I did the right thing, after all.
Remember my guilt trip in one of my previous posts? I discussed there my treachery, stealing my countless books from my mentor with the absurd idea that I should replace him in case he’s no longer in this world. For years, it has affected me. But what’s bothering is that, although I’ve already confessed this sinister act to a priest, I still didn’t have the heart to return the books. Greed was still there. So in order to get rid of the guilt feeling, I promised to myself that I will never still books again.
Yeah, it wasn’t only my mentor whom I victimized — I also stole books from other people, and from libraries even! I’m such an evil person…
But a few days ago, I realized that I did the right thing. And here’s the reason why…
This mentor I’m talking about is without a shadow of a doubt one of the greatest living scholars of Filipinism we have today. In his house (and in his other apartment complex) are kept thousands upon thousands of books, mostly about Philippine history, literature, and culture. Many of them are rare books. He even had Pablo Pastells’ nine-volume Historia General de Filipinas (yeah, had, because they are now safely tucked in my bookshelf).
I started getting his books back in 2003. Around that time, I was jobless. I ended up assisting him in his various scholarly works, particularly assisting him in preparing the next article for Nueva Era (the only existing Spanish newspaper in the Philippines which just folded up recently). During that time, I was closely associated not only to his works but to his mind as well.
One day, while we were eating lunch at his house, we were talking about his books, his source of his brilliant information on Filipinism which he interwove with his first-rate logic. Respectfully, I asked him what is he going to do with all those books when his time comes. Since he said that his son, who was rehabilitated thrice for drug abuse, didn’t want to do anything with those books, so does his daughter. To be honest, I was expecting him to say that he is going to bequeath all those books to me. But he didn’t. He said that he will just donate all his books to his alma mater when his time arrives. I was hurt, because we both know that I am his closest supporter, his most ardent student, the only person who knows so much about him — his personality, behavior, faults, and most especially, his ideas of filipinismo. But no, he said his books are better off kept in his alma mater’s library.
Just so that I wouldn’t part with his books, I suggested that I contribute my books (which was then between 250 to 500 copies) to his library. He declined, saying that my books are my books, and that they should remain with me.
Again, I was hurt.
During that time, my wife and I only had one child. We never planned to have another one, but it happened. She got pregnant. I was alarmed! I was still jobless. And we were just living in a decrepit bodega that was managed by a bad-mannered tía who never really liked us staying there.
I thought that was it, the end of it all. I’ve been dreaming of becoming a scholar like him, my mentor, the man who I even consider as my own father. But with my wife’s second pregnancy, I thought that it would be impossible to achieve.
I immediately thought of my daughter. What would she become one day? And how about this new baby? I was still an atheist back then, but I was already thinking about their future. Their intellectual future. So one day, I said to myself that if there’s no way that I’d become a scholar (because for sure, I’d lose time and have to focus on work to support my family), then might as well turn my children into scholars. But how?
Back then, I knew that I was the only Filipino left with all this information from my mentor. Precious information, knowledge, wisdom, and literary perspective acquired from Claro M. Recto, Manuel Bernabé, Jesús Balmori, José Rizal, etc. They shouldn’t go to waste.
I thought about the books. And then did the unthinkable.
And for many weeks (or I think months), after doing the tasks he assigned me to do, I brought with me books that I could carry. Nobody in his household noticed because, like what I’ve said, his books are countless. There are even books inside his bathroom and countless more in a storage room in his backyard! Why, even the tenants (my mentor owns an apartment complex) have some of his books hidden inside their respective units.
I just stopped when I thought that I all have the most important books, magazines, and other rare readables that I could gather. Now I have a collection of more or less 2,000 tomes. But I don’t feel proud of it.
Until last week.
Upon employment, I rarely got to visit the old man in his house. If in the past I usually get to see him very day, nowadays it’s even rare to see him once a month. But last week, I got to visit his house once more. And there I spoke with one of his assistants who has been living with him for years as well (actually, this assistant was a schoolmate and a friend of mine also). He confided to me that he’s doing drugs with my mentor’s son, who was a former drug addict! The son was in fact incarcerated in a drug rehabilitation facility somewhere in Parañaque. That incarceration was his fourth.
And this shame-faced assistant admitted to me that he and my mentor’s drug-addict son for some time sold several sacks of books in a junk shop in exchange for drug money.
Shocking. I stole books for a noble purpose. They, including the son himself (who, of all people, should be the one to inherit the books), sold the book just to get high.
There’s goes pieces of true Philippine history down the drain. I’ve been having some sleepless nights just thinking about what they did, what I did, and what I didn’t do.
No, I couldn’t tell this to the old man. My mentor loves this assistant like a son. His fond of him just as he is fond of me. Bacá isipin niyá naninira lang acó, o bacá may interés acó sa mga libro niyá (which is in fact the case).
Thus, I did the right thing. However, even though his son is already in drug rehabilitation, this useless assistant of his, who is unfortunately one of my pals, is still doing crack. Who knows? Even as I type this, he could be selling books right now so that he’d have money to buy crystal meth somewhere in their neighborhood. Such a filthy ingrate.
Shouldn’t that tag apply to me as well? Stealing is still stealing. Cahit pagbalictarín co man ang mundó.
I did the right think, although it’s wrong. But I got to have his books. I have to SAVE them from this assistant and from his son (it’s his fourth; I don’t think it would be the last).
The old man is still strong although he’s ageing (he turned 72 last month). Recently, he had a mild stroke. But like what I said, he is still strong because of his other physical extra-curricular activities which exercises his body.
Nevertheless, he’s already 72. And I am just 29.
He has to give me his books. His library contains very rare and truthful information about our country (much of his books, by the way, are printed in our language: Spanish). I have to have them.
I have to save them.
This time, to steal them is to save them.
