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If anyone had asked me during my high school years (or maybe even a few months ago), I would have readily replied that JD Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye best describes my coming-of-age. The jadedness! The insecurity! The bleak outlook of the future! It echoed the sentiments of my poor, misguided soul. Then I grew up, reread The Catcher in the Rye, and realized that I didn’t quite like it as much as I used to. It’s basically the ramblings of a teenager about to reach rock bottom, and I already have enough of that from myself when I mood swing. Reading stuff like that doesn’t exactly make you feel better about yourself, the way you look at the world, and how you think the rest of your life will turn out.

Just a few weeks ago, I was rummaging through my book shelf for something to read when unearthed an old book I enjoyed reading as a teenager: Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. As I travelled through the streets of Brooklyn at the turn of the century, it dawned to me that Francie Nolan, the novel’s protagonist, resembles me more than any fictional character I have ever come across, in terms of personality, interests, and character. The most obvious similarities are that she is a writer, a voracious reader, and that she dislikes the company of women and has no close female friends. But the one thing we have in common is how we can still find happiness in the simplest things despite living in an environment of despair - a trait I have never seen in any other fictional character. Francie is the kind of girl who gets drunk upon seeing the red petals of a tulip. In the same way, I find a lot of pleasure in the ordinary things people often take for granted. The best example I can give for that is drinking coffee. It’s not a very big deal for most people but no matter how crappy my day has been, I feel a little bit better knowing that there’s my evening cup of coffee to look forward to.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is mostly the story of a teenage Francie growing up in the slums of Brooklyn, although it also delves a little into her family history. Determined to escape a life of poverty, she cherishes her education and at the same time, nurses her dreams of becoming a writer. Although she was able to graduate from elementary school, financial difficulties forced her to start working to help her mother put some bread on the table. Some of the story is also told from her mother Katie’s point of view - regrets, dreams for her children, and the hard work she does to give her family a better life than she could ever have.

The plot doesn’t sound like much, but that’s not why I love A Tree Grow in Brooklyn. The characters are so lovable and endearing, you can’t help but empathize with them and cheer for them all the way - especially if you’re a girl. It’s the perfect coming-of-age story for any woman. First of all, it covers the usual thoughts girls go through as they grow up - friendship, family, school, work. Last night was the first time I understood why Francie’s feelings about her work. Today was the start of my internship at a major real estate company based in Makati. I’m not getting paid or anything, but at the same time I felt proud that I was doing something with my life. At the same time, even mothers might be able to can relate to the story through the character of Katie.

What’s beautiful about A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is that it’s uplifting without being sappy and overly sentimental (*cough*NicholasSparks*cough*). It makes you feel good because it teaches you that no matter how hopeless things seem, you just gotta keep on fighting if you want your circumstances to improve. Oh, and it also does something very strange to me: reading this book makes me crave for food I wouldn’t normally eat (white bread with nothing on it). That’s how well Betty Smith describes poverty and hunger.

One thing I do dislike about the book is what it says about love. Near the end, Katie tells Francie that the reason why you fall in love with men is because something about them reminds you about your first love. That’s complete nonsense but then again, what did people at the early 1900s know about love?

Despite that, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is still one of my favorite books and will most likely be something I will read and reread for the rest of my life.

Pat told me that 90% of serial killers read and loved J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye. Does this mean I shall be responsible for the mass slaughter of innocent civillians someday? Because I still quite enjoy reading that book.

There probably has to be some truth to the statistic, though. The first time I read it was during the peak of my high school angst, where Silverchair’s Freak was my anthem (Yeah, I’m a freak of nature/of nature/If only I could be as cool as you/Body and soul/I’m a freak) and when I made pathetic stabs at writing depressing poetry to express myself (ew ew ew). I remember feeling horribly crabby after finishing the book. To my fifteen-year old eyes, everyone was a phony and life was just one big joke. Anyway, I began the task of rereading Catcher in the Rye last night. This afternoon I felt the angst returning full force, after the security guard at school informed me and Pat that visitors are apparently not allowed to go to the caf or be anywhere else in el conyo Ateneo manicured lawn campus. Which is really funny because Ateneo’s so big on that “man for others” bullshit but maids, drivers, and bodyguards can’t even walk on campus or eat at the cafeteria. I suppose they don’t want the delicate conyo skins of the students to get contaminated by their masa cooties or something.

I spent quite a bit of time just sitting there and loathing everything and everyone. After awhile the spell passed and I realized that I’m much better off not giving a shit about hypocrites and people who piss me off in general. Come to think of it, if everyone were a little more indifferent, the world would be a better place. No one would care enough to hate all the stupid people. And because everyone would be too indifferent to notice the stupidity around them, that wouldn’t piss them off, and everyone can be a little bit happier. Every person will be able to live their lives in peace, just the way they want to, because no one would care enough to meddle in their affairs and life-changing decisions.

The lesson in indifference calmed me down, but it’s still something I have to master. No more Catcher in the Rye for me anymore, though. Reading it only makes me aware of a lot of things that piss me off about people, and being angry depletes my energy faster than two hours of packaging soap. So tonight, I shall be reading a collection of politically correct bedtime stories to lull me to sleep. No harm can come from there, except maybe for feminists, whom I’ve decided to call “gender Marxists” out of spite. But that is a rant for another day.

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