The Dusty Book Collector

 

The Library is my natural habitat. Wherever I am, I have to find one, and savor the pleasure books offered. I am always excited surrounded by books. I loved being drifted into different realms of stories, places and ideas.

 

Once, I disturbed the peace of the Student Assistants and the GAUF’s Librarians. I became a pain in their asses.

 

The Gregorio Araneta University Foundation (GAUF) is an Agricultural School. It offers Liberal Arts and Accounting on the side.

 

On the third floor, tables and chairs occupied half of the GAUF’s Library. The other half, a steel railing perched on a long horizontal countertop. Bookshelves as high as 7ft lined up. In a corner, housed the Library Office. Beside it, is the Catalog Room which has cabinets full of index cards.

 

For one to borrow books, one has to get the Call Nos., at the Catalog Room, arranged by category, subject, title, author, etc. Student Assistants or the Librarian will pick the Call Nos., and get the book while the borrower waited at the counter.

 

I always get at least five Call Nos. These books are neither Sciences nor books on Agriculture. But Liberal Arts and Literature.

 

So ironic because my course is Agricultural Administration.

 

On my first time getting five books the Student Assistant who fetched my Call No. disappeared for 15 minutes.

 

She came back pissed off. Her eyes fiery as she dropped off the books making a loud thud. Fountain of dust shoots up, emits musty-moldy smell.

 

I observed that the dustier and moldier books are, more gems buried in them.

 

That’s how I discovered the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, Somerset Maugham, William Thackeray, Charles Dickens.

 

The secret lies in the Call Nos. look. If they are uncrumpled and without creases, it seldom picked by the borrower, therefore, the books collect tons of mold and dust.

 

One week, I became the “Dusty Book Collector”. among the Library staff. When they see me standing at the counter, they pretended to be busy. Or hide themselves from the shelve. When they see other students waiting, they run towards their direction. Not on mine. Meanwhile, the Librarian on duty avoided my stares.

 

I thought of reporting this discrimination to the Student Affairs Office. But I didn’t want to disturb the hornet’s nest yet. So, instead of giving four or five Call Nos. I limited myself of giving one at a time.

 

One new Student Assistant noticed I’ve been waiting long enough. She took my Call No. The other Student Assistants gossiped on her of my notoriety.

 

My waiting time reduced. Although,  every two hours I come back to present another Call Nos. That arrangement posed, as a compromise.

 

One day the Librarian approached me. His bushy eyebrows straightened up. Ridge on his forehead got deeper.

 

“When will you graduate?” He asked.

 

“In five years,”.

 

The male Librarian hunched his shoulder. Walked slow. Defeated. He went back to his office.

 

HE JUST ONE TERRIBLE NEWS!

My Mother’s Last Rites

 

Father Tien Tran, the priest  who officiated my mother last rites had said:

The departure of someone we love, although it brought us sorrow and grief, it occasioned us to gather, impossible in some circumstances. Fortuitous, therefore, that the repose of her soul in togetherness called for jubilant celebrations.

 

The Fernando siblings while growing up established dynamics inherited from our parents. From my mother she instilled in us her perseverance, cleanliness, and self sacrifice. My father gave his fair-mindedness, patience and forgiving nature. Both of them had their own weaknesses, but as we grew up, we accepted their failings and we understood them.

 

In-laws entered our midst. These new entrants carried with them their own dynamics.  Sometimes, their values, mores, beliefs, or traditions, came out compatible. But it’s not always the case. One appeared unique. This created animosity. And that disturbed relationships. To lessen its incompatibility and avoid conflict, the best recourse is becoming civil. But the barrier always there. Time dictates when it disappear.  Only when perhaps, attitudes change in conformity with the majority.

 

On my mother’s death, the Fernando’s sons and daughters had so much fun together. They knew and dig the irritants of the sour dynamics. But this time, their uneasiness has gone, because now nobody cares of its presence that make them uncomfortable.

It’s an unfortunate one has left out. Only because of the unique attitude.