the bookish fairy
Tonight, while browsing through Booksale (yet again), I found myself quite shocked to find I was holding a copy of Aldous Huxley's award-winning novel "Brave New World."
Wasn't it just a month ago when I silently remarked to myself that I must find a copy of this right along with "A Clockwork Orange" by Anthony Burgess?
When I turned over the book to check the price, of course it was nowhere near the $25 benchmark I knew it costs if I ordered it on-line and had it delivered to me (since it seems unavailable in most bookstores in the country). It only cost me Php 50, and that's what, equivalent to $ 1? Huh.
That's when I hazarded a theory that a fairy godmother must be looking out for me and my literary greed. A bookish fairy, yes, and instead of wearing gossamer dresses, she probably dons sensible plaid skirts and grey blouses. Her wand must be a pencil with which she notes down my book whims and I can almost see her arranging matters so that I will get a serendipituous copy of any volume I want in one of the secondhand book shops I frequent. For a book enthusiast, that's very good news!
But for the other aspects of my life, it's dredging up quite disastrous results. For example, I am a literary enthusiast not an actual book worm. I cannot live on paper alone. How do I tell my godmother that maybe she can send me some major moolah for once? OR, maybe, she can look up from her long, long book listing and finally notice that she's quite forgotten how to lead my Prince Charming from his castle, through the Forbidden Woods, over the Debatable Hills, under the Fairy Mound and into the Moss-Covered, Algae-ridden, Dream-infested moldering two-floor house I currently call home.
If you are listening dear fairy godmother, I am quite prepared to never see a secondhand copy of A Clockwork Orange and.... maybe Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys (now, that's sacrificing a major dream for me) in exchange of a guy who looks like that boy in the McDo Coke Float commercial, has got brains he actually uses to think, vivacity & wit to rival Ryan Seacrest, Elliot Yamin's singing voice, Gaiman's literary genius, Bill Gates' business acuity and a dependable farmer's work ethic and common sense.
And none of that sweep me off my feet thing we often read in novels, okay? Don't give me a simpering idiot whispering romantic nonsense. Although I want the guy to be witty, I don't want him to be talkative. There's a difference. I don't want him to be snotty and picky; I want the type who I can trust to adjust to whatever life throws at him. I imagine he has got a nice laugh, and a slow, genuine smile comparable to a ray of light. Can his speaking voice please not sound like mice squeaking or as if a matronly gym instructress has got his balls on a tight grip? I don't want him to sound like an ogre either. But if I have to choose, I choose the ogre. Oh, and can he have a genuine British accent? Well, that's not a real priority, but it'll just be nice if he sounds a bit like Colin Firth.
It's okay if he likes sports; please let him be boyish enough to know how to play Basketball and skilled enough to re-teach me Tennis. Let him be the patient type who can teach me how to drive, and stand my silly outbursts and oft-childish behavior. Let him like being mothered sometimes too, and I will try my best not to smother him. I hope he is someone who can stand strong even if he's standing alone, but he better not attempt any James Dean-type of bad boy rebelliousness or I'll just cuff him on the ears as if there's no tomorrow.
But, you know, just in case 99% of guys like that are either married or are in a "partnership" already, I guess the only thing I really, really, really care about is---
Can he be someone who just really, really loves me and accepts me just the way I am?
There you go, Godmother. Please, just don't take a hundred years to find him. :)
Wasn't it just a month ago when I silently remarked to myself that I must find a copy of this right along with "A Clockwork Orange" by Anthony Burgess?
When I turned over the book to check the price, of course it was nowhere near the $25 benchmark I knew it costs if I ordered it on-line and had it delivered to me (since it seems unavailable in most bookstores in the country). It only cost me Php 50, and that's what, equivalent to $ 1? Huh.
That's when I hazarded a theory that a fairy godmother must be looking out for me and my literary greed. A bookish fairy, yes, and instead of wearing gossamer dresses, she probably dons sensible plaid skirts and grey blouses. Her wand must be a pencil with which she notes down my book whims and I can almost see her arranging matters so that I will get a serendipituous copy of any volume I want in one of the secondhand book shops I frequent. For a book enthusiast, that's very good news!
But for the other aspects of my life, it's dredging up quite disastrous results. For example, I am a literary enthusiast not an actual book worm. I cannot live on paper alone. How do I tell my godmother that maybe she can send me some major moolah for once? OR, maybe, she can look up from her long, long book listing and finally notice that she's quite forgotten how to lead my Prince Charming from his castle, through the Forbidden Woods, over the Debatable Hills, under the Fairy Mound and into the Moss-Covered, Algae-ridden, Dream-infested moldering two-floor house I currently call home.
If you are listening dear fairy godmother, I am quite prepared to never see a secondhand copy of A Clockwork Orange and.... maybe Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys (now, that's sacrificing a major dream for me) in exchange of a guy who looks like that boy in the McDo Coke Float commercial, has got brains he actually uses to think, vivacity & wit to rival Ryan Seacrest, Elliot Yamin's singing voice, Gaiman's literary genius, Bill Gates' business acuity and a dependable farmer's work ethic and common sense.
And none of that sweep me off my feet thing we often read in novels, okay? Don't give me a simpering idiot whispering romantic nonsense. Although I want the guy to be witty, I don't want him to be talkative. There's a difference. I don't want him to be snotty and picky; I want the type who I can trust to adjust to whatever life throws at him. I imagine he has got a nice laugh, and a slow, genuine smile comparable to a ray of light. Can his speaking voice please not sound like mice squeaking or as if a matronly gym instructress has got his balls on a tight grip? I don't want him to sound like an ogre either. But if I have to choose, I choose the ogre. Oh, and can he have a genuine British accent? Well, that's not a real priority, but it'll just be nice if he sounds a bit like Colin Firth.
It's okay if he likes sports; please let him be boyish enough to know how to play Basketball and skilled enough to re-teach me Tennis. Let him be the patient type who can teach me how to drive, and stand my silly outbursts and oft-childish behavior. Let him like being mothered sometimes too, and I will try my best not to smother him. I hope he is someone who can stand strong even if he's standing alone, but he better not attempt any James Dean-type of bad boy rebelliousness or I'll just cuff him on the ears as if there's no tomorrow.
But, you know, just in case 99% of guys like that are either married or are in a "partnership" already, I guess the only thing I really, really, really care about is---
Can he be someone who just really, really loves me and accepts me just the way I am?
There you go, Godmother. Please, just don't take a hundred years to find him. :)
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