end all cliffhangers. If it were a speech, it was cut mid-word. Most viewers regarded this as mean, and maybe it was. But it certainly did leave us wanting for more. Fortunately, there are confirmed reports that there will be more episodes. Although, it would be at least a year's wait. In the meantime, the DVD of the recently concluded mini-series will be released in the UK later this month.

Watch the series if convenient — if inconvenient watch all the same.

 

Things I learned during my recent trip

1) Traveling light is an achievement.

     I contemplated to buy new luggage, but ended up borrowing from a friend when I could not decide which kind I need to buy. Anyway, I was able to fit in that smallish case a week's worth of clothes, two shoes, my camera, toiletries, couple of jackets, electronics stuff. I was proud of the efficient use of limited space. The compression packs I have came in handy (from my old outdoor days). I hand-carried my laptop and another smaller bag for passport, wallet, phone.

2) Airport routine is cumbersome.

     It slightly irks me that immigration officers do not use the pages of the passport in sequence. They flip into a random blank page and stamps on it. My anal-retentive tendency is just not at peace with that.

     When we landed in Sydney, the machine wouldn't scan my passport. The officer had to ask me to follow him into a different scanner. What a waste of time the whole thing would have been if that wasn't resolved.

     It is absolutely a hassle to get through security with laptops. They ask you to take it out of bags and of sleeves. Those velcro straps, those zippers, the pressure that you're in a quick-moving line--aargh.

     On my way home, one of my bags had to go through the x-ray machine three times. I had keychain souvenirs in it and onscreen, the key rings probably looked like grenade pins. I took a peek at the monitor and yes, it really did.

3) The language difference is more of an amusement than a barrier.

    The Aussie accent takes a while to get used to.

    Once, when I was buying a train ticket for Wynyard station, the guy in the counter asked, "One 'y'?"

     I paused and considered whether there was another Wynyard station in the city which was spelled differently.

     And then he continued with, "... or return?"

    "Oh, just one way please. Thanks."

     There was also a TV channel that I thought was named "Guy". I hear the ads saying, "... showing only at 'Guy'!". Apparently, it was "Go" channel.

     Of course, there's also the whole British naming - the elevator is a lift, garbage is rubbish, and the one which blows my mind - the chemist is the pharmacy. I wondered why there were these stalls for chemists. Who would need the services of a chemist so often? Go figure. I mean, "guy" figure.

     During training, the Australian manager could not find the record his American counterpart created. It turns out that he was looking for the keyword "authorised." An excerpt of their exchange:

     "Who in the world spells 'authorised' with a bloody z?"

     "Everyone else in the world who correctly spells."

     "And that is 'spellz' with a z, right?"

4) As a tourist, you have to unabashedly do the touristy things.

     I went to see the Harbour Bridge, the Opera House, Darling Harbour. Took lots of pictures from the 360-degree view of the city from Sydney Tower. Sent myself a postcard from the highest working mailbox in the western hemisphere. Saw the kangaroos, koalas, and other wildlife at the Sydney Wildlife World. Went to see the sharks, dugongs, and other aquatic animals in the Sydney Aquarium. Saw the vibrant Chinatown. Went souvenir shopping at the Market City. Had hot chocolate at the Lindt Chocolat Cafe. I have to admit, the birds at the Circular Quay freaked me out. They were humongous. I looked so pathetic ducking whenever one flew over me. Alfred Hitchcock's "Birds" came to mind.

5) "You've never been to the place if you haven't tasted the food."

     They served us snacks and lunches during training. They usually have salads and sandwiches or wraps. Very fresh. The snacks comprised of scones (makes you want to fake an accent when you say "scones") with jam and cream cheese, croissants, and those delicious cake bars made of a coconutty base, custard layer, and chocolate topping. Soooo good. I wonder if I can find that here. For our team dinner, we went to a Japanese place called Rengaya - absolutely the best Jap food I've ever had. The salmon melted in the mouth and the grilled beef was so tender.

     Some other cool find was this fastfood place "Oporto" where they have chicken fillet burger with spicy sauce. I have a very high tolerance for heat, but that was a pretty good hot sauce. Before I left, my relatives took me to a buffet where there were very good grilled fish and vegetables. And though I was full, I was under obligation to try the roasted Australian beef, and I'm glad I did.

     Just a short postscript on food: Red Rock Deli Chips. Enough said.

6) Our South Pacific office is wickedly cool.

     The video conference room opens to the "kitchen", which is a spacious room with an island counter, some tables, sink, a whole wall of refrigerators full of the company's products. The other side opens to a rooftop garden with more tables, and a barbecue grill. We were told that when the weather is nice, some people actually go outside to work there. What a great perk to have. In Makati, that option would be unappealing because of the pollution.

7) Singapore is a good stop for a connecting flight.

     Singapore felt like a Sim City. So polished it almost looks like a model unit of cities, made with Legos or something. The Skytrain that connects all three terminals was cool, too. Changi airport is practically a mall, lined with shops.

     Going back to Manila, I had a twelve-hour layover in Sg. My friends Tago and Abs were so thoughtful to wait for me for three hours at the airport and then let me crash at their flat. There, I had the chance to watch two episodes of the BBC documentary "Life". Anybody else thinks that just listening to David Attenborough raises their IQ's a bit? He could read off the classified ads and there'd still be oooh's and aaah's, I bet.

8) They mean business in business class.

    The company has a business class policy which I appreciated because this was my first trip out of the country and it afforded me a number of conveniences. The attendants were very nice and they keep offering you drinks and hot towels, and food - which was very good, I might add. Full course meals. The space was comfortable, too. Seats that transform to full beds - yeah, Singapore Airlines rocks. Unable to sleep, I got to watch a few movies from the video on-demand. I finally saw The Last Airbender (It wasn't as bad as some of the reviews made me think it would be), Letters to Juliet (a pleasant surprise), The Back-up Plan (I didn't even bother to finish it). On my way home, some executive-looking West Asian-looking old guy was on my left during the Singapore-Manila flight. He was in a suit and drank wine and watched CNN and read Financial Times. I was in my jeans and Chucks, drank my water, and watched Aladdin (An old favorite, been a long time since I last saw it). 

9) All my memories are carry-ons.

     In summary, I couldn't have asked for a better trip. But the best hour of the whole experience was on a Thursday night. The training was done, but I had a few free hours by myself until a scheduled teleconference. I left the hotel and just walked block after block. It was cold and a little windy. I had my iPod on and was listening to Live.

     It was surreal. The anonymity of being in a faraway city was both scary and exhilirating. I'm just a nobody who doesn't know anyone. I wondered about my mother, as I often do. I walk down Buendia Avenue in Makati, I think of her and how she would think of me walking down Buendia Avenue in Makati. And there I was, walking down Walker Street in North Sydney, I think of her and how she would think of me walking down Walker Street in North Sydney. What would she have thought? She would have been glad, I think, but I'm sure my worn out sneakers would have been disapproved.

Nothing but the tooth.

Ordinarily, being at home on a workday is something to look forward to. This Wednesday seems to be an exception.

I'm holing up in my room with a sharply bitter taste of anesthesia in my mouth, a drilled hole in my tooth, and a tongue that feels like it has doubled in size. Welcome to the first day of treatment of my impromptu root canal therapy.

When I found that my tooth had a slight underside crack, I did not hesitate to see the dentist. I honestly thought it would be a simple filling. Even as a kid, I was never one of those people who were afraid of dental appointments. I have a high threshold for pain, I'm not particularly scared of needles, and most importantly, I like to take care of my teeth. But lo and behold, after a thorough dental assessment, some drilling, and an x-ray later, it was found that my poor tooth was far worse than I thought it was.

The only way to save the tooth was through an RCT. Having it extracted was out of the question. I also remember my mother was adamant about keeping our original teeth. And so it goes. After more than an hour of keeping my mouth open, I now have a tooth in WIP therapy, a sore jaw, and a side of the mouth I'm not allowed to chew with. On top of that, I'm also out a couple of thousand pesos. And here's the best part of it all: I have two more weeks of these dental visits! So excited! [/sarcasm]

Quoting Antolini

For this edition of random memory unearthed - I'm taking you back at the time when I was seventeen. I was a college sophomore in UP and it was the semester I took Comm III. Our instructor took the whole class outside. She sat down and asked each one of us to stand a good 15-20 feet away and recite from memory one paragraph of our choice. 

This was mine. 

"This fall I think you're riding for—it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started." 

Written as a last remark on my comment sheet was, "Nice excerpt." What can I say? Salinger's got my back.

Not So Elementary

Like many others last week, I have closely followed with interest the games of "Jeopardy! The IBM Challenge". For those who weren't aware of what went on the past few days: The IBM Research group has built a computer system capable of answering questions in Jeopardy!. They named it Watson. And in a historic event, Watson competed last week with former Jeopardy! champions in a two-game charity fundraiser.

Now, some would ask what the big deal is all about. After all, we use computers all the time to answer things for us. We have Google, Wikipedia, and loads of others. The big deal is that Watson is able to answer questions in natural language. It's harder than it seems. It took the team over four years to develop the system. Watson is made up of "a cluster of ninety IBM Power 750 servers (plus additional I/O, network and cluster controller nodes in 10 racks) with a total of 2880 POWER7 processor cores and 16 Terabytes of RAM." A machine needs that much power and processing to be able to compete with humans in a game show.

I've seen the IBM officially-released videos, the PBS NOVA documentary "The Smartest Machine on Earth", and the actual Jeopardy! games themselves. What I find most fascinating about the Watson project is not the technological aspect of it. Although, from someone who majored in Computer Science, I could appreciate the immense breakthrough in NLP and machine learning algorithms. And excited how these new advances can have practical applications in other fields.

The most interesting part about this for me is observing the people surrounding Watson. Dr. David Ferrucci, the Principal Investigator of the project, is very defensive of Watson. During the practice games in IBM, he was very annoyed at the stand-in host who often made fun of Watson's way-off-the-mark answers. I guess if I spent the last four years of my life building something and all my efforts were being mocked, I would be very frustrated, too. 

Todd Crain, the comedian who was hosted the practice games, just couldn't resist the wisecracks since Watson was the perfect "straight man" of a comedic duo. Watson doesn't know that some of his answers are funny and he doesn't know that he's being made fun of. For a host, I guess it's very hard to pass up on the chance for a comic relief in an otherwise very cerebral activity. 

Dr. David Gondek leads the Strategy Team of Watson and is responsible for keeping its answers closer to the correct ones and far from hilarious inappropriateness. One of my favorite parts of the PBS documentary was during a practice game when the category "Celebrations of the Month" stumped Watson. Unlike the humans, it did not readily recognize that the answers should be months of the year. But thanks to a fix that allowed Watson to be informed of the answers after it has been revealed to the other contestants, it was able to learn the pattern. So after four clues of "learning" in that category, when Watson was able to answer the final clue, I was as thrilled as Dr. Gondek when he said, "He got it!"

The IBM team basically treats Watson as their child. They are very supportive of it, very proud of it, and yes, protective of it. The games are held at IBM and the audience is full of the company's engineers and executives. As Jeopardy! champion Ken Jennings has put it, it was "an away game for humanity". Jennings holds the 74-game winning streak record for Jeopardy!. He is known for his subtle humor and even inserted the following line in the final jeopardy round against Watson: "I for one welcome our new computer overlords".

Watson may know that the quote is from The Simpsons. That it was from the episode "Deep Space Homer". But for all its efficiency and capabilities, I don't think it knows why it is funny. Not yet, anyway.

 

Everydayness

Have you ever caught yourself doing something mundane -- like crossing the road or brushing your teeth -- and during that moment, recognized the triviality of the action and say to yourself, "Wow, this is so... ordinary."

 

In some respect, recognizing that moment for what it was lends itself a sense of profundity, if that makes sense. But I seem to be getting a lot of these insignificant moments that add up to the routine of my life's 'everydayness'.

 

Sure, life is made up of periods of time that, when broken down into small enough pieces, will yield to moments mundane enough to be relatively insignificant. A soldier fighting for his country in war should have at one point tied his shoelaces. Or a great scientific discovery would have involved countless moments of simple mathematics.

 

But I wonder how many people, when they zoom out on their ordinary moments, can claim with conviction that everything they are doing is part of a greater whole. That the summation of all their seemingly unimportant moments culminates to a grand design.

 

What ill timing to get existential! Others may hastily conclude that this particular day has something to do with this trail of thought. Alas, no. It's just a case of Mondays.

 

But for whatever it's worth, I hope you all had your share of amusement from today's occasion.

 

Unsorted

I've been going over some random memories. Please excuse the incoherence.

I remember being around five years old and sliding belly down the banister of the stairs. I did it with my sister who is a year older than I am. The first few times we did it, we had loads of fun. We'd climb up the steps, throw one leg over the banister, hug it tight, and then release our grip so we can slide down.

Now, have I mentioned that this was an outdoor stairs? It was cemented and pebbled all around. When we slid, the rough surface would ride our shirts up, expose our tummies and thereby scratching them when we reach the bottom.

Neither of us made the connection right away. All we know is that we were playing and then all of a sudden, our tummies had scratches and blisters. Indeed, at this point I humbly play the I-was-five card.

And as how all hurt, disappointments, and injustices of the world were addressed back then, we ran crying to our mother. For some reason, our mother promptly asked our Kuya what he did to us that made us cry. I distinctly remember feeling sorry for Kuya and insisting to Mama that he had nothing to do with our (ahem) brilliant idea of a game.

I suppose it's hard to be an eldest child. But I'd like to think that it has equipped my brother with skills needed to be a good dad. My nephew's still eighteen months old, but I pray that he grows up to be a good person. 

Right now, I hope it's not any indication that he trolls us during grocery shopping. When we're not looking, he stuffs the cart with everything his tiny hands could get. We once turned away from him for a few seconds in the frozen food aisle and afterwards found him clapping his hands in glee. We discovered half a dozen kielbasas in the cart as proof of his successful mischief. The funniest one I've heard of was when he, unable to chase his dad, threw the item in a bid to shoot it onto the cart. I'm sure when he's grown up, he'll use the I-was-one-and-a-half card.

And I know some might be annoyed that I am writing and talking about my nephew a whole lot. Truth is, I am actually already holding back as it is. He is such an adorable kid. And I have newfound sympathy and understanding for all parents or grandparents who incessantly bring up their kids and grandkids in every conversation. 

This reminds me of the old lady I met during my twelve-freaking-hours flight delay. She's seventy-five years old, but very fit for her age. We got to talking for hours. For some reason, the elderly find me charming. (Now if I could just extend my demographic...) More than 40 years ago was the first wave of the demand for nurses abroad during the Marcos era. She was one of those who took this chance to migrate to London and has lived there ever since. During breakfast, she talked about her grandkids and told me how clever and funny they are. She whipped out a homemade Christmas card that they made for her. Enclosed was a picture of the kids, three and five years old. Beautiful kids, indeed.

I wonder how they are with grocery carts, though.

Dear Adi,

I am going to miss you. I have spent everyday of the past two weeks with you, your Papa and Mama, and your Tita Mae. This has been the first Christmas that we have spent all together in a long time.

 

You won't remember much of it because you're not even two, but we had loads of fun. Let's go back to the zoo when you're older and no longer call all four legged animals as cats. And we promise to get you your own racquet when we go to the beach because you won't use it as a shovel by then. We'll also take you to a tennis match, unless you still have the need to run up and down stairs or poke kids and calling them "baby". (Which is very odd because you're much littler than most of them.)

 

I'm not sure if you'll outgrow your love for cars and balls (most boys don't). But please outgrow Justin Bieber. Years from now, we'll tease you that you dance to his songs whether you're upset, sleepy, or hungry. And that you watch the first 20 minutes of "Finding Nemo" AT LEAST once a day. But that's nothing to be ashamed of. After all, I watch it with you, too.

 

You're very lucky to have very loving parents. Don't give your Mama and Papa headaches, especially when riding escalators. And Tita Mae is always on the shopping lookout for cute stuff for you so try to spare her from your morning grumpiness.

 

I'm going to miss waking up to your "Tita? Tita!" shouts. Also sneeze-pretends and playing peek-a-"BAH" with you.

 

Give kisses to everyone for me. I love you all very, very much. I'll see you all again soon.

 

Mwah! Aaah-choo! :)

 

Love,

Tita Bom

 

The 100 Books

Have you read more than 6 of these books? The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books listed here. Instructions: Copy this into your NOTES. Bold those books you've read in their entirety, italicize the ones you started but didn't finish or read an excerpt. Tag other book nerds. Tag me as well so I can see your responses!

 

 

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien

3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte

4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling

5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee

6 The Bible

7 Wuthering Heights

8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell

9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman

10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott

12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy

13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller

14 Complete Works of Shakespeare

15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier

16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien

17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk

18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger

19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger

20 Middlemarch - George Eliot

21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell

22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald

24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy

25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams

27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck

29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll

30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens

33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis

34 Emma -Jane Austen

35 Persuasion - Jane Austen

36 The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - CS Lewis

37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini

38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres

39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

40 Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne

41 Animal Farm - George Orwell

42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown

43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving

45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins

46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery

47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy

48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood

49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding

50 Atonement - Ian McEwan

51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel 

52 Dune - Frank Herbert

53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons

54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen

55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth

56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon

57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens

58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon

60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck

62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt

64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac

67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy

68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding

69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie

70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville

71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens

72 Dracula - Bram Stoker

73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett

74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson

75 Ulysses - James Joyce

76 The Inferno - Dante

77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome

78 Germinal - Emile Zola

79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray

80 Possession - AS Byatt

81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens

82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell

83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker

84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro

85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert

86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry

87 Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White

88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom

89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton

91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad

92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery

93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks

94 Watership Down - Richard Adams

95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole

96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute

97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare

99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl

100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

 

--

I've only finished a handful from this list, but at least more than BBC's expectation? :)

 

Broken Into

I suppose getting burgled is not very interesting in the whole scheme of things. If anything, I am just another part of the statistic, some obscure news that, while unfortunate, isn't particulary surprising. People get robbed everyday on the streets and inside their homes.

But, man. Being part of the statistic doesn't make it easier. One would think the whole misery-loves-company thing would be in play somewhere, but no. I would never wish this on anyone for sheer number. Nor would I dismiss any burglary as offhandedly as I have done before.

It was a violation, not only of physical property, but of my whole concept of believing in the goodness of others. And, needless to say, it has infected the way I feel about people because it's harder to trust. There was at least one person who observed our routine, went to our door, forced it open, took our valuables. He rummaged through our closet, touched our things, even zipped open our Bible cases, and looked for anything with worth. He was there - where we slept, where we ate, where we LIVED.

For now, paranoia reigns supreme. But I do hope it wears off because it's too effing exhausting to be distrustful.

Once in a while, I catch myself wincing lately, but not out of pain. At least, not physically. More often, it's because I have let my thoughts wander back through the losses and some random memory of my mother wearing her diamond ring, some random file I can never access anymore from my stolen hard drives goes through my head.

The heaviest loss would understandably be my parents' valuables. So I'm going to steer clear of that for now because I don't want to have a breakdown.

Losing my laptop and external hard disk drive took some time to sink in. Both were very important to me but they were initially eclipsed by the enormity of losing the mementos of my parents. Days later after the robbery, it began to dawn on me that there were hundreds of drafts of writing that I will not be able to recover. Years worth of stories, journal entries - materials that I have been working on. I actually have been finishing a one-act play and was excited to send it to friends for review. I wish I already have sent it or uploaded it somewhere. Some lessons are so painful to learn. A thing about inspiration - it doesn't hang around waiting for you to create it (and back it up).

And all my pictures. Sigh. All the files from my old point-and-shoot until my DSLR. I don't often buy souvenirs when I travel because I always think that I take enough pictures to remember the places. And while I won't ever see my image library again, the only consolation I have is that I upload a few selection to Facebook or Multiply to share.

After it happened, I space out more often trying to find the reason why it had happened. Weeks before, I have contemplated on giving away my laptop to someone who needed it more. I was being nagged by the idea that if it didn't hurt when I give, then I was not giving at all. And it would be a hard sacrifice to give up my laptop because I was so attached and reliant to it. Now, I unbelievably regret that I did not heed that urge. And I resolve never to ignore it when it comes to me again.

While it is not likely that the robber held any Robinhood-like beliefs and it's not far-fetched that all the spoils went to drugs or booze, I hope that whatever amount he gained from the burglary, even a small part of it, was used to help someone in one way or another.

I'd like to take the rest of this space to thank all my family and friends who expressed their concern when they found out about what happened. Those text messages, emails, calls at 2 am, and offers of help in various forms are ALL very much appreciated beyond articulation. It is very assuring that your care is burglary-proof. Maraming salamat!

My dear nephew Adi,

I bought you two new books today. After hearing mass, I passed by a bookstore and saw two books that were very familiar to me. They are from the series: "Bright and early books for beginning beginners".

You see, when we were growing up -- your Papa, your Tita Mae and I had the whole set of these books. Your Lola read to us all the time, especially before our afternoon naps. I remember disliking that we were forced to sleep, but I did like the stories. From the books, we met The Cat in the Hat, The Berenstain Bears, and Hooper Humperdinck.

The ones I got you are: "The Big Honey Hunt" and ""The Berenstains' B Book". Those were two of my favorite. In fact, when you get older, I'll let you listen to our voice tape made by your Lola when I was three, Tita Mae was four, and your Papa was eight. Your Lola recorded us reciting the whole B Book from memory. You'll also find out that I was a very irritable kid. Not unlike you, as I hear. Your Mama and your Papa say that you are well-behaved, except when you demand to eat what everyone else is eating.

I saw pictures of your first birthday. You had two parties! And three birthday cakes! You've grown so big. I like the picture where you were poking the nose of the mascot Hamburglar. At least now I am assured that my nephew is not one of those wimpy kids who run away from mascots or big scary burglars.

When I saw you last Christmas break, your could barely crawl. Your Papa would dump you on my bed in the mornings to wake me up and you would pull my hair until I got up. That was also the time I learned that you had the propensity of biting/chewing everything that had batteries. Interestingly enough, you knew which ones had batteries. You insisted on drooling all over mobile phones, music players, remote controls, and digital cameras. They say you are still that way at one year old and you like eating your Papa's new phone. Unfortunately, that is not the edible kind of blackberry.

I enjoy it whenever your Papa calls me and then passes the telephone to you and I can hear you mumble incoherent words on the other line. Of course in between those mumbles, I can also hear beeping sounds as you press the keypad of the phone. I look crazy saying "Hello, Adi!" in varying tones forty times, but I do not mind.

It was supposed to be your Lola's birthday yesterday. She's not with us anymore, but I hope you'll still get to know her somehow through our stories. I'm sure she's happy to be your guardian angel.

Today is Fathers' Day, too, Adi. Did you greet your Papa? You probably just slobbered more all over his phone, but you'll get the chance when you grow up. Both of your Lolos are also part of your guardian angel security group. So we'll thank them in our hearts.

I will see you again soon, Adi. Be obedient to your Mama and Papa. And try to lay off on the electronics devices.

Hugs,
Your loving Tita

Some thoughts from Precinct 0440A

I consider myself fortunate that my polling place at UA&P is just a five-minute walk away. My friend Crystal and I decided to go early together to vote.

By 630am, we were out of the building. The area designated for the polls was the covered basketball court. Four clustered precincts in makeshift classrooms. It was not difficult to find our names. Just a few "nagpakaduling saglit" moments.

There were around 15 monobloc seats allotted for each cluster where voters can sit and wait. When those are already occupied, people have to stand and wait in queue. By the time I fell in line, I was one of those right behind the monobloc chairs, part of the next group to have seats after the next move.

Presidential candidate Nicolas Perlas walked in with his son, presumably. Not a lot of fanfare. A few TV crew crowded to get a shot of him while he checked for his name in the board. Perlas seemed like a decent, dignified-looking man. What was impressive is that he fell in line, along with the others. In fact, he was right behind Crystal and he tried to help keep the line orderly.

Another sidenote, TV personality Drew Arellano loitered around the court. He was interviewed nearby and joked around with the crowd.

The overall atmosphere of the precinct was friendly. There was a sense of community as most of the poll-watchers knew the voters. It was easy for them to appeal for organized queues and for patience. A fellow voter on my side struck a conversation with me. She thought I was an online reporter because I kept glued to my Twitter account on my phone while waiting for the queue to progress. I was intently checking for news and updates.

When it was our batch's turn to go inside the precinct, it was efficient. I gave my name, my precinct number, my voter number. The officer found my name, I showed my ID, I made the thumbmark and I was given a ballot. I was careful to wipe off any residual ink on my thumb with wet tissues before taking the ballot.

I was then asked to take a table which was also partly used by the BEIs. There was a bottle of ink on the table and I took measured movements to keep everything clean. I took out a face-towel and dried my hands and arms before I started to shade. I was concerned about the marker's ink absorbing through the other side of the paper. Anyway, having a codigo is very useful. I was done in four minutes.

And now, the close encounter with the infamous PCOS machine. It was an unassuming piece of machinery. Looked like a photocopier. I wanted to make a joke and ask it, "How's the family? CF card configured ok?" Anyway, I inserted my ballot, a few seconds later the little digital screen indicated that all was ok. Hallelujah.

Some guy dropped a generous amount of indelible ink on my forefinger. Another thumbmark and signature. I asked if there was anything else, the BEI smiled at me and said that was it. I thanked them and left the precinct.

The BEIs at our polling place were polite, competent, helpful, and very patient. I know the COMELEC has gotten a lot of bad rep for the number of fumbling incidents involving the automation. Sure, I continue to have my hesitations if they can pull it off, but I prefer to give them the benefit of the doubt. I choose look at them as growing pains. It's a tough job. They have to take pressures from the electorate, the candidates, the media. For whatever it's worth, I think Comm. Gregorio Larrazabal and Dir. James Jimenez are sincerely doing their best.

When we left UA&P, the queues were almost at the gate exit already. But it seemed tolerable to everyone. It was around half past 8 when we finished. Which was not terribly bad, I think, for exercising a right as important as voting.

Just a final piece of my mind on this election. I found myself saddened at some display of intolerance of opinion, especially online. I like it when voters are passionate about their candidates and try to convince the others of their choice's qualifications and share their achievements. I like it because it helps me decide. It's the mudslinging I can't stand. The condescension towards other people who do not share your opinion. It's a democracy. We have our own set of values. What is most important to you may not be most important to me. And that doesn't make any of us less. We're just different and that's ok.

We have to understand that we have to eventually heal the divisiveness that the campaign period has wreaked. We still have to all work together whoever wins and I don't think it's very productive to start off with antagonism. Enough of the mudslinging, please. I would have thought everyone else was fed up with it by now.

On that note, I don't care much who you vote for. Just please, please go out and vote.

Mothers' Day

When I was in preschool, my mother used to hold teaching sessions for me and my sister in the afternoons. Actually, it was more of a monitored playtime where we would answer puzzles from activity books - spot the difference, connect the dots, mazes. Sometimes, she would ask us to learn nursery rhymes or short poems. And then, she would read us stories before nap time.

My favorite was the stories with dogs. It had stories about anthropomorphized puppies with titles like "Bernie, the Chilly St. Bernard" or "The Puppy with the Mischievous Wink". There was also the book about fairies. I still remember the one about the pixie who always made the boy late for school everyday. Or the one of the "tiniest of the tiny fairies" - I was so distressed when she left home in fairyland to go to the beach. My mother would read the dialogues with character voices and dramatic facial expressions.

Of course, I had to interrupt often to ask the meaning of some of the words. Mama answered each question. Eventually, she taught me to take out the big red dictionary off the shelf and use it to check each word myself. When I was nine, she bought me a pocket dictionary which she told me to keep near when I read.

I must have been annoying child, I realize now. I interrupted story time. I ran around when she asked us to read out loud. I did not want to take my naps. Just to name a few.

But thank God for mothers and their patience. I was never reprimanded for asking questions. And I will always be grateful that she equipped me for finding the answers myself. I may not have her with me anymore, but I have a lot of other things to keep.

This will be a yearly favor that I will ask from you all. Please give your mothers a hug for me. Thanks.

Stay Down or Stand Up

Fire is fire.

Everyone goes through fire. Whenever we go through personal trials, we go through fire. And it is how we react to fire that reveals what we are made of. And as the metaphor goes - some get softened and turn to mush, like carrots. Some are hardened, like eggs. Some reveal their best essence, like coffee beans.

In a remote barangay in Zamboanga, an eleven-year old girl went with her uncle to fetch water. A group of men, out of nowhere, came out brandishing long knives and began hacking on the uncle until he lay dead on the ground. The girl ran for her life, but the men chased after her. They hacked their knives on her back, on her neck, on her wrists. The girl laid very still until the men went away, convinced that she was dead. When they left, she saw herself lying in a pool of her own blood.

With great pain, she stood up and tried to drag herself home. Every now and then, she would stagger and fall on the ground. She would momentarily lose consciousness. But when she regained it, she would stand up again and keep on heading home.

When she finally saw her house, she screamed for help with the little energy she was left with. Her mother, horrified at the sight of her bloody daughter, wrapped her in a blanket, cradled her into her arms. The nearest hospital was twelve kilometers away and there was no public transport. The mother carried her daughter and walked four hours to reach the hospital.

The girl underwent surgery for five hours. She had 25 stitches on her back, but the doctors could not save her arms. The very next day of tragedy was the girl's birthday. They incurred heavy hospital debts. When they came home, they found their house burned down.

Talk about fire.

That was eleven years ago. The girl is Maricel Apatan. She has recently graduated with the degree of Hotel and Restaurant Management as a scholar. She is on her way to being a full-fledged chef. A chef with no hands.

Along the way to her recovery, angels in the form of the church people, volunteer groups, and charitable organizations, helped the girl and her family. But it started with Maricel's willpower to stand up. And her refusal to stay down.

Imagine every excruciating step she had to endure. The trauma of going through that as an eleven-year old. She had every excuse to hate the world and complain for the rest of her life. But today, she is a cheerful and productive person. She uses her wrists with utmost dexterity. I saw her peel, chop, slice vegetables. No hands.

I watch her with amazement and I am humbled. It puts a lot of things in perspective. All those whining, petty complaints of everyday life. Just a quick scan of social networking updates just lets you know how many people let themselves get stuck, myself included.

Remember the three men in the book of Daniel? Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refused to pay homage to a golden idol. They were ordered to be securely bound by ropes and thrown into a furnace. They came out of the furnace unharmed, their clothes were not burnt, only their ropes.

Fire is fire. It is how we react to it that matters. We always have the option of letting fire set us free.

Learn to Soar

Today's Sunday service prayer meeting was about eagles. Those majestic birds and the very interesting manner they learn to fly.

Eagles are spectacular parents. They build their nests high up on the cliffs. The males gather together twigs and branches to make the nest's base and include thorns as protection from other animals. Afterwards, they cover it with soft grass. The mother eagles pluck feathers from their own breasts and lay them on nest to make the eaglets comfortable.

Everyday, the parents would hunt for food and feed their young. They would shelter them from strong winds by spreading their wings over them. They kept their children safe, warm, and comfortable to nurture their health and their strength.

But after ten weeks or so, the eaglets are left on their own in the nest. The parents hover and watch over them but they rarely give in to their cries of hunger. They stop the constant feeding. They also deprive them comfort by flapping their great wings to rid of the nest's soft grass and feathers. The thorns and twigs are exposed and the eaglets are forced out of their nest. Finally, in what appears to be the cruelest thing a mother can do to her child, the eaglet is pushed out of nest, and off the cliff.

Imagine the tiny eaglet shrieking in fear as it drops from that height. Mid-air the father eagle catches him and brings him back to the cliff only to be dropped again and again until finally, out of necessity, he learns to flap his wings. And the realization settles in: he knows how to fly.

At one point or another, we have all felt like being abandoned, being deprived, being wounded, being pushed out, being dropped down. It's easy to complain and to cry out injustice without realizing that we were nurtured to be strong enough to withstand everything that comes our way. And neglecting to recognize that we are capable of flight all the while. The pain was just an instrument to open our eyes.

I was once part of the warm, loving comfort of a home. It was taken from me. I have lost a lot, but I gained the willingness to learn. Every time I hear mass - may it be Sundays or during work lunch hours, I come to be taught.

Another fact about eagles. They can sense when storms are coming, but unlike other animals, they do not cower from it. They fly somewhere high up and wait in excitement for the winds to come. When the storm hits, they just let the wind pick up their wings until they soar way up above.

Let's not stay in our nests. We were meant to conquer the skies.

Kesz

I shook the hand of a great person today.

After this afternoon's casual keynote talk, he was just sitting quietly in a corner. My friend and I asked if we could have our pictures taken with him. He willingly obliged and was so polite about it. Afterwhich, I reached out to shake his hand.

I feel compelled to mention here that I don't usually do the whole "celebrity" thing. In fact, it borders on uncharacteristic. I am unlikely to ask for pictures or autographs from anyone. (Ok, my thing for basketball players in high school, notwithstanding) . But after hearing his story, I was filled with much admiration. Here was a person worth looking up to.

He grew up at a dumpsite. He slept on the streets. At five, he would race with other kids whenever the truck would unload garbage. It was in one of these mad dashes that he was pushed into a burning tire where he badly burned his arm. He was taken in by a volunteer group until he recuperated. And when he got well, he wanted to repay his benefactors' kindness by helping in the group's Kariton Classroom project.

Since he was only six at this time, he could not help out with teaching other kids how to read or write. When asked what he was good at, he said he was good at brushing his teeth and washing his hands. And that's what they let him teach to the other children - how to properly brush their teeth and wash their hands. He attended public school on weekdays and volunteered on the weekends.

All this time, everyone called him Kesz. Eventually, they got hold of his birth certificate, found out his real full name and birthday. And for the first time in his life, they celebrated his birthday when he turned eight. When asked what his birthday wish was, he got confused. He didn't know what it meant. And when explained that a birthday wish was something you wanted to happen, he answered that he wanted the other kids from his old dumpsite to feel the same happiness that he felt at the moment. He was aware that he couldn't hold parties for them. Kesz wanted simply for them to have toys and slippers.

For his next two birthdays, he tried to raise money to buy dozens of slippers by selling candies at his school. One of the teachers helped him. He kept all he earned in a coin bank and spent it on his birthday for other kids still living in the dumpsite.

When Kesz heard that his teacher's mother was hospitalized, he asked if he could have his coin bank opened to donate his savings to her. He said his teacher would be happy if her mother got well and he wanted her to be happy because he loved his teacher.

And so he gave his birthday fund away. It was only around three hundred pesos but it was everything he had. And it was at this point of listening to Kesz's story that the waterworks started. Right there on the second floor hallway of the public school elementary school. Seated on one of the monobloc chairs.

Kesz is eleven years old now. He collects books from people and donates them to schools for students to read and enjoy. He still raises charity for children scavengers. He goes to school. He speaks to schoolchildren and fellow volunteers. He inspires.

After speaking to the students, Kesz sat back quietly on his chair. He is respectful and well-behaved. He has bright eyes and a cheerful smile. He even sang a bit at the prodding of the emcee.

I shook the hand of a great person today. And the scars on his arm are barely visible.

--

Chris "Kesz" Valdez and Vonn Manalaysay, Efren Peñaflorida's mentor were guest speakers at the opening of the book club of the public elementary school where I volunteer.

Toby and Tyra

I just found out that my mother's pet dogs already passed away. Our neighbors in the old house who were taking care of them for us texted me the sad news that Tyra and Toby passed away recently and only three days apart from each other. Mama loved those askals. Especially Toby whom she got thirteen years ago. She named the puppy Toby because she got her on an October. The dogs kept her company when we were at work. And also Papa after he retired. My mother fed them, bathed them, took care of them when they were sick. She talked to them as she would talk to children. When disciplining them, she used her stern voice which was very familiar to me and my siblings.

When Toby was still little, I distinctly remember the incident when we woke up one morning and found shreds of paper strewn about on the kitchen floor. Toby had bitten off and chewed on the cover and first few pages of my sister's copy of Salinger's Nine Stories. My sister is very particular with her things and it was a big deal. I tried to salvage what was left of the book and taped torn pages, teeth marks and all. When my sister found out, she whined to our mother. And Mama told us in all seriousness that we should not worry about it; she has already reprimanded Toby and told her that what she did was a wrong thing and she won't do it again.

I remember how my sister and I were so incredulous at the resolution that my mother offered. Toby was a dog, after all, and what good did it do that the pet was told off? BUt that's how Mama was. She believed that the pets understood. She told me that Toby was aware whenever she was planning to give the dogs a bath. Just planning, no water hose involved yet. She came to this conclusion because Toby would hide under beds every single time. Tyra was a little slower and would be the first to be subjected to the unwelcome baths. But Tyra had always been the amiable one. We joked how lousy she was as a guard dog because she was friendly to all strangers. Both dogs would always rush out of the house whenever the gate was opened. But they always, always found their way back home.

When my parents passed away, Toby and Tyra were both inconsolable. Since we did not stay at our parents' house anymore, we had to leave them in the custody of our neighbors. They told us of how the dogs whimpered at night. And how the both of them waited around at our locked house, seemingly waiting for any member of the family to come home. They shared our grief.

I texted my siblings about Toby and Tyra and got separate phone calls from them. Both are working overseas, living separately in the same city. We couldn't hide the sadness we felt and my sister unsuccessfully tried to hold back tears at work. We all just hope that the dogs were reunited with our parents and maybe Toby can even nag Salinger himself.