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When I was still in high school, it was like I live in the library. Everyday, I browse from many volumes of books they have. I pass from section to section to satisfy my curiosity. There are books of different sizes and colors. Then, there is this row of shelves which divides the restricted section to the rest of the hall.
Huge old books of the same title in volumes which is great in number filled the whole row. Its yellow pages of crispy and waxy paper testify to its age. All, bounded in dark brown leather covering with gilded embossed letters. Inside are text which will sure daunt every person who will read it.
At that time, I can only interpret very few lines. Those few lines suggest that those books are about the stories upon stories of the conquest by the Spaniards in the Philippines.
I remember that I had a copy of a short passage. I read that aloud and my mother translated the whole excerpt. I ask my mother to teach me Spanish but it seems that decades after college, she can only remember some and can’t speak it the same as years back. It was also in this time that I started studying Japanese with my first book.
I love history and those books from my high school days are the reason why I want to study Spanish. Now that I am able to study it, I wish I could browse from those books again.
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Lingophilia 
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