Why I've been remiss in posting anything for the past weeks

I know, I know. I should write something here. What happened to the supposed "weekly newsletter" I'm supposed to churn out regularly? Life got in the way. I have a life outside this blog, you see. What a liberating, comforting thing to write about. The remaining days of 2025 are a hazy mix of memorable meetings with old friends (not old old, if you know what I mean, but people I've known for many years),  travels to places that feel different to where I live, a deluge of work in clinics and the academia, with several things in between, and an ever-growing tsundoku, which includes a brand new ESV study Bible, a heartfelt novel about piano competition and friendships by Riku Onda, a meditation on Psalms by Ray Ortlund, and many more. 

So here's a quick update. And like this lady from Kariuzawa, 40 minutes (?) from Tokyo, I say, "Hello!"

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Gregorio C. Brillantes, 92

Gregorio Brillantes "died at 92 on the morning of Sept. 26." I learned about his passing from Kuya John, who lives in Australia and who shares honest and valuable, often one-liner, book recommendations. (Consider his latest message: "Hindi na ako happy kay R.F. Kuang," referring to the novel, Katabasis.)  I left a copy of The Collected Stories of Gregorio C. Brilliants, published by the Ateneo Press, in Kuya John's gorgeous Sydney home, to help him stave off homesickness—and perhaps to encourage it. 

Brilliantes's stories take you to streets of old Philippine towns, with kioskos, municipal halls, quiet afternoons, school days. He writes like no other. My imagination turns sepia-colored. The stories I had read were set largely during wartime and Marital Law years. In these stories, I could feel the humidity and scorching heat that are distinctly Filipino. I could hear the piano and listen to the rustling of the acacia leaves. He is a writer who makes me want to write. I read him to jumpstart writing the secret fictions I develop in my typewriter; these stories will never see the light of day but I write them for pleasure anyway. 

Death is a sad thing. Some of my favorite short story writers—Mavis Gallant and Alice Munro—are dead. But in my mind and heart, they live, truly and actively—and this is the wonder and joy of reading, isn't it? The possibilities—even of time travel—are endless.

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