I went to SM Aura Premier with my parents and sisters last Saturday. The place was fine, given that some of the stores and restaurants were still not open. Anyway, being such book lovers, we went to National Book Store just to take a look inside (it was pretty small, by the way). Since my youngest sister is on a Trese streak (totally recommending this, especially to graphic novel readers), I went with her to the Philippine Fiction section in the bookstore to buy the latest one. When I saw Twilight, The Vampire Diaries, and The Hunger Games trilogy translated into Filipino, I cringed.

But that's the million-dollar question: Why did I cringe? Books were translated all the time so the citizens of that nation could understand the story if they couldn't fully understand English. So why should the Filipino translations be any different? Harry Potter has been translated into several languages—the same goes for the other bestsellers. If anything, these were translated because they wanted the others—the people who could not understand English as well as some of us do—to enjoy the story as much as we do. This could be the same for the people who decided to translate these bestsellers.

I admit, I prefer the original English ones over the Filipino translations. It might be because I'm far too used to reading my books in English that seeing the Filipino ones got me cringing. Even the Philippine literature that I do read are in English (save for the ones like the works of Jose Rizal and Andres Bonifacio). However, I do applaud the publishing company that decided to do this. In doing so, the masses who are more inclined to Filipino could enjoy the same stories that most of us enjoy.

Now to get back to Miguel Syjuco's Ilustrado.

You can feel it. You felt it as soon as the rays of the sun hit your face. You felt it when you were taking a shower. You felt it when you were eating breakfast. You even felt it when you were on the way to school.

You're finally over him.

You smile at the thought. That little smile turns into a grin. You want to laugh but you're in the train so you just grin. You're going to laugh about it anyway once you meet up with your best friend.

You then think back. You remember how you cried over him just a little over a week ago. You remember isolating yourself because you saw him talking to someone—someone who's not you. You remember the argument that pushed the both of you to the brink. You also remember that day when your heart broke and resolved that you will never get over him.

Yet here you are, grinning. "It's a good day today", you think. Because it is. You're getting off the next station so you permit another five minutes of contemplation.

You ask yourself what suddenly made this the day. You can't find an answer—nothing satisfactory anyway. You question everything, thinking of answers.

Until the automatic voice inside the train announced your stop.

So you step off and see your best friend waiting for you. She's still sleepy (she always is) and you have just the thing to wake her up. She waves at you and you wave back. You were walking to her when you suddenly bump into someone. The both of you fell down, and it's crazy because you're still in your school uniform. The other person stood up and offered his hand. When you look at him, you see that he has the loveliest pair of blue eyes. He hoists you up, and says,

"And here we are, standing up again."

He apologizes and walks off. You look at him curiously, and then smile. Your friend approaches you, asking you if you're alright. And you are, you know she knows that. Still, she asks what happened. You answer, "Nothing", and add,

"Because we always will stand up again."