OFFICIALLY A SELF PUBLISHED AUTHOR

 Finally it’s here! My book is already available on Amazon.com for purchase.  How surreal is that? It took me awhile to digest that information because I waited a long time for this moment to come.

You know, every time I receive a rejection response on my email - a piece of brick adds up on my shoulders. The pressure is on and as the months passed by, my hope of publishing my works is moving farther away from me. But I realized that if I gave up now; I would definitely regret it in the future. I kept telling myself everyday to be patient and have faith that one day it will happen.  One day, I will be able to see my books on shelves regardless if it’s from actual bookstores or digital. I don’t care!

I remember Anne Rice and even Stephen King said that if you want to be a novelist/writer, you have to be stubborn somehow.  Not everybody will appreciate your work and someone who is mean would tell it straight to your face that you don’t have the right to become a writer.  This is really true and horrifying!

A guy once told me that my work is unsalvageable. But instead of spending a lot of time cursing that person, I comforted myself with the thought that he is not even a writer himself. How could he have known what I’ve been through to write my book?  I could have understood if he wanted to critic my work and told me what works for him and what’s not, but to kill a dream? No one has the right to do that!

Probably he’s not the right market for my novel and no matter how crappy my work for others, someone out there will appreciate it.

To be able to write what is real for me in the form of fiction fantasy novel is a joy. I feel blessed that I was given this opportunity. To even publish my book is an icing to the cake and I am humble and grateful. It’s time to give back.

I will make a pledge that the first check I will receive for this book will go straight to Philippine Red Cross Foundation. Volunteering, giving foods and clothing seems not enough for the victims of Typhoon Haiyan/ Yolanda. I know that what I can give is not sufficient to rebuild lives but this is my way of reaching to help.

Everything will be documented on my Facebook page, Twitter Account and Instagram : @RonnanTristan

http://www.amazon.com/Ascian-Portal-Tribes-Realm-ebook/dp/B00GR325C0

xoxo

STORY: Roses and Shadows (PART 3)

“So, where are you going tonight? “ Bridge asked on a Friday morning after the shift.

Mari looked up from her station. She noticed the smile from Bridge’s face, teasing her. As if her Team Leader knew that she was attending a fancy event later that evening. Bridge was tall with shoulder length hair. She was slender and boyish but she was carefree and fun to be with. Everybody from the team loved her and Mari was not an exception to that. Bridge was the only person she confided her secrets but as much as she wanted to tell her about the Ball invites, there’s something inside her wanted to keep it to herself. It’s not that she didn't trust her, she just like the danger of knowing it alone.

“Oh! I’m just meeting a friend from the province.” She said defensively.

But Bridge arched her eyebrows. She knew Mari too well not to notice that she was lying. She knew that Mari is up to something but she was also a friend and if Mari was not ready to tell her, she respected that. She just wanted to assure her that she would be there when Mari needed someone to talk to.

Bridge face broke in a genuine smile.

“Okay, just be careful.” She reached out and touched Mari’s arm.

“Thank you Bridge.” Mari said.

On her way home, Mari hailed a cab and chose to sit at the backseat of the vehicle. Her eyes drifted out of the window, watching the sun mounted from the sky while the normal buzzing chaos of the Metropolis began to take shape. Her mind was sewing the intricate web that beguiled her for the past days. The phantom from the roof, the red rose and the mysterious invitation she received and later on Tuesday, a huge box was left in front of her apartment containing a perfectly tailored ball gown that hugged her body like a second skin.

 Then there was the cursive hand writing again.

A Gift… Kisses,V

Mari was mesmerized with the writing and the more she stared at it, the more she wanted to get to know the person who wrote it. She was so certain that it was the phantom she saw on the roof of the neighbor’s house. But deep inside it was just her assumption. She wanted it to be the phantom. She bent down to get the box on the floor and carried it inside her apartment. The box wasn't that heavy but her heart was ready to explode with excitement. When she finally opened the box, the one that took her breath away was the color of the gown. It was crimson red. She brushed her fingers on the surface of the fabric before pulling it out of the box.

From how it looks, the gown must have been heavy. But Mari was thrilled to know that it was made out of light fabric. Immediately, she ran to the bedroom to try it on. Undressing in haste and carefully put the gown on with contained excitement. She couldn't imagine the look on her face when she finally stood in front of the mirror gazing at her reflection.  The gown was strapless with dotted crystal sequence elegantly embroidered in the front all the way to the back. The waistline was perfectly fit accentuating her hourglass figure. From the waist down, the floor length gown went on with the right amount of trail ribboning on the back. Obviously it was a custom made gown only for her. But how? The question formulated in her mind along with many others.

She carefully undressed the gown and searched for the name tag. She covered her mouth with surprise when she found who created the ball gown. Valentino.

With caution, she folded it nicely and put it back in the box and set it aside. She stared at the note on top of the box cover. The one who wrote it signed the initial “V”. That couldn't be Valentino for sure, the thought of it made her laugh. But what was V stands for? Mari walked back to the bed and sat on the edge thinking. A beautiful gown needs equally beautiful shoes, she thought. She placed the note on top of the invitation letter she received on her bed table.

The hunt for the shoes was a challenge for her. Since she was a girl who could careless about fashion, she had no idea what shoes was outdated or not. Let alone choosing the perfect shoes that could match a ball gown fit for princess. The next two days was a series of shopping spree for her, from Shoe Salon to Shoe-Mart Department store. She waited for the Mall to open after her shift from work, though she didn't really know what she was looking for, she needed to give it a try. In the cab on her way to Greenbelt, she was considering if she should choose style over comfort or if she could find both. Remembering what she read from the latest issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine, it was written in there somewhere about buying shoes… There’s something about trusting your gut. The fashion bible said that you’ll feel it when you finally see it, like it is calling you. Mari smiled thinking about it; probably it was the right time to prove how true the saying goes.

It was already 12-noon on Thursday and Mari was determined to find her shoes. She was beginning to feel light headed from sleepiness. After paying the cab driver, she went straight to Coffeebean and Tea Leaf for a caffeine shot. She ordered a large Ice Blended Caramel coffee without whip. It took time for the caffeine to kick in but she couldn't wait for it. She started walking to the entrance of the mall. The moment she entered the establishment, a spectacle of elegantly decorated windows from different high end boutiques greeted her. Immediately, Mari felt a pang of excitement. There’s something about boutiques and women, she thought. She went on window shopping at first, looking at displayed shoes from the window outside. She went from store to store gasping every time she saw a cute pair of stilettos. But Mari figured that she couldn't really fashion a high heeled shoes, those shoes were only for girls who have talent walking on it. She was afraid that if she pushed it, she would end up injuring herself. She considered this thought as she continued to walk while sipping her caramel coffee. She realized that it would be a deadly sin if she chose to wear flat shoes with the crimson gown. She could imagine the designer Valentino appearing before her and snatched the dress from her body. The visual of Valentino and her in a tag of war for the gown made her laugh and suddenly a woman who was walking towards her giving her a strange look. Immediately she bit her lips and looked down as the woman passed her. She was embarrassed for looking like a lunatic laughing alone. Mari pulled herself together and went on her way. Feeling desperate for her lack of fashion expertise, she was beginning to feel annoyed at herself. She was a young girl, she should know these things.

Suddenly, a peculiar pull of gravity made her looked on the window beside her. Mari held her breath as she stared at the most exquisite pair of red stilettos inside the store. She couldn't figure what the store was, in fact she didn't care. All she knew, the store sell different designers shoes.

She saw her fainted reflection from the window smiling.

Finally, she found her shoes.

To be continue... 

STORY: Roses and Shadows (PART 2)

It was late in the morning when Mari woke up. The ray of the sun seeped through her window altering the atmosphere inside her room. Instinctively, she stretched out her arms and released a satisfying yawn. She opened her eyes and squint, the sun was up and the light brightened her small bedroom. When her eyes adjusted, she turned to her side and reached for her cellular phone to check for the time.

It was 9AM, she overslept.

Mari placed the phone back to the side table and went back to bed. She thought about what happened last night; the man on top of the roof, the long stem red rose left on her window and the eerie feeling of being watched. The thought of it sent shiver through her spine and for the first time in three years living alone, she was afraid. That couldn’t be a stalker, she considered. She was not convinced that her simplicity was capable of attracting strangers to look at her twice, let alone stalk her. Immediately, she pushed the thought aside and stood up.

She made her bed before she left the room.

On her kitchen table, the red rose lay at the center. Mari leaned back on the sink with a glass of water in hand watching keenly over the strange flower. She was thinking about the man on the roof again. She was trying to get rid of the thought but she couldn’t deny her curiosity. She was terrified but part of her wanted to know the man. The feeling of excitement engulfed her giving her chills. She emptied the glass of water and placed it on the sink. She stared at the rose once again, thinking how red it was – it was nearly dark like it was dipped in a pool of blood.

How odd that she considered blood for comparison. But it was the color of the flower disconcerted her, it wasn’t an ordinary rose. Mari walked closer and picked the rose from the table. She was holding the long stem and brought it closer to her so she could see it clearly. It was beautiful, the red color was unfading and the stem was strong and unwithered. She closed her eyes and let the petals brushed her cheek, caressing her skin. As if it was picked from the garden a minute ago, the smell of fresh morning flooded her nostril, calming her. The smoothness of petals made her smile. It was disarming.

She was pulled back by a knocking on the door. Startled as she was, Mari put the flower back on the table and took a deep breath to calm down. When she settled, the knocking hit the third times. She walked to the door and opened it. It was the caretaker of the building Mr. Romero. The man was probably in his late fifties with a curly short hair, a smiley face and who always fond of wearing overalls. He was a nice guy and for some reason, he reminded her of her late father. There was kindness in Mr. Romero that touched her so dearly.

“Good morning Mr. Romero!” She greeted.

“Good morning my sweet! I got the letters from the mail today and the bills too. I come to give yours. I’m sorry if I interrupted something.” Mr. Romero said smiling.

“You didn’t! I just woke up actually” She said. Her eyes shifted to the bundles of letters in Mr. Romero’s hands.

“Oh! Here are your bills and you got here a letter too.” He handed the letters to her with the bills in it.

“Thank you!”

“Well, have a nice day Mari. You know the drill with this… ” Referring to the bundles he was carrying.

“You too Mr. Romero” She said giving him a warm smile before closing the door.

She walked back to the kitchen and placed all sealed envelops on the table beside the flower. She scanned the bills one by one, credit card, postpaid, water, internet, others were just spams. Then the last one caught her attention. It wasn’t actually a bill but a black rectangular unstamped envelop with her name scribbled at the back.   

Mari stared at her name written in cursive writing. Obviously it was beautifully done by hand and not by some silly word processor. In haste she opened the letter to see what’s inside. There was a small parchment and with eyes wide and heart pumping hard, she read what was written.

An invitation for a ball.

Her eyes darted to the bottom of the invites, she almost stop breathing when she saw a small logo engrave of a rose on the lower right.

Her attention fell back to the table, where the red rose lay perfectly still.

To be continue...

STORY: Roses and Shadows

Days passed in a blur, like distant scenery from a moving train. Sometimes a day beseeched excitement and fun but most of the time… it’s meaningless.   Everything that Mari did was work and work. Often times she came home in the morning feeling exhausted and spent. All she had to do was change her clothes and hit the sack and sleep. Mari Amascual was a call center representative. She worked an eight hours graveyard shift at Sphinx Inc., a BPO company in Manila.

“Are you coming?” Bridge asked one Saturday morning. The entire week was a hell, calls were flowing like water in a stream – it never stop. For five days the entire 27^th floor of the 1900 Building was a battle field. Inbound calls all over America were coming in with different requests and concerns regarding their accounts. This was what it’s like to be working as a call center agent – you just have to learn how to multitask to address the customer efficiently. Mari was one of the best agents out there but of course just like everyone else, she couldn’t wait for the week to end.

“Thanks but… rain check?” replied Mari. Bridge gave her a disappointed look but she didn’t insist and dropped the subject right away. The team was going for a drink after a long week of hard work and Bridge was their team leader.

“Okay” Bridge said and turned around and left.

Mari shifts ended at 6AM but since its weekend, she lingered at the office for awhile to make sure that there’s no pending work left unattended. Her team left the office thirty minutes ago while others were wrapping up for their weekly huddle. The noise around her was beginning to mellow and the next time she peeked from her station – the floor was deserted.

She emptied her pending bucket, turned the computer off and left. It was already 8AM and the Sun was already blazing the horizon outside. The moment she stepped out of the building, the warmth of the summer breeze caught her face. She winced and fished her Ray ban Shades in her bag. She thought about having a breakfast before going home and images of Choco chips pancake and bacon popped in her head and made her giggle. Immediately, she hailed a cab and told the driver to take her to Katipunan Avenue. Pancake House opens early and Mari wanted to have that Choco chips she’d been dreaming the whole week. The cab dropped her off in front of the restaurant; she paid the driver and went out.

During weekends, the restaurant was packed with families lived around the Katipunan area. When Mari entered Pancake House, most of the tables were already occupied but a waiter led her to a vacant table on the second floor near the glass window. It was perfect she thought, having the view of the Avenue and the Ateneo Campus on the other side of the road. If only she has someone to sit with her and share the view, but there was no one - she was alone. It was that time that she actually felt the loneliness in her life. It wasn’t a choice that she was single, maybe because she believed in the more traditional way of courtship that she shooed most of the guys who asked her out.

An elderly couple came out of a black car outside. Mari looked at them hopeful. She believed in destiny and that someone out there, a man who is gentle and kind, gazing at the same star at night looking for her. She sighed and turned her attention to the Menu in front of her. A few minutes later, a waitress approached to get her order.

The meal was delicious. The pancake melted in her mouth as she closed her eyes enjoying every minute of it. The bacon was almost heaven and she feasted on it and washed it down with lemon iced tea. When Mari walked out of the restaurant she was happy. Ironically, her loneliness was gone for awhile and it was because of a good meal. She smiled and walked her way home.

It was almost midnight when she heard a scratching on the ceiling. Her eyes blinked trying to focus in the darkness but her ears were listening attentively. When the noise didn’t come back, she disregarded it. It could have been a strayed cat or a huge rat. Mari rolled to the other side of the bed and reached for her cellular phone to check the time. She squint her eyes as the light from the phone blinked. It was 11:30PM and all of a sudden she felt so lame for sleeping the entire day. She was exhausted, she thought. She wanted to stay up but her body could only take much stress. She thought about what she did before hitting the bed at 2PM. It’s not that she forfeited her Saturday off completely. She took her unwashed clothes to the laundry house before cleaning her studio type pad. She released a tired groan and sat up. The room was dark but the moon was full that shed a fainted glow in her window. A shadow caught her eyes outside and she crept out from the bed and went closer to the window holding her breath. As she looked closer, she saw a silhouette of a man standing motionless on the roof of the neighbor’s house. Immediately, she hid herself behind the curtain and covered her mouth with her hands to stop herself from screaming. Her pad was located on the second floor of the building and she woke up each day seeing the same view of residential roofs around her. When she looked back again to see the shadow on the roof, there was no one in there. She putted a hand on her chest as if catching her own heart from jumping.

Was that a phantom? She asked herself.

For awhile she didn’t move. The silence stretched and she couldn’t take it any longer. She could have just imagined it as if the night was playing trick on her. She inhaled deeply and released it and crossed the room to turn on the light. The florescent light flooded the entire room washing away the shadows and the grim brought by the darkness. She closed her eyes and massaged her temple while her breathing was going back to normal. She went to the mini kitchen to drink a glass of water.

She was beginning to feel normal again. It must be nothing, she convinced herself.

Then a whooshing sound caught her that made her turned around in haste. She placed the glass on the table and went back to the window to check. There was nothing there and feeling of someone watching her made the hair on her nape stood. Someone caught her eyes that made her heart stopped.

What was that? She thought. Her mouth agape in horror from what she saw.

On the window was a rose red as blood.

To be continue...

       

   

     

  

  

BOOK REVIEWS: Anna Dressed In Blood

Thoughts: The title itself gives me a spooky/ horror vibe. At first I was thinking of Stephen King's novel Carrie but later on as I started reading it and finally meet our in house ghost name Anna, my perception changed to the modern day Bloody Mary. The book in my opinion is a coming of age story of a ghost whisperer with a twist. Instead of helping lost spirits find their peace and crossover, our protagonist name Cas send those rogue bad spirits to the other side with the help of his athame knife he inherited from his dead father.

To say the least, Cas is our 21st Century Ghost Buster. With the help of his new found friends, a queen bee name Carmel and a young witch name Thomas, Cas took his job seriously and only vanquish ghosts that are guilty of harming humans. But then the challenge of his lifetime started when he comes face to face with Anna's ghost. The main reason of hunting Anna is to kill her but the wheel changes when Anna finally show Cas her life story and instead of driving a knife to eliminate her, Cas felt something for Anna that made him look at her in a different perspective.

The bond that they created made Cas took a step back and rethink about his profession. But then what is happening between them is just a tip of the iceberg because something is lurking behind that will going to throw all of them off the wagon.

Ghost love story is weird and creepy but the premise of this book is light and easy to deal with. The writer did a great job making a spooky subject into a fun and entertaining read. A lot of times I found myself laughing in some of the scenes.

Favorite Scene: My favorite moment would be, every time Cas showed up in Anna's door step, in her Victorian haunted house somewhere in an abandon suburb to talk her out so he could kill her. While she was busy throwing him on the wall and sending all her fury to kill him first, Cas couldn't admit that while his ribcage is breaking, he couldn’t get enough of her. So despite of all his bruises and limping, he still keeps on coming.  

Like/Unlike: Of course I like this book and I am currently reading book two.

Favorite Character/s: Thomas and Cas

Xoxo

Thoughts About Writing MY Novel

It was on my late twenties did I realize that I wanted to write my own novel. Of course a lot of THANKS to a good friend of mine who made me see this possibility. You see, I've always been a dreamer and those dreams were just buried on the pages of my favorite books. Maybe that's the reason why I enjoy reading so much, because reading is the only way for me to dream and have that sweet escape. But the great wheel has been turned when I started entertaining the possibility of becoming a novelist and write my own stories. For days I was consumed with the idea of writing and the more I pondered it the more I realized that this is what I really wanted to do with my life.

Writing feels right for me. The sweet escape, the same satisfaction I get from reading - it feels like dreaming a good dream...

When I started writing my own novel I was skeptical about my skills. I don't have a proper training when it comes to this area. I wasn't even a straight A student in English during my School days. I was afraid that what I got in my pocket wasn't enough for me to finish an entire book. But despite of this dilemma, I continued. My gut was telling me to keep going and focused on the goal and that was to keep the narrative moving forward. I kept telling myself that what makes a writer is to write and studying about writing is a waste of time. I will learn how to write by just simply... WRITE. That was the great Anne Rice said.

So these are the few things I've learned on the process... And sure there are lots more as I go on in life.

* The process of writing a novel or a book is a lonely road to take. This is a consequence that I need to undergo to finish my novel. I realized that this is the only way for me to write my book and that I have to give up something in order for me to focus and buy more time. In this case, I made a choice to give up my social life. It isn't hard for me to do it because I am not an outgoing person in the first place. I'm self confessed home-body - I know, that's a lame excuse for an anti-social behavior. But I have to bear in mind that this is essential because I need all the time in the world to finish a book.

* Stop Dreaming and Start Writing. I realized that nothing will happen if I waste my precious time in dreaming about writing a book. I've been doing just that half of my life and this time, it's time to put all of that into writing. I need to stop dreaming somehow and start writing. I need to learn how to become a goal oriented person.

* I learned how to block the time.  More or less 4 to 5 hours a day. I'd like to think that during these times I totally disappeared on the phase of the earth and all I do is write. Everyday I told myself that writing is a life mission and in order for me to be closer to my goal, I MUST block the time to do it. Since I still have my day job and I don't have all the time in the world, I have to make use of that 4 hours or less and be productive. Though this is the part were I found challenging, because it's hard to put myself in a frame of mind with my characters and I have to set the mood for me to plunge myself into my characters world. I have to admit that I need more practice with this area. 

* I surrounded myself with anything that inspires and motivates me. a.) I listened to a lot of author interviews online. I believed that there is no actual original advice for new writers but big authors have their own ways  to articulately rephrase it differently and rhetorically. So I wrote some of their advice and see what works for me. b.) I am indeed a lover of fantasy fiction but for me to learn more, I need to go out of my nutshell and experience other genres in literature to broaden my demographic. Honestly, I gave up the classic when I was in high school but later as I rediscovered them, I realized that I have the heart for those languid writings of the old world. Those are the writings that will give you a total experience with reading - transcending effect. I remember reading one classic novel that I literally felt like I was hearing music or some sort of a humming in my ear.

c.) I collected EBooks about writings and autobiographies of authors that I love and sometimes you'll find me in a Book-sale bargaining for that one book that I like – Yeah! Shamelessly I am notorious at bargaining books at book sale even if the book is fixed in price.

d.) If I am not writing, I am reading furiously.

Probably that's about it for now. I am not there yet but it's safe to say that even the train is moving slowly, I am sure that I am in the right railway. I already finished TWO novels as of the moment, the one is already at the mercy of my editor and the other one is still the subject of my perusal – I am editing it like c-r-a-z-y. There are friends who supported me in this journey; these are the people who tap me on the shoulder and told me not to give up regardless of the rejections that have been piling on my email. But also you cannot avoid those people who’ll just shrug and roll their eyes when you talk to them about writing. I don’t blame them, besides, they don’t know what I am going through and they have NO idea at all… So I just let them be…

I heard an author said that "You are when you think YOU are!" in which I totally agree because that’s the only way for me to take myself seriously. Everyday I’ve been telling the world that I am a novelist, I do it like a mantra… and no matter how rough the road is, I will took off my shoes and walk barefoot baby step at a time until I get to my destination. It will be hard of course, but my characters will be out there and the world will hear their stories sooner. Let’s carve that in the stone.

Xoxo

STORY: Falling Feathers ( A fallen Angel Story)

I descended from the ladder of the treehouse I had built for myself early that morning. It was nestled high in the tallest oak tree at the heart of this pristine rainforest in the south. Time was of no consequence to me, for I had no concept of how the humans' device, the clock, measured the passing of seconds, minutes, or hours. In the realm where I existed, time drifted as freely as the wind that swept through the trees. It didn't matter—not really. I could glide through time in the blink of an eye, centuries passing as easily as yesterday. Millennia were inconsequential. I could travel back and forth, at will, for as long as I wished. Yet, I had chosen to remain here, in this paradise of solid reality. The idea of existing in just one dimension captivated me, and this decision to stay here, in this beautiful, untamed woodland, was the first true choice of my entire existence. This was my present—this forest, my sanctuary, the perfect representation of the world.

I knew it was early; the forest was still quiet. The birds had yet to hum their tunes, and many of the animals were still in their lairs, sleeping. My feet finally touched the ground, which was covered in dried leaves that had fallen every summer. This tropical land didn't experience a withering season, so the leaves would fall during the summer, when the sun's heat made the trees shed their coat. The earth beneath me was obscured by the blanket of leaves, creating a soft, matted floor that I couldn’t even feel beneath my bare feet.

The forest was shrouded in mist, and the scent of nearby pine trees filled the air like nature's own perfume. It was dim here, for the rays of the sun couldn't fully penetrate the thick canopy of trees that stretched high above. I could hear the soft whistle of the wind as it swirled over the rocks and through the trees. The neighboring hills and mountains were hidden from view, their outlines obscured by the forest's density. Even the peak of the sleeping volcano was nowhere to be seen. With a heightened sense, I knew the villagers of Sugarland were still asleep, except for the few elders who always woke early.

Waking early was inevitable for me. Even if I tried to return to sleep, it was useless. Unlike humans, my body was in perfect harmony with the breaking of dawn. It wasn't just a task I had to perform—it was a privilege, an unbreakable part of my existence. I was built to honor the coming of the light, a ritual we immortals followed without fail.

Whether I wished it or not, I had to acknowledge the rise of the morning sun. Our bodies knew what to do: we would submit to the light’s radiance, for it signified the heavenly fire. It was the only way for us to briefly reconnect with the En Sof, our father—if only for a fleeting moment. This glimpse of home was the only way we knew we still mattered to Him, that He hadn’t forgotten us, despite the mistakes of eons past.

Yes, I was one of the fallen angels, cast out of Heaven’s gates. A terrible mistake, one I regretted deeply. Many of us, the fallen, still resisted the call of the En Sof, refusing to acknowledge the morning light. These were the ones who created the pit—the realm known as Hell. But I was not one of them. I refused to be manipulated by the superior angel who led us astray. For years, I worshipped the morning light patiently, despite my homesickness. I held onto the hope that one day, I would be granted redemption for my defiance—that someday, my prayers of repentance would be heard, and I would be allowed to ascend again.

Standing on the ground, barefoot and clad in a simple white gown of thin, soft fabric, I felt the silence of the forest wrap around me. The giant trees towered over me, their vastness making me feel like I was in the presence of giants. The air was still, save for the soft whispers of the wind and the delicate rustling of leaves. The water from the stream sparkled with a soft sound, but then—silence.

And then it came—the heavenly symphony.

The sound of cherubic voices singing in perfect harmony filled the air. It was a pure, melodic rhythm that consumed me entirely. I could not resist it. My mind was overwhelmed by the music, my reason no longer in control. My body moved on its own, driven by the call of the sacred ritual. I felt the music pulling me, leading me toward the clearing at the base of a hill just outside the misty forest.

The ritual had begun, and the gates to the divine were opening for all of us. I had to reach the top of the hill. My body seemed to glide effortlessly, barely touching the ground with each step. As I ascended, I felt weightless, as though gravity no longer had any hold over me. It was as if I were floating, light as a feather, and with every stride, my heart raced with anticipation.

When I reached the top, I stood on the cliff, gazing at the surrounding landscape—a sea of green pasture beneath a sapphire sky. The sun’s rays bathed me in brilliant light, and I absorbed it like a sponge. The wind howled around me, lifting my hair and the flowing fabric of my gown. My heart swelled with joy, and my eyes closed to savor the moment.

I spread my arms wide, and with a sudden surge, my wings erupted from my back, tearing through the fabric of my dress. They rose higher, glowing with a radiant light, as if they were reflecting the sun’s rays. From afar, I might have looked like a falcon preparing to take flight, but to the human eye, I was just a flickering light on the hill, an enigma beyond comprehension.

My wings were phosphorescent, the very essence of my being. They stretched wide, powerful yet impossibly light, as if they were woven from the fabric of the cosmos itself. I felt small in their presence, yet in their weightlessness, they carried unimaginable strength. They were my connection to Heaven, my link to the divine realm. I was not of this world, for I existed before it, long before the En Sof envisioned creation.

The wind continued to rage around me, but I was numb to its force. In that moment, when all the weight of the world seemed to leave me, when the pull of gravity no longer tethered me to the earth, I took flight. My wings beat in unison with my heart, and with one powerful stroke, I soared higher—higher than I ever thought possible.

As I ascended, the world below disappeared, and I crossed the threshold into the ethereal realm. I could see the heavenly gates in the distance, shimmering like a beacon. My fellow fallen angels emerged from all corners of time, drawn to the boundary, their hearts filled with longing and despair. We could see the gates, but we could not cross. We could only witness the heavenly realm, separated by a divine ring that kept us outcasts forever apart.

This was as close as we could get to redemption, and it was a torment that echoed throughout the cosmos. Yet, in that pain, there was always hope—a promise that one day, we would return home.

All of us, damned and suffering, would find our way back to the light. The promise of the morning light would never fade. There is always hope.

Story By: Ronnan Bangis

BOOK REVIEWS: The Host

I have this book in my eBook-shelf since for-e-v-e-r. I really don't know what took me so long to pick this book and read it. I knew that the movie adaptation will be coming soon but I normally shrugged this off and pass.

Then the first week of February came and I was in a book-sale killing time which I normally call it my ME time during weekends.   I was randomly picking books when a copy of "The Host", came tumbling down and landed on my hand. At first I was skeptical if I should buy it or not since I already got the eBook version of it on my iBook. But still the idea of having the actual book in my hand was too hard to resist. You know, despite of this electronic revolution that we have in this new age, still, nothing can beat reading with a tangible book in your hand. The smell of the paper, the nostalgia, the feeling of flipping the pages, it's just different.

So I ended up purchasing the book in a lower price and went home.

I started reading it. At first, I found it hard to think that this book is actually written by Stephanie Meyer, the author who started the Twilight Mania. Well, I don't really hate that series, I admit that I literally devoured those four books and even watch the movie. But as many readers said - we should not be judging the book by its movie in which I definitely agree. The movie adaptation can be awful, especially when the actor portraying the lead role murder the character that you grow to love but that doesn't mean that the book is equally distasteful.

Now, I don’t normally read post apocalyptic or post-invasion whatever type of genre. The first dystopian world I encountered is that of the Hunger Games and Oh yeah! How can I forget that wonderful book called Warm Bodies? I love that book!

Though there are others that I braved myself reading but I am not going to talk about it right now.

Okay back to The Host. I am intrigue with the premise of the story. A worm like alien with a size of a thumb called the Soul, inserted in a human body (The Host) for it to have access of that body and gain total control. That’s how this little alien succeeded its invasion and won the planet Earth. Humans are in the brink of extinction because The Souls are targeting them to make a Host of their bodies. But just like the old stories of Alien Invasion, Humans will not easily give up without a fight. They will always fight back. Technically, that’s the entire story goes…

But what makes this book tick for me is how the characters are woven together. A lot of reviews online claimed that they are undeveloped, they maybe are but as I always said, I am not a critical reader and as long as the novel entertains then that book served its purpose.

I like those main characters of the alien Wanda and the host Melanie. Though the two of them are trapped in Mel’s body, still, you can easily see the difference between the two. Then there is Jared and Ian and Mel’s uncle Jeb and many more – humans that are part of the resisting colony. Now, Wanda is a Soul, an alien, but the longer she stays with the human the more she become attached to them and even fall in love to one of them. She also realized that she is becoming more of them than being the Soul that she is. She understood the human ways of existing. Wanda’s struggle is very enthralling for me. Her inherent goodness and self sacrificing won her a spot in the human colony. She is genuine and I think her principle is more human than alien. When I finished reading the book, I am still longing to know more about the characters. I am happy to learn that Stephanie Meyer decided to continue writing this book in a series. I will definitely wait for the next installment.

    

Yeah, I've seen the movie too... I dragged my partner to the movie house just to watch it. Well, apparently I ended up explaining almost every sequence to him while watching. I have to say, I enjoyed it and the lead actor Saoirse Ronan who I think looks like a young version of Cate Blanchett did a great job portraying Wanda/Mel, so is that hot dude called Max Irons as Jared (drools).

Xoxo

  

Reading the Classic and To Kill A Mocking Bird

I got into reading classic novel a few months back. At first I was skeptical that I won’t be able to grasp the gravity of its context since I was more accustomed with contemporary books.

 I always thought that classic novels held the most profound conversation dealing with literary diversity. It’s eloquence with words was vivid and transcending. Of course I was right with this assumption.

The dialogues that the author used to narrate the story were precised and smoothly written. The way the words were woven fluidly to convey every character’s emotion was more of a melody to a song. It was beautiful.  

Being a person with trifling vocabulary, I realized that reading classic novel was a challenge and a learning ground to push myself out of my comfort zone. I was introduced to a different kind of experience in reading. With my heroic attempt to penetrate the world of the Sherlockian, the Dickens, the Stoker, the Lumas and many more, I brought to me the experiences not only those immortal phrases that I've been mumbling for awhile to know how it sound if I was the one uttering those lines but also those deeper meaning that the heroes such as The Count Of Monte Cristo induced within me. How many times I was left breathless and enthralled, I didn't know. Every classic novel is divine.     

To keep an open mind is a must!

As I flipped the first page of Harper Lee’s classic To Kill a Mocking Bird, I was incensed with astonishment as to how the author described the fictional town of Maycomb. The culture of the town and the era as to when the novel took place were very enthralling. The characters were brilliantly created; their emotional struggles and sentiments were intense and moving. I could almost hear the distinctive southern accent through their dialogues.

In a nutshell, the novel took place in the time when the racial discrimination in America was at its peak. Negro was the word as a description for bigotry for the black community.  It was painfully executed on the pages that I could almost feel the odd intensity of racism that made me cringed or fume with anger. I've never been into a situation where I am racially discriminated and the anger rising inside me puzzled me even more. I was that affected and I didn't know why.

It was just a relief to think that the world changed all through out the years. Though racial discrimination still existed even today, still it wasn't the same as before. I couldn't imagine living in a world where people still breathed with prejudices in their hearts.  

I think racial discrimination; in any form is a disease that could ruin people’s lives.  It couldn't be eliminated easily but it could be prevented in ways of constant education to the young ones about variances, ethnicity and diversity of human beings in all walks of life.  Someone cannot perceive the world the way he/she wants it to be.

I guess I am blessed that I was born in this age. I was blessed that in my time the world’s mind is ready to accept the nature of the twisted, the deviant and the unique.

To Kill a Mocking Bird is one of my favorite novels. My worn out paperback copy is tucked neatly on my shelf along with the great novels I got in there. One day I will pick the book again and read it. But for now, I want to hear about David Copperfield first.

My Dream Scenario (PART 2)

Continue...

Tolkien couldn’t contain his amazement and he asked Miss Rice about her vampire characters. In calmness she answered his questioning and told him that most of her characters were metaphors for the outcast in all of us and this was rooted on the time when she was living as an atheist. Tolkien’s eyes were huge and his jaw dropped as he listened carefully to Miss Rice. Then the door of the Tavern burst opened and all of them turned to the direction of the door in haste.   

A man wearing glasses entered the room but the drunkards didn’t seem to notice his arrival. He looked like an easygoing person wearing a checkered polo shirt and a cargo short and a pair of flip flop. He was smiling to everyone even if everyone never returned his gesture. But he wasn’t bothered after all; instead he went straight to the bar and ordered a glass of beer. When he turned around to face the crowd and leaned his back to the bar, he saw the most unlikely group of extra ordinary people looking at him. They seemed like studying him, scrutinizing every aspect of his personality. With a glass of beer in his right hand, he sashayed to the huge table and greeted those remarkable people sitting there.

He said HI to everyone and extended his hand to shake theirs. He introduced himself as Rick Riordan. It wasn’t hard to like Rick because he was a charming man who could easily get along well regardless of personality differences. He invited himself and sat next to Tolkien. He told them that he was looking for Mount Olympus but the road led him here. Rowling asked him why he was looking for Olympus. Didn’t he know that Olympus was just a myth? He answered Rowling and told her that he was a writer and he was writing novels about Greek Mythology and lately he was combining Greek and Roman Mythology for his new Series. He thought he almost heard an Ohh’s and Ahh’s from the group and he could see it in their eyes that they were interested. Lewis told him that all of them were writers too and mostly they wrote about fiction novels with parallel world and outrageous cosmology.

Rick was excited to learn this and he said that it was a great honor to meet all of them in person. He told them that everyday was a learning process for him and his decision to quit his day job and focused on his writing was the best decision he ever did in his entire career.

“It’s just feels right” He said.  

And earned a nod of agreement from the group. “Writing feels write of course for writers, just like painting for painters.” Said Rowling.

“Well, as I always tell the aspiring writers who seek my advice, it is important to write the book that you want to read.” Miss Rice said.

“Indeed! Indeed!” Blurted Tolkien.

Rick told them that he was also writing book series about Egypt and he was already on his third book in that series.

Miss Rice looked at him enthralled. She loved Egypt and the long history behind it but she kept her silence and let Rick told his tale. When Rick was done talking, Miss Rice smiled and thought about the adventures she took when she wrote the novel Ramses and Queen of the Damned. That was Egypt for her, Akasha was Egypt for her.

Lewis called her name and asked her if she’s alright. Miss Rice nodded and assured Lewis that she was fine.

There was never a dull moment for fantasy writers got together. The Tavern was full with people and drunkards alike and the place was filled with laughter and cursing all around them but these fiction writers were having the time of their lives. It seemed that they were physically there but their conversation took them somewhere else, somewhere unimaginably awesome that no ordinary human being could follow. They’d talked about history like it happened yesterday, Gods and Goddesses as if they were tangible. Then there was the thrill when the conversation brought them to the topic of MAGIC as if it was real thing. The noise was never a problem for them.

Then the Tavern door swung opened. 

A bulky fat man stumbled from the door cursing. The rain was heavy outside and the fat man’s jacket was wet and his boots were soaked with mud. He was having difficulty getting out of his jacket and so a waiter approached him and offered some help but the fat man sent him away with foul words. The waiter just shook his head smiling, obviously he wasn’t offended by the man’s vulgarity and it seemed like he knew the man very well. Rick called for the waiter and asked him who the fat man was and the waiter told him with dignity and pride that the man was a regular customer of the Tavern and he was the famous writer name George R. R. Martin. Upon mentioning the name, Lewis turned his attention toward his friend Tolkien while Mr. Tolkien returned the gesture and gave Lewis a grim look.

“You didn’t recognize him?” Lewis asked him.

Tolkien shook his head slowly as if he was trying to remember the face of the man from the people he had met from his lifetime.

“I don’t remember meeting him before.” Tolkien finally said.

“He was that boy!” said Lewis.

Tolkien gave Lewis a strange look as if asking him what-he-was-talking-about. Lewis smile and shook his head in disbelief. Obviously his friend Mr. Tolkien didn’t know what was happening around him.

“Look” He said addressing Tolkien. “Haven’t you notice? Not everyone around here is from our time my friend. ”

“Huh?” Tolkien asked bewildered.

“Okay, We just came out from the School in which both of us are members of English Faculty and we came here for a drink and to discuss our works. Then later on, these wonderful people that we just met came out of nowhere.” Lewis addressed the remarkable people surrounding the table.

“So?” Tolkien asked still didn’t know where Lewis leading him.   

“They are not from our time. We,” pointing at Tolkien and himself, “Existed from their past and they belong to our future.” He smiled.

Tolkien looked at him and his attention went through each of the person on the table. Then he asked.

“What year is it in your present time?” He said.

“2013.” The group answered in unison.

“Wow!” He said.

“What year in yours?” Rick asked.

“1930?” Tolkien answered still couldn’t believe.

“We knew who you were gentlemen.” Said Ms. Rice to the both of them. “Both of you are heroes for writers in our time. The world worshiped you.” She said and smiled at them.

“You are two of the finest and most brilliant writers of the 20^th century.” Rowling added.

Tolkien looked at Lewis who was beginning to have teary eyes.

“All was worth it my friend.” He said as he tapped Lewis shoulder with a smile.

 “Well done gentlemen!” Ms. Rice said.

“So, who is this guy again?” Tolkien said breaking the emotion that was building. He was referring to the fat man who was now standing at the bar with his back on them.

“Well, He was that kid who wrote those fancy letters for you. Remember the letters you received every month at the faculty? That was him… your number one fan.” Lewis said.

“You mean our… number one fan?” Tolkien said with a huge grin in his face.

Tolkien stood up and smoothed his trouser and sashayed to the bar and stood beside the fat man who was wearing khaki, a polo shirt with a suspender on it. Rowling leaned forward on the table and watched them while everyone on the table did the same.

Seconds passed while the two men exchanged words on the bar and later on curses were flying all through out the Tavern from the fat man. But it wasn’t a curse of disappointment but instead it was from astonishment and surprise. Georgy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was amazed to know that he was standing in front of the person he aspired to become. Yes, he was the one who wrote those letters to Oxford addressed to Mr. Tolkien when he was a kid. But for him it was just an illusion to cheat him from the truth that Mr. Tolkien might not be able to read it. Never did he know that Mr. Tolkien did read his letters and he read it when he was still in his 30’s. Georgy was laughing feverishly and tears were streaming from his eyes, he was that kid again. Tolkien then wrapped his arms around Georgy’s neck and ushered him towards the table where everybody was waiting for them with a smile on their faces.

Tolkien introduced Georgy to all of them and when he came to Lewis, Georgy was overwhelmed that he finally burst into tears. He couldn’t contain his excitement any longer for what was happening in front of him was too good to be true. Lewis stood and extended his hand to welcome him but Georgy caught Lewis in a bear hug instead. The group erupted with laughter at this touching moment while the women secretly wiped the tears in their eyes.

It was indeed very touching, thought Rick. He couldn’t imagine it for Georgy, meeting his icons who somehow shaped his life or his career. Probably this was applicable to most of us humans; Rick continued musing while the outburst of emotion was still high. Somehow in our lives we met people that helped us realized our destiny, our dreams and those people, regardless if we knew them personally or through their works and passions, they become our icons, someone that we looked up to… We spent days dreaming what would it be like if we have their gift, it would have been marvelous. But they’d helped us do better, strived more and dreamed BIG.

Dreams are not just for sleeping… They do come true… you just have to believe in it and claim it on the stars.

The End

My Dream Scenario (PART 1)

I was thinking about my dream scenario, what would it be? Hmm Okay let’s see:

In a tavern, let say somewhere in a small village in England, CW Lewis and JRR Tolkien were having an afternoon chat. They occupied the biggest table at the center of the tavern where all the people could see them but the drunkards around them didn’t care. They went on talking about the parallel world that they created in their novels. While Tolkien bragged about Middle-Earth and how the brilliant idea formulated in his mind, Lewis in other hand nodded in agreement and congratulated him. Then he went on and shared about the world of Narnia and asked Tolkien if creating a character name Aslan was cool. Tolkien said that the idea was great and he could create Aslan as a huge talking beast. Lewis agreed and said that it would be interesting if instead of having an untamed animal he would settle having a prudent Lion that was wise and gentle in which Tolkien happily approved.

Later on a smart looking woman with a blonde hair appeared from the door, she was wearing a black suit and Manolo Blahnik killer high heels. The two men looked at her and invited her in. She introduced her self as JK Rowling and told them that she was strolling around Hogsmeade and she ended up in the Tavern. But they didn’t know where Hogsmeade was located and so she explained to them that Hogsmeade was a place she created in her Harry Potter Series. Tolkien and Lewis were fascinated and they urged her to talk about it for awhile, Lewis even asked Rowling some questions about witchcraft and wizardry because he was thinking about creating a witch villain that he wanted to call The White Queen. Rowling ordered a drink but since it was a Tavern and most of the people who came here - with only have one thing in their mind and that was to get drunk, there was no way they served ladies drink, so she asked for wine instead. When the wine arrived, Rowling took a small sip to have a taste of it, the wine was delicious and she was satisfied. She smiled with her eyes closed savoring the wine on her taste bud. When she opened her eyes, she saw a petite older looking woman entered the Tavern, wearing a black ensemble, closed neck dress with a cameo pinned at the center of the dress right on the breast area. The woman was probably in her seventies with her shoulder length grayed hair and feline grace as she walked toward the group. The three of them looked at her and noticed how commanding she was despite of her age. The entire room went silent as if the time stopped as she moved to the table but then the drunkards were mindless people and they went on with their businesses and the tavern hovered with the same chattering again. The woman stood next to the table and looked each of the three faces who were sitting around it. Rowling looked at her musing, the old woman made her thought about a timeless character in a dark novel. Rowling was awed.

The old woman looked at her and met her eyes, she smiled at Rowling and her eyes gleamed with the wisdom that she carried within her, as if the old woman lived for thousands of years that nothing in this corporeal world would shock her. Her eyes flamed with the Lighthouse of Ancient Egypt, her movement was graceful like the aristocrats of old Rome and the lines in her face showed the knowledge she probably acquired since the fall of Jerusalem. As if, she was there at the very meadow, sitting among the Jews, listening to the son of God Yeshua when he told his teaching.

Then the old woman cleared her throat and introduced herself. She said her name was Anne Rice and that she was also a novelist who wrote fiction and fantasy novels about vampires and werewolves and witches. Tolkien and Lewis beamed with excitement and asked her to join them and she did. She sat beside Rowling and while Tolkien lifted his hand to call for a waiter to take Miss Rice’s order, Rowling took the liberty to introduce everyone on the table. A bald man with a big tummy approached and took Miss Rice’s order and she told him that she have what Miss Rowling was having. The waiter bow his head and left.

Rowling said that she knew her; she went on and told Tolkien and Lewis that Miss Rice loved to write about dark characters from the myths and legends of the old and that she had a natural gift in descriptive writing that whatever she was writing about, regardless if its from the ancient time or the present, her skills would bring those times to life in the pages of her book. It had a powerful effect for readers; Rowling went on, “transcending effect” she said. Miss Rice bow her head in humility with Rowling’s praising her and gave the younger woman her most sincere gratitude.

To be continue.... 

BOOK READS: SHOOTING KABUL

I am very particular when it comes to genre of the book that I wanted to read. Lots of times I'm drawn to the cover of the book that makes me want to read them.   I don't consider this a good idea but of coarse it's not a bad idea either.

Just that, all through these years of spending hours in a bookstore particularly in a book-sale, I learned to flip at least few pages of the book and read the teaser of the story written normally at the back before purchasing it. I no longer rely on the the book cover itself.

The book cover and the content are totally different thing, created by totally different mind. There are lots of great books out there with stories that will pinch a heart with just a very simple cover. There are also a lot of awesome covers out there that will give you a straight to the trash-can stories.

"Shooting Kabul" by N. H. Senzai is one of those great stories with simple cover. First, this book is not actually my genre because I am more interested with genre that deals around Fantasy Fiction and Supernatural stuff. So to say the least, this book is way out of my comfort zone. But just lately I decided to open myself to other genre to broaden my views. I want to learn more about sub-cultural books, historical fiction and thriller. A good autobiography is a go for me and some books that dwells between chic-lit or satirical prose probably written by female comedian or gay authors. 

Now, this gem of a book is from the sale section of the bookstore and I really got it in a very low price. The cover was just a so-so but the thing that caught me is the thought about a family escaping from the border of Afghanistan in the midst of the Taliban war. The journey that the family took to get to that border so they can hop on the Truck that will take them to America with the Asylum Visa given to people living in a war zone. The entire story is told by a young protagonist as one of the member of the family escaping. His younger sister has been left behind in the midst of the chaos when the truck comes and lots of family who wanted to escape the war are pushing their way to get into the truck. Because the little girl is so young, she loose her grip and lost her way to get into the truck.

The entire story is told in a subtle way and every scene and struggle of the family when they get to America is palpably executed well. The burden of our young protagonist is raw for his age and I really feel for the kid. He is a dreamer like me, but of coarse he shape his dreams to help solve his family's problem but because he is still young, he can only do much. The frustration that he feels is very real for me. A lot of times I choke to fight back tears.

This book also deals about how Afgan. families cope during the time of the 7/11 tragedy. This particular struggle is experience by our young protagonist when one of his schoolmates call him terrorist. 

All in all, I totally love this book. It's a simple read but it fills the heart with knowledge and love for religion, country and for being alive.