LAST YEAR, I read 42 books—the highest count for any single year since I first started reading pocketbooks back in grade school. Even after that massive literary sprint, I wrapped up the year with 58 books still sitting on my shelves eagerly waiting to be read. Almost all of them were unearthed from cramped secondhand bookstores and sidewalk stalls.
So far, I managed to finish four books this past January, and I am already working my way through my sixth book of this month. At this breakneck pace, I might actually clear my entire waiting list before the year ends.
Why the sudden, dramatic surge in my reading volume?
My previous personal best was 17 books, a record I tallied back in 2004 (I have faithfully kept a log of everything I read since high school). Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely serious when I first joined a Shelfari reading group that challenged its members to finish 50 books a year. I initially just wanted to see how I measured up against the group's most voracious readers and give myself a healthy challenge. I almost made the cut last year. Now, aiming for a steady target of four or five books a month—a milestone I successfully hit over the last two months—I am firmly on track to cross the 50-book finish line.
I am reading with the same fierce intensity I had back in '04, despite juggling a demanding workload at the office, my exhausting law studies, and late-night freelance writing. Yet, whenever a spare sliver of time opens up, I still find myself squeezing in a quick hunt for secondhand books. It is as if I am secretly terrified that I will suddenly run out of good material to read!
I read at every available opportunity, absolutely anywhere. I tuck whatever book I am currently devouring into my bag wherever I go, just in case I am left waiting a few minutes for a jeepney ride or standing in a slow-moving grocery checkout lane. Why shouldn't I? A few minutes of waiting is simply a few less minutes of boredom. I have trained myself to read right through the loudest distractions, provided the book is gripping enough to hold my attention.
My daily routine is a testament to this obsession. I read during my commute to work, which takes about an hour each way. If work slows down or during my lunch breaks, I gladly open a chapter. For the rest of the day, particularly in the heavy hours leading up to my evening classes, I pivot to reading my law textbooks, assigned cases photocopied from the Supreme Court Reports Annotated (SCRA), and other legal materials. But the moment I finally get home, and without fail right before bedtime, I happily return to devouring the pages of my current novel. My absolute favorite place to read remains tucked in bed, propped up against a perfectly comfortable pillow.
This habit runs deep. I vividly remember a weekend during my college years when I practically refused to get out of bed until lunchtime, entirely immobilized by a thrilling John Grisham novel. Years before that, as a high school student in Narvacan, I would always bring a book along whenever I led our family cow to graze in the pasture. I would sit quietly under the shade of a tree or nestled beside the tall grass, keeping one eye on the cow and the other on the page.
But during those childhood days, my options were painfully scarce. Most of the pocketbooks I read were borrowed from generous friends; I didn't own a single one. In fact, I was only able to buy the very first pocketbook to my name—a classic copy of Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities—when I finally landed my first job in Quezon City.
With this renewed passion (or an "addiction," as my wife lovingly calls it), I am finally conquering the classic masterpieces and popular bestsellers I never had the chance or resources to access during my youth. And while there are countless free websites to download digital e-books, I still infinitely prefer the tactile weight and smell of a physical paperback. The extra income from my freelance gigs has been a lifesaver, allowing me to comfortably shore up my dedicated book budget.
I firmly believe that through these years of reading, my brain has become more robust, sharper, and energized. It has allowed me to appreciate the nuances of the life buzzing around me far more than I ever used to. I have never been an overly social creature, which fits perfectly with my current identity as a busy working student. How could I possibly miss hanging out with crowds or going to loud parties when I can effortlessly ensconce myself anytime I want in a quiet, cozy corner conducive to reading?
Sundays, of course, remain sacred. They are our designated family days, mixed with a little bit of necessary freelance work and a highly anticipated block of reading time.
Looking back at the 42 volumes I conquered last year, these are the select ten that gifted me the absolute most in terms of pure entertainment, timeless wisdom, and perspective:
- To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
- Journey by James A. Michener
- The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien
- The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
- Arrowsmith by Sinclair Lewis
- Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier
- The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
- The Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy
- The Cider House Rules by John Irving
- East of Eden by John Steinbeck
My waiting list is long, my shelf is full, and there are many more adventures left to come.
