/ Written 10 March 2007

* One book that changed my life. True Love by Robert Fulghum: because I was a child, and I was in love. Because I felt that this is the closest I can get to the spiritual, without being forced. I could call it my first encounter with moments, remnants: the fleeting glances, the missed chances, the little details that I will later be consumed with.

* One book I have read more than once. Open Slowly by Kate Light, when her poems used to speak of my life over and over. I can finally put her away now, I can finally see her poems among other works and not be compelled to look, to read. My heart has unfurled: I am a boat, and I am sailing, far away, far away.

* One book I would want on a desert island. Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer, so I can scream (this certain paragraph on page 17) wildly, "AND IF OUR PLIGHT IS SO DESPERATE, SHOULD WE NOT ACT LIKE IT? AND SHOULD WE NOT SOUND LIKE DESPERATE PEOPLE?" And I will hunt for a coconut and name it Yankel, and maybe a fruit, or a wildflower, and name it Brod.

* One book that made me laugh. Bakit Baligtad Magbasa ng Libro Ang Mga Pilipino? ni Bob Ong: because my humor is pedestrian and dirty and reminiscent.

* One book that made me cry. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, for the little girl that can't be comforted with anything other than the thought of a tiny little prince winking from all the stars in the sky.

* One book I wish had been written. Filipino dysfunctional families. But I read about them killing one another in the newspapers everyday. So. Let it be set circa 80s/90s where bangs is not a crime, leggings were still cool, and rainbow-colored bread is still available.

* One book I wish had never been written. God's Advice for Every Shitty Thing that You Did in Your Life that Capitalists Can't Help but Compile in Several Book Installments So You'd Buy It and Read It and Feel Venerable.

* One book I am currently reading. The History of Love by Nicole Krauss: still on it, still on it. I was nearing the half of the book when I stopped and read it from the beginning again. It's the desperation that gets me. The wounds that pry open with every page I turn. And when I take a rest and think about what I've just read, I also think of the fact that Krauss wrote this without knowing of Foer's work, and how both of their genius grows parallel. I should resent them, but I love them. And then I turn back to the book, and get lost again.

* One book I have been meaning to read. A Wild Sheep Chase by Haruki Murakami, because it has been sitting on my shelf for way too long, beside other books I should have read a long time ago. And because it's Kevin's copy and I should really be getting my own. And because I wanted to stay away from Murakami for awhile, after Norwegian Wood took my heart. And because I think I can read him again, these days.