My grandfather was also an avid reader. Poverty could not hold him back in his youth – libraries helped him access knowledge he could not otherwise afford. He graduated valedictorian and later rose the ranks thanks to his constant reading. But in his old age, he shared one piece of wisdom.
For all the books he’d ever read, all the books that had helped him when politics were not in his favor, when his knowledge was greater than those who’d been able to avail of training and more… For all the books he’d ever read, with a portion of every salary set aside to buy a single book every payday… For all the books he’d ever read, he regretted not reading more fiction.
99% of his reading life was spent consuming textbook after textbook. It was fascinating, but was it enjoyable? Was it fun? In the wealth of books he left me when he passed, I only found one or two fiction titles – John Le Carre for the most part.
He retired early from government service, but he had no clue (or did he) that Parkinsons and a gradual blindness would steal his enjoyment of freedom from working life. His books doomed to be unfinished when he passed, I inherited his legacy and understood his regret.
So when office hours end, I do not mind setting aside the papers of my day job to enjoy fiction. Whether read or watched, I enjoy it, remembering my late Lolo’s regret that he could not.
Filipino translated-
Lolo: grandfather