The games people play

The last couple of stories have lent me a very important insight about the modern human being. Because of today’s advancement, all these implements and institutions we have made for ourselves lead us inevitably to playing games—those that we play on or with others, and games that we play on ourselves. The woman in Games cannot risk exposing herself for fear of losing someone she loves, or for the fear of getting hurt because of love. But in the end, it is this reluctance to take risks (or to take things seriously) that led her to discover that other people also hold back on things that she ought to know. Why? Well, I don’t quite get. They try to prevent themselves from getting hurt but do get hurt anyway so what’s the point.

As for Document…well, I appreciated the way it was discussed in class. Now I understand a bit the motivations of the character. The discussion finally confirmed my suspicions about the character here…the he really is a pathetic loser. I’m sorry, okay, I’m basing this on first-hand experience. He reminds me so much of this guy who danced circles around me for two damned years. Maybe it was partly my fault, but I swear I did my best to show to him that I was bloody “interested.” I came this close to spelling it out for him. But he kept playing this mind game—this parinig/pahaging/paramdam game and I got so tired that one day I just decided to change my number, move out of UPLB and move here to DLSC without leaving a forwarding address, and never ever tried to get in touch with him again. Sometimes I wonder if he’s still alive, or if he ever wonders if I’m still alive. But that’s that. The end.

I have just added another year to my age and got to thinking of what I have learned so far about life. Some people would say it’s too early to think about those “morbid” kind of things. I have so many years ahead. They’re bluffing. I’m sure they’re pretty much aware how fragile life can be. I know a lot of people, some of them my friends, who have died so early on in their lives. (In fact, just a few minutes ago, my bother’s ex passed away due to kidney failure, the causes of which are still unknown. You’ve probably seen her. She attended the battle of the bands last February 11, perhaps to cheer for El Guitarista.) I think that ever since I’ve gotten tangled up in all these complicated systems of human interaction (groups, cliques, organizations), all these grown up things (jobs, policies, money stuff, romantic relationships), all these media technology (cellphones, internet, etc.) I have felt like I was treading on uncertain grounds. I felt like I always had to watch my back, ward off deception or people who want to con you, to hurt you, to get the better of you.

The authors of Games and Document did not give too many clues as to the nature of their characters for us to figure out easily from the world of the text why they think or act or feel that way. They did not give away to many things because they might have assumed that the background we needed is in us, in our own experience. A person of about our age, of our nationality and heritage, is kin to insecurity and alienation. He or she is bombarded with consumerist ideologies in media telling him/her that having him/herself alone is inadequate. He/she should buy more to feel better about him/herself. And so it is that we put on clothes, and masks, and gadgets to hedge us from the embarrassment of exposure. And so it is that we assume our own worlds rather than risk what’s left of our fragile self-esteem by going up to someone to say or ask something in honesty.

One of the best stories of my life…

It sucks to have to write this again. I had this reaction typed a couple of days ago, the one about Estrella D. Alfon’s “Magnificence” and Edith L. Tiempo’s “The Corral.” And then my flash drive suddenly wont work. Aaach. Sometimes, as with most things, technology can be a pain in the @*s. I didn’t feel like writing it all over again, but I realize that I have to do that in order to get to the next assignment: “Games” by Noelle de Jesus and “Document” by Luis Katigbak.

So, here it goes again.

I wrote down that the female characters in the last two stories are more privileged (especially in Magnificence) the earlier ones. The Corral might have ended (still) tragically, but at least Pilar had a choice, or a semblance of a choice. She had the convenience to let go of her job to support her father in a business venture (a fish corral), she had the upperhand there for a moment when she turned the persistent Mr. Perfecto down (eligible as he might be for women in her situation), and she had it in her to attract and play around with men like Gregorio if she pleased. But, of course, Pilar was not as hard-pressed as perhaps Tinang and Ms. Mijares were. Pilar had the luxury of choosing “love” over practicality. She wanted more than a Mr. Perfecto or a Gregorio could offer. She wanted the kind of romance that “ideals” can give (i.e., “the dress,” the sensuality, the thrill). In the end she realizes she cant have her cake and eat it, too—eat it still. I think she will end up with Mr. Perfecto after all.

On the other hand, Magnificence is in a league entirely of its own. I think that the story is so well-written that it goes beyond one’s sensibilities to go one talking aloud about it. The best part in our class discussion of Magnificence seemed like those parts when we were just sitting there in moments of silence and contemplation. Sitting there and marveling at how human beings can actually be capable of such magnificent strength in the face of adversary. Sitting there and wondering if we ourselves could ever demonstrate that kind of self-control and dignity and composure under such terrible conditions.

I enjoyed sharing Magnificence to my students, and enjoyed even more their reactions and insights. Literature is best understood collectively, in the light of a multitude of individual personal experiences. I know I might not know everything there is about literature, or know it in this lifetime, but its stories like this that make me want to be a lit student (and teacher) for life.