An ill-versed Pinay on Fifty Shades

Admittedly, I've grown jittery on not wanting this be stereotyped as another book review; the blogger: bashing, hammering and acting like a know-all critic on the author. Don't expect me to tell you how many times the word "Jeez" has been used in just 4 pages, things like that is somewhat zany and incongruous with my purpose. Besides, what do I know? I'm just your average, sane, geek-by-nature weirdo who finds joy in reading. I fear of being booted-off this sight if I start to sound destructive. Really.

Fifty Shades series by E L James (British writer) has been dominating since it was first released as an e-book in 2011. Due to the uproar of book-savvy people, it was published in hard copies just this year and will soon be seen on the silver screen. Carnal. Erotic. Mother porn. Somehow, you could come up with your very own conviction once you have read all three: Fifty Shades of Grey, Darker and Freed. Christian Grey, WOW. A  business mogul, a "control freak", a pathologic-with-all-the-means-stalker, who was described with the physical attributes of Ian Somerhalder (Damon, The Vampire Diaries) as well as the brain & genius that of billionaire Bill Gates. While Anastasia Steele, the brunette, fresh college grad who is, like any other female lead character of all modern-day books, lacking self-esteem and is always on the shadow of an even hotter best friend, walking the earth side by side with her naughty "inner goddess and subconscious". Well displayed fiction.

The obvious, the discernible point I would not hesitate to agree, is the unleashing of a feminine's sexuality done off-guardedly by James. Readers were undeniably enthralled by the copious sex scenes, making it an ultimate page turner. It was a successful channel of bringing out the sadomasochist in each of us. Face it. For if ever these books were themed out of teenage forbidden love or any other sloppy reality topic like simple Grey-Steele love affair minus their coital escapades, i bet your bottom dollar this wouldn't even make any noise. 

I have researched a lot of reviews, they similarly and bravely profess hatred on the way the author has written the novel, questioning why this ever topped New York Times in such an astounding speed. Witty reviews. But then again, a different concern is what obliged me.

Casting for the movie is on it's way, and before we know it, we'll see showbiz oriented talk shows making a buzz on our TV sets. So here it is, the Philippines is a strong Catholic nation, boasting on it's long lineage of practicing solid rock faith. When even the ever controversial RH Bill (Reproductive Health) being debated by lawmakers was made as a lame rationale of God's wrath in the recent catastrophe the Pinoys have suffered, and a land where a few finds self-gratification as heinous and abominable. They say that this law is a devil's machinery to encourage the youth on indulging in their sexual desires without adding up on the country's ballooning population. No sugar-coat, Fifty Shades is about sex. The story has detailed narrations on love-making (if that term is ever applicable) on the entire series. Now, imagine those scenes being played by actors on the big screen. Ahmm, hello there MTRCB. Hey, CBCP. Ever heard of episcopal authority? 

Without frugality or meagerness, I could put my whole life on it. This too, is a target for endless debates. 

Recently I was made to know that in Middle East, a law is being imposed banning the release of these books. I am not a learned on their customs and way of living, but it is crystal clear that somehow they try to maintain the sacredness of that act, OR, it could either be, they feel it's a sacrilege or profanation on their women. Whatever, they sure are reasonable in their own rights.

So how will the Filipino religious sector able to accept an obscene movie and loathe every bit of it while the film industry strongly points out the "art form" it embodies? Oh this sounds too good. I should better check on my popcorn stockpile, there's a possibility I might run out of while watching a seemingly forever, dubious battle of Religion vs. Art. I could relentlessly dwell on how far the issues will take us. Let's just wait on how the film will be brilliantly made. And when it finally comes out then the hypocritical rage of the religious becomes viral, imagine me saying, I told you so. 

How My Sanctuary Spells. . .

In 4th grade, a classmate introduced me to book-reading, it was a Nancy Drew  mystery book as I can recall. The nature of my laziness dates back when I was not even born, and on a normal day I could have dumped that thing right-off. But because I have this unfathomably stupid feat of blindly signing up to a hobby I don't even do, I took the challenge and the inconvenience of trading my TV time with reading. The last pages curled a smug satisfaction in the corners of my mouth. Something about that teen novel made half the person that I am today.

There's just an inconceivable amount of novels I have read since that kid moment, but I still hasn't come to the conclusion that I am a geek by nature. It just doesn't fit me quite yet. I think "someone who reads" is a more apt description, although there's this cold knot of panic in my stomach each time I spot an interesting book straight from a shelf or a bookstore, anxious to grab a copy or to head-on reading. As a student before, I despised textbooks with intricate Chemical and Medical symbols and terms, guess that's just a part of the well-trodden-student-trap path I've gone through. There were particular years that I've terrorized an enormous number of stores, trying my luck to look for Anne Perry novels. I have fallen in love with the Victorian era so much that at one point I considered myself a resurrected woman from those ages. Ms. Perry has a very detailed narration on the mayhem and mysteries present during those days and it has played on my imagination very strongly. I've read some Philippa Gregory, the stories on Medieval period about kingship and how royalty conceals the human instinct of each character. And then the number of authors go on, from Gabriel Garcia Marquez, JK Rowling, Stephenie Meyer, John Saul, Stephen King, Sydney Sheldon, Daniel Steel, to the new rising talents of Lauren Kate. Long with these books, I have evolved as a big human fan to these creations. I find myself rather compelled to feed my knowledge, to explore more, to be deeply affected, to react violently on the plot and to curse my way into understanding a writer's style and forte.

Looking back on the young years of my existence as someone fighting my way on top of the food chain, I have found a special sanctuary on burying myself on a novel, digesting every single line, forever in awestruck with each writer's stroke of words. I have dreamed to author a masterpiece, but that was until college burst my bubble and led to the realization that some dreams just don't really come handy. Even my most loved individual on earth could not take me away from reading, it's my private haven, my own world, my very niche that fuels me in every single emotion I could feel. This isn't just a random routine I do, this is what I really am, this is what my biological DNA is made of, this is what my blood is partly consist of.