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.