I was in my third year of high school when my love for reading intensified. I have been a bookworm since kindergarten. However, my English teacher made me realize there was more to reading than only seeing colored pictures and fancy art.
A few days before November 2005, while most of our classmates were busy preparing for their book report, an unforgettable event happened. An event that would change my mindset forever.
Miss Anila divided our class into twelve groups, representing each month of the year. She then gave each group a classic novel to report per month. "A Scarlet Letter", written by Nathaniel Hawthorne was assigned to our group and scheduled to be reported in November.
One normal day, some students from another section informed us that Miss Anila didn't come during their class. Since our class is scheduled next, they let us know. Upon hearing that, Lezlie-- my best friend-- and I went to the library to do our usual thing. The library is our sanctuary. Lezlie would often read some magazines and books there while I solved some crossword puzzles.
No sooner than we began our hobby, another classmate of ours went to the library to let us know that Miss Anila had shown up. We hurried to class when she said our teacher was in a bad mood.
When we were almost at the doorway, Miss Anila stopped us from getting in.
"Where have you been?" she asked, giving us her intimidating look. Her left eyebrow raised in a scrutinizing look. "Never in my life have I expected that some people from the top section would show up late for my class," she added.
Cat got Lezlie's tongue, so I spoke. "We went to the library, ma'am."
I remembered how Miss Anila stared at me, like her gaze was sucking the soul out of my body.
I was never a popular student despite being a part of the cream-of-the-crop section. I was a typical timid introvert. In fact, I had been so quiet that most of our teachers, including Miss Anila, didn't know I existed. They had only been aware of my existence when I topped some of our major exams in two or three subjects.
"And what did you do there?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
"We read some Science magazines and solved crossword puzzles," I said. I was almost in tears of humiliation while looking at our classmates who were already inside the classroom. I wasn't used to being roasted.
"Why did you go there?"
"We thought you weren't coming, so we went there, ma'am."
"You thought?" she asked. Her voice gave me the hint that she was annoyed by my answer. "Do you know that many people died because of wrong notions? I have expected a lot from you, Julie."
I swallowed my fear. I couldn't find the words to respond. I could feel Lezlie's uneasiness beside me. 'What ifs' flooded my mind.
What if she wouldn't allow us to attend her class? She was known for that... not accepting latecomers.
What if she wouldn't allow me to present my part in our book report?
What if I fail my English class?
As my brain spaced out to the pessimistic possibilities, I heard our teacher speak. "I won't allow you in my class unless you give me a good reason why I should accept you."
My knees buckled; I felt the world crushing down on me.
She turned her back on us, but I managed to muster the courage to talk to my other classmates who were also outside. There were, I think, five or six of us. I asked them how we should negotiate with our teacher. I couldn't afford to fail. We were a few months away from being in the fourth year-- our ticket to graduate from high school.
Five minutes passed, and we had a decision.
I knocked on the door.
"Ma'am? Is it okay if we do an extra book report?" I asked. And to my surprise, her eyes brightened. I wasn't sure, but I saw excitement in them.
"Sure!" she agreed without having a second thought. "But I will choose the book for you to report."
Upon saying that, she let us attend her class that afternoon.
Miss Anila gave us the book THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA. And we were instructed to report it after all the groups were done reporting their assigned novel.
Ernest Hemingway did a great job of telling the story of Old Santiago, an old fisherman who was called a "salao" (the worst kind of unlucky) by his fellow villagers.
In spite of being treated as an outcast by most people, only Manolin, a young boy, believed in him. He would go out fishing with Old Santiago even if his parents wouldn't allow him.
While fishing, they would often talk about how Old Santiago used to catch a marlin when he was younger. Manolin would listen to the old man with awe, and he would encourage him to prove to the people that he wasn't a salao.
To cut the long story short, Old Santiago was able to prove himself to the villagers without him bragging about it. He made himself and Manolo proud.
I was crying when I finished reading the book. Not only was I moved by the experiences of Old Santiago, but I was also able to relate to his hardships.
From then on, I decided to keep moving forward and not let other people's judgment affect me. I promised myself that no matter what, I wouldn't stop proving my worth, not to other people, but, to myself.
Years passed and my passion for reading led me to collect novels from various authors. And I am, somehow, fulfilling my dream of having a mini library at home.
Not only that, but because of Miss Anila, and her kind words of appreciating my writing skills, I have thought of who I want to be... to be a writer and be able to publish books.
(This is my novel collection at home.)
(This is the first anthology I co-authored.)
(Second anthology I contributed to.)
(Third anthology that bears my pseudonym.)
Because of the book "The Old Man and the Sea," I was also able to publish my first mystery-thriller novel. And I have two ongoing novels as well.
