[------------composed: September 10,2012----------]
I love reading. Or I used to love reading, until I slowly
lost my personal time and profound love for it when I went to college. Instead
of continuing my "first loves" on everything such as reading,
writing, and marine science, I've been catapulted into some space, much farther
than when the angry birds are shot at exactly 45 degrees.
Recently, I've been purchasing books, partly because I want
to read them. The other reason is just because I want to collect something. I've
been 'lazily' working on preserving what's left of my being a bibliophiliac. I
have been
tsunduko-ing for the past months and I have a lot of book affairs
left unfinished.
Then, one night, as I was browsing the net, my thoughts
returned to those unforgettable firsts I had with reading. I was always
fascinated with books, my first series was "Disney's Treasure Chest"
which contained very huge (for me at that time) thin, soft bound books of The
Little Mermaid, Peter Pan and The Jungle Book. I used to read books just
because of the pictures and I've greatly found amazement in them.
My first novel was Anne of Green Gables, and our first
encyclopedia set at home, Grolier's I Wonder Why was my past time. I would read
two to three books each day and when I’m finished with the entire set, I would
never get tired of re-reading them again.
But what was it that really got me as far as here.
It was an article I had read back in fourth grade. Tatay
would always bring home a copy/copies of the Reader's Digest, which he'd borrow
from our uncle, whenever he goes to the
city. One time, he brought home an issue and as usual, after waiting for him to
finish reading it, I took my sit on our dining table and started reading from
the first page until I got to the middle part.
A Songbird Without Wings, was the title of the article. And
at that time, the only songbird I know was Regine Velasquez. Words were soon
read, sentences and then paragraphs. I was onto the next page, and by that
time, If You're Not the One was playing on our local FM Radio. Without knowing
what overcame me, tears were really streaming down my face, I wasn't just
crying softly, tears were falling down my face like I've just been scolded by
Tatay whenever I did something wrong. I was crying hard.
I was crying maybe because of the fact that she was very
much trustful and hopeful of the world around her despite the persecution
they're in simply because they're Jewish; perhaps because they were captured 4
months after Peter and her shared their first kiss, a young love which failed
to blossom was cut off while it was just a bud. Or maybe I simply related
myself to Anne, of her longing to ride a bike, (because ours was broken at that
time and it took a long time of waiting for Tatay to buy us one), of her
wanting to whistle, (because I never learned how to until I was in 6th grade),
or maybe because she died young, (I had always been afraid of dying earlier
than her, I think I need not be anymore).
I've finally read the article for the second time, after
almost a decade (it's actually just 9 years but decade sounds long). I had just
found out on the net that it was published in the May 2003 issue. I've
attempted to look for it back in high school and when I was a freshman in
college entering the university library for the first time. Back then, the only
info I had was the title of the article and the assumption that the title was
printed on the cover page.
And just this afternoon, I realized that I have to turn a
few pages to the table of contents, to see the title. Thus my assumption was
wrong.
While reading the article, somewhere at the back of my head,
I was wondering how a simple article about just one of the many teenage victims
of the Holocaust could affect not just the way I viewed the world but my way of
life as well. And that same article years ago that got me crying and had me
fall in love with reading answered my query,
"One single Anne
Frank moves us more than the countless others who suffered just as she did, but
whose faces have remained in the shadows."
Restoring my love for reading would take time and effort,
just like looking for the article that sparked my love for it. But the years
that passed had been very wonderful, and I hope the future years would be the
same.
Thank you Mr. Richard Covington
for sharing your Anne Frank Museum experience.
the years that had passed were very wonderful.
And thank you Reader's Digest.
It's amazing what printed words could do to people.
