Precious Hearts Romance presents: Ang Sumpa Sa Aking Pagkabata

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. With the intriguing titles and titillating book covers, it does make you cringe.

Today, the covers have parodied known international celebrities’ images painted as portraits on the book covers. More like internet avatars.

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. 

 NOW READING: PHR presents: My Bebe Kulit (This is a real title, not kidding)