To an October 28

I currently reside somewhere here in the chaotic peacefulness of Metro Manila. In this metropolis, environmental problems plague a large portion of my outdoor life. Malls blossom like mushrooms, and within their walls and glasses, I seek only what can make malls appealing to me: Books. (Food is another story.)

Confined in a box filled with secondhand books that would hurt wallets as much as injected anesthesia would hurt the flesh, my eyes automatically search for a name that by merely being read can send me staggering towards the counter at the speed of light, unable to wait any longer than a few short breaths to tear open the paperback cover, feast on poetic words and drown in fictionlust.

Dean Koontz. His fiction ranges from twisted, sociopathic bastards ready to engage on a killing spree to people who believe they’ve been born separate from humanity and think they’re God-like to psychologists who can manipulate with the use of haikus–things that never ever crossed my mind until I began reading his books. Despite being spawned by venomous villains, his stories carry a common denominator: Hope. Somewhere in the folds of those hundred pages, he speaks of undiminished convictions on the goodness that is bound to arrive in life.

I’ve just finished reading the debut of his Odd series, Odd Thomas. Unfortunately, I don’t have the second book, Forever Odd, yetSo I should stop making this entry tedious and talk about how I felt about the first book.

I’m not going to talk about anything apart from the conclusion. After reading those last words, I had to close my eyes, pained at the thought of being left for the rest of a lifetime. Losing someone that means so much to you, knowing the fact that you love that person, is enough to take away the will to live. It’s as if that significant person has taken your life when he/she left. And I’m not exaggerating right now. Heartbreak is more than a hyperbole, and you can only prove that once you experience it. (It’s inevitable. Besides, heartbreaks occur not only in romantic relationships, but that doesn’t mean the struggle would be any less if it happened within a romantic one.)

And so, to cut the crap, loving and losing are embedded on the very nature of mankind’s destiny. What better way can teach us how to love than losing?

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