A book is never lonely and neither am I

A book is never lonely
and neither am I
April 25, 2015
By: Gina Yoryet Roman


“A book,

a book full of human touches, of shirts, a book without loneliness, with men and tools,
a book is victory.”
By: Pablo Neruda

A book is always accompanied, always surrounded by either objects, things, people, events, and everything else. How many hands go through one single book during its life span? Do books have a lifespan? Magnificent Books: Of life and death, of good and bad, of ups and downs, of black and white, of rough and smooth, of ugliness and prettiness, of disappointment and joy, of honesty and boldness. Of incorruptibility and reality, of company and comfort, of escape and surreality, of therapy and mastery.

A book, my books, have provided my mind, heart, soul, spirit and eye with all of this and more. How can I ever pay back all they have gifted me with? I remember very vividly of the time when one of my students told me that I bought more books than clothes. I am unbeknownst as to whether he implied it as a joke, or if he really meant it. That is irrelevant but he was right. I don´t know how, when and why my love for books sprung, all I remember is that when I was a teenager and during most of my twenties, I loathed them.

Contradictory to now that my love for writing and playing with words have been my fuel to create and follow my passion for it will be my first and foremost purpose-revealing factor. As the end of the day is drawing nearer, I reminiscence and realize that in my early years, books were my escape due  to my surroundings, not the most ideal environment to nurture a child. These soul-polluting factors contaminated me and robbed me from inner peace for many years to come. Until I got my hands on books and up to now, they have been one of my greatest allies to assuage my fears, cleanse all of me, and dictate my destiny. I tell myself time after time, “How could you have lived such an empty life without savoring the richness and wisdom of such treasures?

It is never too late! Now books are always by my side, or very close to me. I feel like Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense. “I see books, (not spirits or ghosts), I feel them, they are alive and all over the place. LOL! They haunt me everywhere I go, they resonate within. They reside in each one of my purses, in my computer bag, in my kitchen, in my living room, in my bathroom, on my desks, by my laptop and my pc, in the trunk of my car, in the glove compartment, sometimes in my pocket (the pocket version ones), on my bed, under my pillow, in my closet, in my drawers, in my locker at school, in my students' offices (when I lend my darlings to them), on my table. I don’t ever feel lonely without books because they open the door to unknown worlds each time my eyes take in each word.

Ode to a Victory

Ode to a Victory

THE book

April 23^rd, 2015

Yesterday was international book day and I meant to pay tribute to it, but I was once again caught in a myriad of work-related happenings. Every time I submerge into a book I revive for they are my treasure, one of the highest valued assets I will ever own…

ODA AL LIBRO (I) 
Pablo Neruda
Libro, cuando te cierro
abro la vida.
Escucho
entrecortados gritos
en los puertos.
Los lingotes del cobre
cruzan los arenales,
bajan a Tocopilla.
Es de noche.
Entre la islas
nuestro océano
palpita con sus peces.
Toca los pies, los muslos,
Las costillas calcáreas
de mi patria.
Toda la noche pega en sus orillas
y con la luz de día
amanece cantando
como si despertara una guitarra.
A mí me llama el golpe
del océano. A mí
me llama el viento,
y Rodríguez me llama,
José Antonio,
recibí un telegrama
del sindicato “Mina”
y ella, la que yo amo
(no les diré su nombre),
me espera en Bucalemu.
Libro, tú no has podido
empapelarme,
no me llenaste
de tipografía,
de impresiones celestes,
no pudiste
encuadernar mis ojos,
salgo de ti a poblar las arboledas
con la ronca familia de mi canto,
a trabajar metales encendidos
o a comer carne asada
junto al fuego en los montes.
Amo los libros
exploradores,
libros con bosque o nieve,
profundidad o cielo,
pero odio
el libro araña
en donde el pensamiento
fue disponiendo alambre venenoso
para que allí se enrede
la juvenil y circundante mosca.
Libro, déjame libre.
Yo no quiero ir vestido
de volumen,
yo no vengo de un tomo,
mis poemas
no han comido poemas,
devoran apasionados acontecimientos,
se nutren de intemperie,
extraen alimento
de la tierra y los hombres.
Libro, déjame andar por los caminos
con polvo en los zapatos
y sin mitología:
vuelve a tu biblioteca,
yo me voy por las calles.
He aprendido la vida
de la vida,
el amor lo aprendí de un solo beso,
y no pude enseñar a nadie nada
sino lo que he vivido,
cuanto tuve en común con otros hombres,
cuanto luché con ellos:
cuanto expresé de todos en mi canto.

Ode to the Book

By Pablo Neruda

Translated by Nathaniel Tarn

When I close a book
I open life.
I hear
faltering cries
among harbours.
Copper ignots
slide down sand-pits
to Tocopilla.
Night time.
Among the islands
our ocean
throbs with fish,
touches the feet, the thighs,
the chalk ribs
of my country.
The whole of night
clings to its shores, by dawn
it wakes up singing
as if it had excited a guitar.

The ocean's surge is calling.
The wind
calls me
and Rodriguez calls,
and Jose Antonio--
I got a telegram
from the "Mine" Union
and the one I love
(whose name I won't let out)
expects me in Bucalemu.

No book has been able
to wrap me in paper,
to fill me up
with typography,
with heavenly imprints
or was ever able
to bind my eyes,
I come out of books to people orchards
with the hoarse family of my song,
to work the burning metals
or to eat smoked beef
by mountain firesides.
I love adventurous
books,
books of forest or snow,
depth or sky
but hate
the spider book
in which thought
has laid poisonous wires
to trap the juvenile
and circling fly.
Book, let me go.
I won't go clothed
in volumes,
I don't come out
of collected works,
my poems
have not eaten poems--
they devour
exciting happenings,
feed on rough weather,
and dig their food
out of earth and men.
I'm on my way
with dust in my shoes
free of mythology:
send books back to their shelves,
I'm going down into the streets.
I learned about life
from life itself,
love I learned in a single kiss
and could teach no one anything
except that I have lived
with something in common among men,
when fighting with them,
when saying all their say in my song.

Translated by Nathaniel Tarn

  

The Odes, Book One, IX, translated by John Dryden

By Horace

Behold yon mountain's hoary height
Made higher with new mounts of snow:
Again behold the winter's weight
Oppress the labouring woods below'
And streams with icy fetters bound
Benumbed and cramped to solid ground.

With well-heaped logs dissolve the cold
And feed the genial hearth with fires;
Produce the wine that makes us bold,
And spritely wit and love inspires;
For what hereafter shall betide
God (if 'tis worth His care) provide.

Let Him alone with what He made,
To toss and turn the world below;
At His command the storms invade,
The winds by His commission blow;
Till with a nod He bids them cease
And then the calm returns and all is peace.

Tomorrow and its works defy;
Lay hold upon the present hour,
And snatch the pleasures passing by
To put them out of Fortune's power;
Nor love nor love's delights disdain –
Whate'er thou getts't today, is gain.

Secure those golden early joys
That youth unsoured with sorrow bears,
Ere with'ring time the taste destroys
With sickness and unwieldy years.
For active sports, for pleasing rest.
This is the time to be posesst;
The best is but in season best.

Th'appointed hour of promised bliss,
The pleasing whisper in the dark,
The half-unwilling willing kiss,
The laugh that guides thee to the mark,
When the kind nymph would coyness feign
And hides but to be found again –
These, these are joys the gods for youth ordain.

A spark at the end of my tunnel

A spark at the end of my tunnel
AM I getting there?
April 17, 2015
By: Gina Yoryet Roman

Blindsided is the right term to describe my inner agony caused by this ill-fated physical detriment which has been my steadfast companion round the clock for the last three years or so. At my acupuncturist´s office today, while I lay (lie, lay, lie, these 3 verbs are always confusing so I have to really focus to make sure I am using the right one!) on the exam table, my body surrendered to that stretch of time I declared a ruthless war to it. The whiplash and the existing pain are the residuals of that insensibility from my end. My past broke its way through very abruptly and revived each incident when I injured myself; the time when a ramshackle table where I and other girls were sitting on, collapsed and my right calf got stuck underneath it right before a state meet. It immediately swelled and it throbbed nonstop, yet I refused to forego the competition. I became deaf and blind to my body’s agony. I mean there is NEVER room for a high-rendering athlete to show even the slightest tinge of feebleness! Or the many times when I pulled all nighters salsa dancing the night away in the Bay area and drove back to Sacramento just on time to start a 42.1 k. And then I reprimanded myself about not finishing the entire marathon, and questioned myself why I was sore for three days post each enduring run. Or at 19 when I was really into bike riding, during a 6am ride on my way to work, I was unfortunately hit by a car. I ended up scratched and my left thigh was bleeding, yet I refused to call an ambulance. At this point I can´t recall how I got home, all I remember is the pain, blood, and scratches all over. Two days later, I couldn´t miss the concert that I had already bought tickets for. I couldn´t miss such a celebration sponsored by The Dog House, Wild 109.5 FM radio. It was the “IT” radio at the time, and it was the coolest thing in the Bay area and surrounding areas so I wasn’t about to miss out on that, NO way!

During that snoozing moment, I denied myself the option to flow into a deep sleep, or be fully cognizant of my surroundings. Part of me pleaded to stay awake and feel the assuagement of the needles as they pierced my skin. Are these needles going to ameliorate my pain for good? I pray that they do... On the other hand, a stubborn fragment within, urged me to shut down and be oblivious to my hurt that is now my reality (strain: either physical or emotional have always haunted me). I am unbeknownst to existing sans distress. It is NOT all that bad, believe it or not, there’s a good side to it. Through this turmoil, I’ve learned to be more patient and sensible to other people’s pain, especially to that of my loved ones. I’ve also learned to not overlook my inner emotions. Because those sentiments have disclosed my passion, my desires, my destiny, my essence, my purpose, one of my why's. And last, but not least, this discomfort has given me the opportunity to take better care of my health.

Meaning that I am making smarter choices with food. Dieting has always been one of my downfalls, there’s no doubt about that! At least when I was younger I could get away with it because my metabolism was an out of control calorie and fat-burning machine, unlike now. Every day I struggle and choose wisely what goes in my mouth, like right now. I am craving, candy, bread, something sweet, anything I can get my hands on. Should I give in to my cravings and wake up with a stomach ache tomorrow? (it is now 10:05 pm). Or should I remain resilient and be deaf to those mental temptations luring me to the refrigerator and the cupboard? I won’t consent to my gluttony, not today that I was able to see a teeny bitty spark at the end of my burrow.

Am I getting there yet? NOT now, NOT tomorrow or next week, but I will get there sooner rather than later, and I will live to tell...

I live in the space of thankfulness

I live in the space of thankfulness...

and for that, I have been rewarded a million times over. I started out giving thanks for small things, and the more thankful I became, the more my bounty increased. That’s because -- for sure — what you focus on expands. When you focus on the goodness in your life, you create more of it.