NAMELESS

THE DEATHS of the nameless, faceless people we hear about every day usually bring only transient sympathy. The feeling lingers for just a minute before it slips away. Yet, it keeps our feet firmly on the ground, reminding us that life is fleeting, as are the memories of images passing our sight and the emotions that go with them.

I came to validate this thought when I heard about the death of a sidewalk vendor whose face I used to see every day on my commute to work. I called him Tatay or Manong, as I never knew his real name. He was one of the many familiar, nameless faces that populate my daily routine—like the jeepney drivers in our subdivision, the barkers, mall guards, churchgoers, beggars, and the vendors occupying street corners and bus stops along my usual path. Our interactions were simple: a smile now and then, a familiar look.

Biak-na-Bato Street, Quezon City

He must have been around 70 years old, lanky, with square shoulders that seemed perpetually propped up by a clothes hanger. His skin was as brown as the soil, weathered to the texture of prunes. I almost always saw him wearing faded shirts and shorts. His kariton—a wooden cart about the size of a standard office desk—had extended posts at each corner covered by a recycled tarpaulin. It housed a wide variety of merchandise: yosi (the street term for cigarettes), gum, candies, biscuits, pens, tabloids, and packets of instant coffee, mostly 3-in-1 blends. I was his suki, a regular buyer of his instant coffee and SkyFlakes crackers.

He parked his cart on a portion of an asphalted street near a sectarian school on Biak-na-Bato Street. I always wondered why sidewalk vendors, despite their name, prefer to occupy the edge of the road rather than the sidewalk itself. His regular patrons were the daily passersby: employees heading to nearby offices, residents, students, churchgoers bound for the massive Dominican church nearby, and commuters waiting at the loading zones along Quezon Avenue.

His highly visible spot stood just a stone’s throw away from where two holdup men had been gunned down by the city police two or three months prior. It was also very close to a Land Transportation Office (LTO) branch, where cunning and accommodating fixers abounded, completely ignoring a prominent sign that read, "Bawal ang Fixer Dito" (Fixers Prohibited Here).

The last time I asked Manong for a packet of 3-in-1 coffee from his mobile sari-sari store, he was fanning himself with a folded tabloid.

"Naubos," he said with a toothless grin.

That was just two days before I heard the news of his death. Manong had fallen victim to a hit-and-run. He was crossing the four-lane expanse of Quezon Avenue, clutching a bottle of Red Horse beer, in a section of the road where pedestrians were forbidden to cross. A speeding van struck him before he could reach the safety of the other side. He was gone like wisps of cigarette smoke—a nameless death. He was erased from the surface of the earth, and even the memory of him would soon wash away, just like his bloodstain on the asphalt.

I wondered why I cared so much that he died that day. Tomorrow is no different from yesterday, save for the absence of that familiar kariton in its usual spot.

The next morning on my way to work, I bought a 3-in-1 coffee from a different store. As I sipped my warm cup, a thought crossed my mind: there is a world I belong to, and there is a world I am merely passing through. And I realized how often I bother myself with things I cannot reach—or things that even death cannot treat with respect.

RED ANTS AND CRUMBS

SHE said she had a date that night, so I didn't ask her again.

I went back to my table in the other room and dived into the mountain of manuscripts I had been proofreading since morning, letting her slip from my mind. It was February 14, but what the heck. I had just received my payslip. I figured I could just stay in my rented space in Roxas District to read another Leon Uris or John Grisham book, or treat myself to a simmering bowl of bulalo at a sidewalk eatery along Aurora Boulevard in Cubao.

By past 5:00 PM, most employees had already left. Through the glass wall separating the editorial office from the circulation department where she worked, I could see her still completely absorbed in paperwork. She didn’t look like someone raring for a date, but I resolved not to ask her again. I was the only one left in my department; unlike my officemates, my official shift ended at 6:00 PM because the company allowed me to extend my hours from Monday to Friday so I could keep my Saturdays free for post-graduate studies.

When the clock struck 6:00, I found myself asking her again anyway. She admitted she wasn’t sure about her date and needed another hour to finish up.

Returning to my desk, I closed my manuscript and checked the wall clock repeatedly. I lost myself in thought watching a column of tiny red ants marching toward the flower vase atop my cubicle, gathering crumbs left over from my 3:00 PM crackers. Eventually, I left the room, locked the glass door, and walked over to the circulation department. I told her that if she was indeed going on a date, I could keep her company in the meantime so we could leave the office together and part ways at the street corner. She agreed.

As we talked, I casually skimmed through back issues of the company’s showbiz, sports, and music magazines. She had only been introduced to me six months earlier, back in August, by her college best friend who had convinced her to join the company. She was shy, slim, just a little over five feet tall, with an attractive face, observant eyes, and long, flowing tresses.

I had gotten to know her more closely one Sunday afternoon a few days after our initial meeting. She was alone in the office because her best friend couldn't make it that day. Meanwhile, the magazine editor who had called me in for press work changed his mind and canceled at the last minute. I went straight to her office, said hello, and stayed for the next two hours just talking. That was when I discovered we had graduated from college in the same year, that her family was Ilocano, and that her late father, brother, and sister all shared the same birthday—September 21, which also happened to be my birthday!

That same night, I invited her to dinner at a sizzling joint and bakeshop near the office, just across from Sto. Domingo Church. Over our meal, we talked about our college days, our wacky officemates, Eraserheads songs, and her goals in life. More dinners followed. Once, at a fast-food restaurant near Welcome Rotunda, I handed her three 100-peso bills to repay a loan from her petty cash. On those bills, I had written the three words I desperately wanted to say to her. She counted the money, looked at me in utter disbelief, and quietly slipped the bills into her purse.

"I'm in a relationship," she had said then. That must be her date tonight, I thought to myself.

We finally left the office at 7:00 PM. "So, you don't have a date after all?" I asked.

She nodded. I offered to take her home, which had become our routine whenever we left the office at the same time.

We hurried out to the street corner along Quezon Avenue and flagged down the first Malate-bound jeepney we saw. The entire city seemed swept up in a romantic mood. Inside the jeepney, two or three young couples were making goo-goo eyes at each other. On the sidewalks, couples openly displayed affection, holding hands as they walked, some girls clutching single flowers. Even through the glass walls of fast-food chains, lovebirds were visible everywhere. No doubt there were even more packed into cinemas, motels, and the shadowy corners of public parks. We just smiled at our observations, choosing to talk about absolutely anything except romance.

We alighted in front of Malate Church and walked toward Remedios Street. The night was clear and starry, and the cool breeze blowing in from Manila Bay felt like a sweet caress. I suggested dinner, and when she agreed, I brought her to a burger stand near her place.

I was secretly overjoyed by the unexpected turn of events—spending Valentine's Day with her, even if it was unplanned and unprompted.

"I finally got a date with you today," I teased.

She laughed but said nothing to confirm it. We simply enjoyed each other's presence. She knew the real me. I didn’t need to play the part of the perfect guy; I just allowed myself to be a genuine friend, and in turn, I came to know her deeply. I grew so comfortable with our setup that I stopped overthinking my feelings and just embraced being with her.

Before she knew it, a deep, resilient friendship had formed between us. Eventually, she found herself stepping into the very love territory I had quietly marked out for her.

That evening was our very first date—a friendly Valentine's Day outing. Yet, it remains our best date ever. It also proved to be our last "casual" date, because in December of that very same year, I married her.

JUST THREE WORDS

WHAT is your motto in life? It was a bonus 5-point question—so unexpected like a lightning at this time of the year, in my midterm exam for a civil law subject. But it was a breeze to answer it in not less than 50 words and having the extra points.

When was the last time I answered the same question? High school days, when I had to fill out slum books of my female classmates? Before I graduated in college, when the yearbook committee asked me about it?

It didn’t take me a minute to think what to write in the exam, because I have been consistent about it and live by this motto: NEVER GIVE UP.

Winston Churchill during the war had uttered these words in a speech before British students (some say “Never give in” were his exact words). Christopher Columbus and Thomas Alba Edison might have uttered these words also in their respective undertakings. I can’t imagine the world now without Columbus who never gave up during his voyage to the New World, what with the uncertainties of his destination, unfriendliness of the sea, and mutinies among his men. And what would the world be without inventors like Edison who persevered to make our life easier than before?

Never give up! Perhaps one of the most evocative mottos, and it has proven to have woven magic to people who take these three words to heart. For me, it has become like a mantra every time I am in a bind. For without it I would not have accomplished things and become the person I am now. My college education was filled with uncertainties and consistent combat against poverty. I had lots of rejections when, as a probinsyano and an inexperienced fresh grad, I applied for a job in the big city. And in pursuing my dream to buy a house with my hard-earned money, I was robbed thousands of pesos by a scheming real estate agent.

But did I give up? In those particular cases, NO. I finished college by supporting myself; I worked as a student assistant for a time and an underpaid farmhand during semestral breaks. I persisted in my job applications, until I was hired by a publishing company which up to this time is still providing me the work I need to earn a living. And I was able to acquire a house on mortgage from a new and legitimate broker (though I wasn’t able to recover my loss).

My father used to say to me, if you think you can do it, you can do it. I remember I was tempted to add: if you think you can’t do it, then forget it. But I realized early enough that this is wrong, because the resolve to do something must dwell first on the mind, that’s why there’s this mental conditioning: if you think... Now if you think and you believe it can be done, then you can do it, as what my father used to say. But if you lose, there’s always a second chance, and third, and so on.

But the best one that gives me the real push comes from the bible, thanks to a Born-Again Christian friend in college who first shared this verse to me: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me (Philippians 4:13). Now this added a new dimension to the three-word motto “Never give up” as I say it now because a resolve that comes with it, is now hinged on a belief that I cannot fail because Someone’s up there to help me all the time.

There are times, however, that I wasn’t able to use the motto, along with my father’s words and my favorite verse, to my best advantage. Sometimes I falter, waver in my faith, and give up things for good reasons. And some, for bad reasons.

When did I give up? I can only think of a few. I gave up playing chess, though I have been good at it when I was younger, because I had been very emotional when I lost in a match; I gave up my post-grad studies midway to the course because I decided that I rather start a family of my own than embark on a new career; and I gave up a friendship because I chose the will and weal of a group rather than nurture a close relationship with this person.

But so far, one thing will never change about me. Not a chance would I give up working and dreaming for something better.

THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE... MALATE

BEFORE I became a resident, Malate was to me merely a passive host to rowdy bars and restaurants stretching into the nearby Ermita district. It seemed like a place reserved solely for people looking to chill out, hang out, and seek casual encounters.

During my first year in the metropolis in the early '90s, I only knew of the area through news reports about its famous mayor, Alfredo Lim. The former police chief turned city mayor—who later became a senator before returning to the mayoral seat—made headlines by padlocking bars and restaurants across the Malate-Ermita area. The city council at the time believed these establishments were havens for prostitution and lewd shows. Years later, the Supreme Court ruled that the mayor and his council had exceeded their authority by shutting down legitimate businesses. By then, however, many bar owners, entertainers, and patrons had already migrated to other nightlife districts in the metropolis.

Mayor Lito Atienza, who succeeded Lim, initiated a grand revitalization of Manila’s old districts, including Malate, sprucing up city squares and mini-plazas. New resto-bars and KTV joints—many of them Korean-owned—began to crop up. A diverse cluster of new businesses breathed life back into the Nakpil-Adriatico-Orosa stretch, an area just a few blocks south of Robinsons Place that had sat deserted during Lim's first term.

I first saw Malate up close when I started frequenting the area to visit my girlfriend. Her family lived in one of the remaining pre-war wooden houses along Remedios Street, just about 500 meters from Malate Church. It was 1996, three years after I had moved from Ilocos. At the time, I was working as a proofreader for a publishing house and renting a bed space in an old house in Quezon City.

That very same year, I married my girlfriend at Malate Church. From January 1997 until late 2001, when my family relocated to Bulacan, I was a proud resident of Barangay 697, Malate District. I registered to vote there a year later and have maintained my voter registration in that same barangay through every succeeding election up to this day.

Even though we now reside in Marilao, Bulacan, the old district of Malate will always be home to my family. My three children were all born at the nearby Philippine General Hospital in Ermita and baptized at Malate Church. When they were babies, we would bring them to the barangay health center near San Andres Market for their free medical checkups.

We still return to Malate every third Sunday of November to celebrate the feast day of its patron, Our Lady of Remedies. We go back whenever my wife or one of the kids falls ill and needs a checkup with their doctor in Singalong, or whenever my wife has important business to conduct in the city. Malate is our permanent anchor—a reliable stopover and a familiar watering hole.

Above all, the one event that gravitates our family back to Malate is our annual New Year’s Eve celebration. It serves as the grand reunion for the Gundran clan, bringing together my mother-in-law, my wife’s brothers and sisters, their children, in-laws, and grandchildren. We welcome the New Year watching fireworks just outside the front gate on Remedios Street, later feasting on spaghetti, ham, and pork or hotdog barbecue. Remarkably, we exchange our holiday gifts on the 31st of December rather than on Christmas Day.

For the past twelve years, with the sole exception of 1999 when we visited my hometown in Ilocos Sur, I have spent every New Year’s Eve in Malate. The first day of the year is traditionally spent strolling and taking family pictures along the Manila Baywalk on Roxas Boulevard. Other times, we attend Mass at Malate Church, visit the Manila Zoo, play arcade games at Harrison Plaza or Robinsons Place, or watch our children run around the open spaces of Remedios Circle and the Paraiso ng Batang Maynila park, sharing the space with local street kids playing half-naked in the sun.

Whenever the holiday season wraps up and we leave for Bulacan, we carry the comforting certainty that we will be back soon. We will return to old Malate to be with family, to revisit my wife’s birthplace, and to walk the streets of the city she first called home. No matter where life takes us or how far we drift, we always find our way back to Malate. There truly is no place like this district, a place I have happily considered my home for the past 12 years.

San Andres market fruit stands & Paraiso ng Batang Maynila


Remedios Circle & Remedios St. front of Royal Plaza


Malate Church & Rajah Sulayman Park


Manila Baywalk fronting Malate Church & Adriatico St.

A FAMILY AFFAIR

This piece was written two years ago, tracking the deep relevance of the ongoing Metro Manila Film Festival (MMFF) to my family. Once again this year, we are planning our annual trek to watch a festival entry. But with three growing kids now in the picture, our trip to the cinema will inevitably be a battle of compromises: a choice between a film of my own preference or one that caters specifically to fun-seeking children.

If the choice were entirely mine, I would readily go for Iskul Bukol. I have been a massive fan of Tito, Vic, and Joey and a loyal viewer of Eat Bulaga since my own childhood. But as with most things in a full household, the final decision depends entirely on the kids—after all, they hold the majority vote. Of course, there is always a chance we might skip the festival altogether this year—not out of a family disagreement, but simply due to a lack of time or a tight holiday budget.
 

THROUGH the years, Metro Manila Film Festival (MMFF) has been part of my married life. My wife and I couldn't celebrate our wedding anniversary on December 30 without a movie date.
  
Because December is MMFF month, we always had a filmfest entry in our list and it has become our tradition to watch only one movie for the whole festival. And we just don't watch any film, we have to see to it that it would be the best among the entries. 

Most of our picks romped away with the Best Picture award or received good reviews among film critics. 

The most memorable of these films and what I would say is my personal choice as Best Film in recent years is Mark Meily's debut feature, Crying Ladies. 

I'm not a big fan of Sharon Cuneta who plays the female lead character named Stella Mate in the movie. Sharon does a magnificent job in eliciting our sympathy (and laughter) for Stella's never-ending woes and her many wacky attempts to solve them. And to think that she looks chubby or losyang in Crying Ladies, far from the more glamorous portrayals she had in most of her previous films. 

Watching Meily's film made me truly realize why Sharon rightfully deserves her legendary Megastar status. 

No, Crying Ladies is not only about Sharon. It's about the clever plot of a story cobbled with local color and the ordinariness of life, centered on an old Chinese practice of hiring professional criers to fool the gods into thinking the deceased would be sorely missed for his/her good deeds. The humorous, witty script by Meily himself put together the individual stories of the three criers played by Cuneta, Hilda Koronel and Angel Aquino and that of the deceased's son, played by Eric Quizon. The funny shrieking trio and the relatively subdued Quizon came out with winning performances, marked by their brisk rendition of their characters' desperation with humor and poignancy. 

It's a Filipino version, if not second best, to Forrest Gump, in terms of the cunning use of comic relief to temper the heavy stuff and the depiction of an affectionate yet satirical portrait of an ordinary life with interesting twists at the end of the story. This is the kind of script I wish I would have written.

A couple of scenes remain vivid in my mind up to these days, perhaps because of the movie's Pinoy-ness or comic effect. 

One shows Stella having a hearty McDo meal with her son, her exasperated ex-husband and his wife. Others show Stella's regular encounter with the balut vendor, her audition piece for an entertainer's job in Japan and her winning an international acting award as a videoke model-artist.
 And to think that my wife and I almost missed watching Crying Ladies! We were celebrating our seventh anniversary that year and our two boys --then aged five and three, wanted so much for the family to watch Bong Revilla's Captain Barbell. But I did not give up watching Crying Ladies for a fantasy flick about an over-exposed local superhero. So we hired my wife's niece to accompany my boys to watch the film of their choice, while my wife and I watched Crying Ladies. 

For the next years, I gave in to my kids' wishes. With kids in tow, our anniversary date has turned out to be a family affair.

(Originally published in The Philippine Star, March 2, 2008, under the title "Pinoy as it gets")

A BOXING FAN

I AM one of millions of Filipinos that up to this day relish every retelling of the victory of Manny Pacquiao in his much-vaunted fight with another boxing great Oscar de la Hoya early this month. It was a good fight, a very convincing TKO conquest by the Filipino punching machine. In my whole life of watching great fights in the ring, and those of Pacman’s latest exploits over other big-time Mexican sluggers, his last fight for me is one of the best one-sided fights of all time and it’s a good thing when you’re a Filipino and on the side of the victor.
  

I have been a boxing fan since my elementary days in Ilocos. And I thank my Apong Lakay (my maternal grandfather Angel Escobar Sr.) for this. That’s why even to this date when I think of amazing fights, or when I see people to their feet cheering with wild abandon for their warrior in the ring, I always think of my late Apong Lakay doing the same.

And if I make a list now of those special moments I spent with Apong Lakay, who died when I was a college freshman or years before Pacquiao entered professional boxing in 1995, it’s the ones we had together watching boxing, or even wrestling matches, on TV which seem to be the best for me. Maybe because I always enjoy watching physically competitive contests whether on TV screen or in the street. Or I should say I can only watch a boxing match on television and any TV show hours after that when Apong Lakay was then in command of a rich aunt’s black-and-white TV. He would know schedules of every live boxing match or some classic boxing matches on replays, as I would with schedules of my favorite action movies shown on TV. He would call any of my cousins (my aunt’s children), no matter what they were doing, to turn on the TV for him. Yes, during that time, our own TV was already sold by my father to a neighbor, and Apong Lakay’s house didn’t have one until his death. So the best venue then for a visual delight over a bakbakan (slugfest) would be in my rich aunt’s house.

Apong Lakay, who was good in arnis and mano-mano during his younger days, was so proud of our Filipino fighters, especially Flash Elorde and Pancho Villa. Perhaps he would feel the same, if not reserve the best now for Manny Pacquiao. He was also a big fan of Sugar Ray Leonard and Muhammad Ali. And with those years when Apong Lakay was alive, I was able to watch Ali or Leonard fight with their respective opponents in classic matches. I also watched other outstanding boxers in the 80s who have become legends of the sports—Marvin Haggler, Thomas Hearns, Roberto Duran, and Larry Holmes. Likewise I didn’t miss great fights of our local champs like Rolando Navarette, before his rape conviction in Hawaii, and Dodie Boy Peñalosa.

And now if Apong Lakay were alive today, he would have savored like his favorite steaming papaitan this latest fight of Manny Pacquiao. And I would have loved to have us exchange our own post-fight analysis, now that I have matured as a boxing fan through the years. But I could only imagine these things now.

MY TOP 15 BOOKS

WHENEVER I chanced upon blogs that tell about books that have changed people’s lives, books that are memorable to them for some reason, or books that are outstanding, based on eccentric and subjective standards, I always go over their articles and find out if some books that I have read and savored are on their top 10 or 20 lists.

And like most of the bloggers, I love books and started reading early in life but I don’t consider myself voracious enough to finish a book in one sitting nor a certified bookworm (and I don’t necessarily collect books). I just love to read, especially fiction or pocketbook novels; I fill my idle time, even during a bumpy jeepney ride, reading them.

The first novel I read was Howard Pease’s Thunderbolt House. It was a good material for adventure-loving and mystery-seeking youngsters. That started early my penchant for mystery and detective stories, leading me to The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and mind-boggling crime stories of Agatha Christie, Ross McDonald, and some titles from the Hardy Boys series.

My appetite for books was reinforced by my father, a former high school teacher, when he would bring home books, a mix of modern romance and classic titles, or from Silas Marner to Mills & Boons to Harold Robbins bestsellers, which he borrowed either from the school library or from a co-teacher or one of his students. Father would read them during the night or on weekends, while I would wait for my turn to get hold of these books. And it helped also that I have an older brother, an English major, who read pocketbooks and discuss them with me. This stirred me to read more for the next discussion.

I was already a college freshman when I started logging every book that I finished, and I’ve been doing it ever since. My latest count, discounting nonfiction books and anthologies, is 126 novels in all. And it’s only now that I started thinking which of the novels in my list have a permanent impact on me in some small way.

Well, let’s stir the waters with my own top 15 list of novels that may have changed my life just a little bit. My list was arranged in the order when I read them. I’ve also added some commentary for the top ten books to explain why each one made the cut.

1. The Pearl by John Steinbeck
I was in high school and I didn’t know then who Steinbeck was when I read this novella. It was a story that explores the secrets of man’s nature, the darkest depths of evil, and it centered on a great pearl, the Pearl of the World, found by the main protagonist. One memorable part for me was the escape of Kino, his wife and his baby from trackers or those who want to grab the pearl from him, and the cat-and-mouse chase that lead the family to a cave in the mountains. But the baby was killed by the trackers, thinking it was a coyote. Kino’s journey with the pearl ends in tragedy. Realizing that the pearl is cursed and has destroyed his family, Kino and Juana throw the cursed pearl into the sea. Sayang!

2. Portrait of a Marriage by Pearl S. BuckThis is the first Pearl S. Buck story that I have read. As the title goes, it was a story that makes you feel good about marriage. I was in high school when I read this book, and that early I know then what I want in life, aside from a good career.

3. Silas Marner by George Eliot
Before I read the novel, my father had already narrated to me the whole story during a brownout in our barrio. It was a tale of familial love and loyalty, reward and punishment, and humble friendships, centered on this cataleptic guy who was accused of theft, and later excommunicated, but became rich and fully vindicated at the end of the story. And the morning after that informal English Lit session with my father, I got hold of the book, and thus began my propensity to classic novels.

4. The Good Earth by Pearl S. BuckI belong to a family of farmers. So when I read this novel, it made loud and clear to me the importance of owning big tracts of land, and the social status that come with it. The story begins on a farmer’s wedding day and follows the rise and fall of his fortunes. As the wealth of a rich family in a nearby town slowly declined due to frequent spending, and uncontrolled borrowing, the farmer, through sheer hard work and the skill of his wife, actually a slave he bought from the rich man’s house, slowly earned enough to buy land from the rich family. The wheel of fortune turned in favor of the farmer who at the passing of years, was able to accumulate more lands until he bought even the remaining estate of the rich family.

5. Exodus by Leon Uris
After reading the book, I fell in love with the history of the modern State of Israel, and admired how the Jews struggled and finally abled to gain their independence. It was more than a history book that taught me things I want to know about the Jews. Two of the memorable characters are Ari Ben Canaan, the Jewish army leader who ably hatched a plot to transport Jewish refugees from a British detention camp in Cyprus to Palestine; and Dov Landau, the quiet, introverted teenage boy who lost his entire family to the Holocaust, but survived the horrors of ghetto life in Warsaw and of concentration camp in Auschwitz, by becoming a master forger for the enemies to save himself.

6. The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
I love this novel’s labyrinthine or detective-fiction plot, deep philosophical discussions, and the mysterious medieval setting (an Italian monastery). For the first time, I came to know about monks, and what they do in a monastery. I have yet to see its movie adaptation starring Sean Connery and Christian Slater.

 7. The Godfather by Mario Puzo
This is a wonderful story that gives me a ringside view of the workings of the Mafia “families.” But what stumped me early on is the emphasis on family honor, loyalty, and friendship by these families as they wallow in a life of crimes. The novel notably reveals how the family of an organized crime works, e.g. when you are downtrodden, or unfairly victimized, all you need do is approach one of the “families,” proclaim your devotion and friendship, then request a “favor,” and the don will surely grant it. But here’s the catch, you must be willing to return the favor whatever that is. But what strikes me most was the character of the Godfather (Don Vito Corleone); discounting his underworld persona, I aspired once to be like him—strong, powerful, and wise and most of all a good family man.

8. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens 

Where love was, all was. This is a memorable line from the novel. It has become my guiding principle when I started committing myself to a serious relationship. It’s a good decision that I borrowed this from a classmate during college. I hadn’t read any of Charles Dickens’ books then. I wanted to read it, not only because it was highly recommended by my English professor, but also to satisfy my curiosity why it bears the same name as the world renowned magician. At first I was intimidated by its thickness, over 900 pages, but I enjoyed deeply, although it took me months to read it. Many stories were effortlessly woven from the main plot (David’s struggles in life) which beautifully connects with one another, all with interesting, colorful, funny, eccentric and outrageous characters, some having weird names like Micawbers, Traddles, Steerforth, and Uriah Heep. If you’ve never read Dickens before and you want to delve into his style, I would recommend you start with Copperfield.

9. Never Love a Stranger by Harold Robbins

The first Harold Robbin’s book that I have read was The Adventurers. It has very interesting plots and defined characters in this novel and it was like watching a movie or a TV series. But it is Robbin’s first novel Never Love a Stranger that I read later that ranked higher in my list. Maybe because I find the courageous and passionate story of the protagonist Francis “Frankie” Kane more interesting than Diogenes Alejandro Xenos (or Dax), the tragic revolutionary hero of The Adventurers. A few things stood out for me in Never Love a Stranger. One is the way Frank works his way up, from his meager beginnings as a Jewish orphan, choosing the wrong side of the law to make a name for himself. He has this innate and powerful drive to succeed, in spite of the harsh realities in his world, racism, and living in the fast lane in the New York’s gangland. The difficulty of fitting in with an antagonistic world and the corresponding price you must pay to make the grade is the sense you get after reading this book.

10. Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

I found this small book in the library of the school in Ilocos where I taught for a year. I thought it’s about Buddha’s life, because Siddhartha is the former name of Gautama Buddha. The novel, soon I found out, only mirrors the inspiring life of Buddha but isn't a retelling of his exalted life. Hesse’s Siddhartha has his own quest for meaning. He is a young and brilliant Brahmin in ancient India who has everything but dissatisfied with life. Siddhartha, just like  St. Francis of Assisi , leaves the comfort of his place to seek more. Siddhartha lives as an ascetic, but after meeting the Buddha, he rejects that kind of life, and ends up becoming a simple ferryman on a river.  Of all things he met along the way, it is the river where he derives his real enlightenment. He thinks that the river is god. But what is most memorable is this line from the book: Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal. A food for thought for a fresh graduate like me then, for that time I was on a crossroad, and I didn’t know which road to take, or where I will start to embark on a satisfying career. That “awakening” theme or the journey of self-discovery had big impression on my life after that year.

11.The Roots by Alex Haley
12. Ben-Hur by Lew Wallace
13. The Firm by John Grisham
14.The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty
15. Rabbit, Run by John Updike

And lurking under my top 15 are Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte; The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway; A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean; The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown; and Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes.