When people ask me to define love, I say, "Love is like handing someone a gun, having them point it at your heart, and trusting them to never pull the trigger." (Sponge Bob)

When they ask me why I laugh at my mistakes and even write them with pride in my blogs, I say, "I'm not crazy. I just don't give a damn!" (Daffy Duck)

When one time I was conducting a group activity, a student asked what road sign I love the most, I said, "I like dead end signs. I think they're kind. They at least have the decency to let you know you're going nowhere…" (Bugs Bunny)

And when for the nth time a friend would ask me what do I get from writing, I'm not even sure if there are good old souls out there visiting my site, I just smile and say, "Kung gusto mong maging manunulat, eh di magsulat ka. Simple." (Bob Ong)

And last night when Eva said she wants to quit from her work because nobody believes in her, her boss got mad at her, she doesn't even have friends at her agency, and she's crying like hell, I said, "Either you stay to prove your worth or you quit and just show them you're a loser, you have to strive for your happiness." (MY original)

My CHOICES: I remained believing in love. I continued spicing up my mistakes and rewriting my life, accepting failure but keep on dreaming until words would fade into thin air.

Nov 9, 2007

Bookworm's Pick 2: Memories of My Melancholy Whore

After reading that long narrative of Love in Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I am hoping against hope that this striking title he made out for this one is not as boring.

Let us see what FHM has to say:

It begins with the line, “The year I turned ninety, I wanted to give myself the gift of a night of wild love with an adolescent virgin.”

Ain’t that suck! Yucky as hell! But if you wish to read on, just read on…

FHM continues:

This slim volume unfolds on this premise (the quote before my interruption… Oh well, I just wanna interrupt to garnish FHM’s column with my own write-up!) made by an unnamed Colombian journalist (Isn’t that pathetic? Writing a piece about some character with no name, like a horse lost in the desert which has no name? pardon me for my interruption… again!) and teacher – a slightly talented man (maybe he doesn’t even know how to kiss and f*!), never been married (now I understand!), never been in love (a real asshole!).

Oh well (this is me, talking…), everything in the parentheses are mine. Then again, my interruption. I just wanna share my piece of thought as I read through the review. As I’ve claimed, a touch of my madness and spontaneity.

We move on… promise I won’t interrupt. FHM says:

This one is a recounting of love found at unexpected time (…sigh…) and place (…sigh…sigh…), a novel that’s said to be lifted from the author’s own accounts (…more sighs…). Even after an absence of ten years in the literary scene, Marquez’s style never falters (oh, well…). He throws in yet another masterfully crafted parable under his name.

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