PHR is the Philippines' favorite pocketbook novel that
monopolized a single aisle in the National Bookstore. I suggest that the
aisle ‘ROMANCE’ should be changed to Precious Hearts Romance Section. Even
before the hipper version of it which was Watt pad, I've been fond of
bastardizing these pocketbook novels next to my favorites like Twilight. This
is not because I nauseate at the lovey-dovey plots (sort of) but because the
novels reflect a negative disposition on the gender dynamics. In which case,
my latter reason is just, well, a palusot.
Although, I have always found PHR a perfect sugar treat that I
have to invest my bitterness on. Filipinos are notoriously famous for being
romance-centric. Most products of our arts are founded on romantic stories. Our
culture is obsessed with a love story of two people stretched to the hyperboles of
realities just to prove the point of our adage, ‘Sa hinaba-haba man ng prusisyon,
sa simbahan din pala ang tuloy’. This
could be changed to ‘Sa hinaba-haba ng mga pa-suspense plots nyo, sila rin naman
pala’.
The last time that I went to the National Bookstore and let my
nephew collect the materials he needs, my bibliophile instinct occurred and one
of it is skimming through the PHR section. The titles of course, as cheesy as
always, would initially give a cringe. The French can claim all they want about
the romantic emphasis of their language, but the Tagalog language is always
intriguing, especially when using fancy terms.
For that, ‘Sa Gabing Naging
Akin Ka’ is much of a deep thought than when translated to English; ‘The
Night You Were Mine.’ Or to a cooler interpretation say, ‘Noong Binaba Mo Ang Bandera Mo’. Intriguing titles like ‘Patikim ng Pinya’ and
‘May Lamok sa Loob ng Kulambo’ in movies that got your mind whirring about what the movie plot would be. In time, you realized that neither pineapple nor a
mosquito net was involved in the movie. More so, punchline titles like “May
Hihigit Pa Ba Sa Pagmamahal mo, Alejandro Bakuykuy?” were hit during the ‘90s
and early 2000s. Book Covers are one thing ranging from lovey-dovey portraits
to the extravagant portrait poses of the presumed characters. The ‘70s to ‘90s
are more ridiculously sensual. It is often composed of the greased Fabio
Lanzoni-esque while holding a hot señorita in a satin dress, barely covered.
Today, the covers have parodied known international celebrities’
images painted as portraits on the book covers.
Truth be told, I’ve been reading these pocketbooks that I was averse
to when I was about 6 or younger. These are next to my reading list of Winnie
the Pooh, Nursery Rhymes, and Liwanag Comic books. To quickly defend me, it
wasn’t my choice—I have no choice! When I was at that age, most of my sisters
were single and almost in their thirties. One of my hopeless romantic sisters
taught me how to read and exposed me to their wonderland of PHR collection,
unsupervised. PHR kept me captive through inevitable times. These times were
when we visit provinces and it just happens that PHR collections are also
present in the house. So before we set out of town, I would just grab a
textbook or that tome of Webster’s dictionary. It was my fantasized agenda to engorge their children to poorly
written Watt pad stories as revenge but I didn’t need to.
Since textbooks like Shop Theory or Communicable Diseases will
grant me a hemorrhage and newspapers are just the same stories I hear on the TV
and radio, a six-year-old like me would read literature that is currently
accessible to her vocabulary knowledge.
My father was a voracious newspaper reader. He reads two
spreadsheets and one English tabloid (Tempo) in a day. Rarely did I see him
occupied with a book. With my family’s utter disregard for my literary needs, I
am left with the most complex absurdities of elongated sexual tensions under a
guise of a romantic novel. Finally, my sisters got married. The supply of these
pocketbooks was cut off. Simultaneously, my transfer to St. Louis Center was a
big help to encourage and widen my literary interests.
During High School, in all three of the schools I stayed at, my
literary tastes expanded thanks to my classmates, excluding the mandatory
reading lists provided by English and Filipino teachers. Even then, I still
have not escaped even a single PHR. It is still widely read by girls and
gays during lectures placed before their notebooks while fishing out their
cellphones.
Another truth about me; I read one whenever I chanced upon it. Not
for the kind of pleasure that I find when I read my favorites but the kind of
cringe-worthy pleasure whenever I read the storylines:
“Mapapalambot kaya ni Beshtina ang matigas
na puso ni Craig?”
“Nagbalik si Brittany mula States nang
mamatay ang kaibigan nitong si
Tracy at para maghiganti kay Color Monterano.”
I always point out the things that are
wrong and ridiculous in the story. Also, the exaggerated gender roles in a
romance story and that mumbo-jumbo about a Christian Grey-Esque leading man
personality.
And of course, the quirky contents;
“’Selos ka?’ panunukso ng isang bahagi ng isip niya. ‘Tumahimik ka!’
asik naman niya sa sarili. Naloloka na ata talaga siya."
I find pleasure in criticizing it like how Bob Ong came about
with his book Lumayo Ka Nga Sa Akin. Yes,
I read one some of the time just to furrow my eyebrows and complain about it
then laughs at it later.
When I skim through the contents, I feel like I am reading the
author’s wet dream diary.
For a lack of a better word to explain that thrill, it’s like
poking fun at things that you don’t appreciate because it is lighter to make
fun of it than lose your energy hating it. We hate our politicians but we make
fun of them through satire.
Honestly, I feel bad for people who get judged by their reading
preferences. I am guilty of it, too, whenever I insult people who read these
materials as shallow. If what you eat is what you are making a striking truth to
an eater's health, it applies the same to reading. I may agree but at the same
time argue that what you read reflects your intellect. I agree since our
preferences for feeding our souls and bodies would delineate what sort of
thinkers we are. In argument, the books that we choose to read do not measure
if we are smart or not. It is an unfair assumption that we assess people's
creativity and ability on the type of materials they read.
A book is not a predisposition to your perspective or even
intellect but a log of readings might.
We can read as much material as we want, but we choose the ones
that influence us, some unintentionally by impact. The influence of a book on
a person’s mind, behavior, or beliefs is complex. I don’t believe that books
make us smarter or dumber, it only collects ample information that we thread
to our knowledge and store in our memories. Memories that we only use for our own biases. Pretentious millennial hipsters can read all the Sartre, Nietzsche,
Jung, or Freud books but they will only get better at complaining about how society
sucks. Unlike movies, there aren't dumb books whether published by PHR, PSICOM, or Visprint. When your eyes run through the text, it tickles a nerve.
As I started, my sisters
are fan readers of these but they're not dumbed down. They have college degrees with good careers and read gossip magazines. Reading PHR is the only source of kilig they can pluck from since
they are pushing 30s or 40s with no husbands. It’s like reading an FHM to
masturbate to but does not necessarily translate that you're a pervert or
sexually frustrated. We all have our personal junk foods. My literary junk food
is different and quasi-inhumane, but it does not reflect either my morals or
behavior. Though it feeds how I perceive a few aspects. After all, isn’t that the
purpose of it? I wonder at most why nobody reads PHR in Starbucks or at any
café. Could you imagine yourself reading PHR presents: Ang magmahal ay di biro,
maghapong nanggugulo in a sea of John Green's? You'd probably raise every
eyebrow in a room of these hypocrites in dissent. I always find myself blaming the
hipsters for this faux intellectualism. In the question of intellectualism, of
course, we have the freedom to read whatever reads we want, but what is there
left for critical thinking? If we would always reason out 'trip ko, eh' on poor
choices, what is there left to development? Also, not everyone gives a fuck about critical thinking when you are being subjected to think critically to survive.
Read whatever you want that can entertain you and read those that will make you think.
