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My Mama used to say that we should take time to re-read books we’ve loved when we were younger, just to see if we have the same perspective, and the same reaction to what we read.  Chances are we don’t, not because of any change in the book (none, evidently), but because we have changed.  Our view of the world, of things, and of people may have differed, hopefully in a much better way.  Of course that is not to speak for all.

When I was in college, I would bring home loads of books, loots from National Book Store’s annual cut-price book sales and other book shops during long breaks, and Mama and I would be in comfortable silence for hours, reading our choice novels and later discussing what we read over lunch or dinner.  That is why I was so deeply touched by The End of Your Life Book Club (Will Schawlbe, 2012).

Mama also told me that as I grow older, I would be more inclined to read non-fiction books like motivational reads, biographies, collections of anecdotes.  This one I am now trouble with: either Mama had made a hasty generalization, or I haven’t grown up at all.

Over the last (long) weekend I found YA (Young Adult) reads that re-kindled (pun intended J) my passion for reading.  I am no stranger to YA.  Weeks ago I was hyperventilating for the Delirium trilogy, which further proved that when it comes to reading choices I can be really juvenile. I don’t know, but I get so much fun, entertainment (giddiness!) and sometimes, enlightenment, from my juvy reads.  Don’t get me started on my TV series choices (*wink*).

Eleanor and Park (Rainbow Rowell, 2013) is a love story (the first love kind) between two misfits who are seatmates in the school bus.  The plot is actually very simple and yet profound, if that is ever possible.  I read it in a few hours, which should have been faster were it not for the Saturday night distraction called Bamboo of The Voice Philippines (a renewed crushing of sorts).

This is a problem when holding Kianne (my precious Kindle): once I start getting serious with him there is no stopping.  After the first love book I was ready to jump in and start reading Inferno (Dan Brown, 2013), but my sweet daughter interfered and insisted I try out John Green (whose books made her cry several times).  After some hesitation I gave in, and started Looking for Alaska (John Green, 2006), a coming of age story in the likes of Araby (James Joyce), A Girl I Knew (J.D. Salinger: “She wasn’t doing a thing I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.” Awww….), and Great Expectations (Charles Dickens), in a mash-up of drama, teenage angst, first love (again?!) and…sadness.  John Green exquisitely toys with sadness in his books I was told (my eldest daughter is a huge fan, hence the recommendation), but his kind is not overdone like Nicholas Sparks’ approach.  Green presents sadness in undertones and mixed with light scenes, like a tiny pinch that sooner or later envelops your heart when you least expect it.  The kind that does not exactly make you cry, but makes you heave a long sigh and reach out for a hot fudge sundae or a chocolate bar.  I am now officially a John Green fan.

BFF Leesa (https://www.facebook.com/ebookna), there are moments I cannot clearly remember life before you. Thanks a million.

sun*star.baguio.18 july2013.

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