When Wendy Dumps Peter Pan and Creates Her Own Neverneverland

I know this is running quite late. And I know it’s not a very good example. But hey, if you have to check n (no. of blogs) plus x (no. of exams and critical papers from other classes) within y (the given limited time) multiplied with the effort you have to expend dealing with z (no. of pathetic arseholes who have nothing better to do than meddle with other people’s lives), you’ll understand.

But enough of the excuses and let me just get down to it. I have yet to write about my insights of Hidalgo’s “The Tale of the Spinster and Peter Pan.” And before I forget, one of the reasons why I procrastinated on writing about this text is my disappointment with the report. [Collective gasp: What report?!] Yup, hindi nakapag-report para sa text na ito. Sayang, maganda pa naman sana. Tapos hindi pa nagbasa ang klase ko. Aach. Sarap magmura. Oo, magmura, dahil tao din akong naiinis.

Anyway, among the list of texts in the PHILLIT syllabus, “The Tale…” is my most recently read story. I had to read it as an exercise in formalist criticism, around 3 months ago, in a class taught by Ma’am Jing Hidalgo herself. I knew, as I read it, that there are glimpses of her own life here and there (of course, that is quite inevitable). Seeing that movie in my mind where the character is Ma’am Jing herself, makes me wax nostalgic for old films like “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” or “Casablanca” or “Sabrina.” Of course, for the record, Ma’am Jing is happily married, has kids and an active (as I see it) social life.

The story runs on irony. The woman writes for beauty and lifestyle magazines when her life is itself devoid of such frivolities. She fosters a flourishing career in writing romance novels when in reality she scores zero in that department. Her interest and imagination is finally, truly perked by this magical creature—the guy who sings for a rock band—and I suspect she really did fall for him. Or at least, she yearned for him. In the end, she (as well as we, the readers) gets a reality check when Peter Pan turns out to be some jaded guy with a dirty mind trying to make some money by pimping himself. Very crude.

Because the story is so beautifully written—an essential characteristic of tales—one might be led to think that the character is “kawawa naman” all throughout. But I look back on other stories, back to Ms. Mijares in “The Virgin” and Pilar in “The Corral” and I definitely think that this spinster babe is better off than those earlier two. Why? Because in the end, no matter how miserable the situation seems to be, the spinster had a choice. She chose dignity and she stood by her impervious ideals (no matter how unrealistic they were for a woman living in the city).

And it was a choice she made indignantly, deliberately, gracefully.

okay, sharing time

hi. i was sorting out the piles of paper on my desk and dug up several poems i wrote some time ago. a few of them i've edited with the help of friends from the faculty (thanks ms. alona, sir ver) and from UP (hey dennis, U, mike, amy!).

yung isang tula ko parang may pagka-related sa theme ng Games and Document. gusto ko lang i-share sa inyo, mga minamahal kong estudyante sa Phillit (kahit minsan-minsan pinapa-high blood nyo ako) at sa mga sumusubaybay sa class blogs namin. i invite you to start sharing your creative works online.


Silent mode

Sa tuwing tumutunog ang cellphone ko,
palatandaang naiisip mo pa rin ako
na i-text, kumustahin,
Nagha-hang ang utak ko sa pag-iisip ng marereply—
Na hindi makapag-papaasa
(na maibabalik pa)
pero di din naman gaanong suplada—
na tutugon sa simple mong tanong.
Tugon na hindi mag-a-alert
Sa mga alaalang nakabaon.

Sa pagsagot ko ng “ok lng,
kmusta din? ü"
Mas natatakot akong ma-wrongsend
Kaysa sa ma-misread
Ang txt na kung sa signal ng iba
Mapasa, mapadala…
Lintek!
Siguradong unlimited na away
debate,
tampuhan,
at iyakan
Ang nakatakda, ang gulo
dahil sa isang inosenteng akto
Ng pagha-“hi,helo, howru ü.”

Mas mabuti pa kayang ‘wag na lang
Magparamdam, magpa-misscall.
Kunwari na lang mejo walang signal,
Check op na, o puwedeng na-PUK ka,
Puwede ding na-snatchan sa Calamba.
Tutulungan pa kita
sa pamamagitan ng pangde-deadma.

Mahirap nga lang sa ngayon,
Sa panahong bawal ang makaluma
Sa panahon ng malupit na teknolohiya
Sa panahong mahirap kumawala sa napakaraming
mata
bibig
at tenga.
Lahat ay abot kamay,
Abot tanaw,
Nasa dulo ng daliri.
Lahat maliban sa tunay na nadarama.

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.

Plight

We have started our discussions on the works done by the women. The female characters in the stories by Aida Rivera-Ford & Kerima Polotan were miles different from the female characters in the stories of Joaquin, Arguilla, Arcellana and Gonzalez. They were different in that they were not as empowered by either their social status, wealth or beauty.

Tinang, in Love in the Cornhusks, is beset by feelings of regret for an unfulfilled promise, a relationship that never got past the stage of expectation. A love letter that came really late is the story’s source of irony: it is the bearer of lofty ‘what-could-have-been’s. But of course, like a character in a Greek tragedy, Tinang doesn’t notice that, which makes the reader pity her more (or at least, I did). In the end she stops her wishful reminiscing and snaps back to cruel reality—of what-is and what-will-always-be. Then life sweeps her once more towards the mundane chores of a Bagobo’s wife. She is unhappy in her marriage. It seems not to be her choice, maybe because women like her, in the kind of society and time she lives in, are given very few choices. More often, they succumb to the conventional roles they are all “fated” to have (at least in the story’s context).

On the other hand, Ms. Mijares in The Virgin may seem luckier than Tinang since she holds a position of authority and earns and decent living. She is respected (or feared) by people for her power to give them their own decent jobs. Sadly, she is oppressed by the conventional obligations that society imposes on daughters (and youngest siblings), and most especially by the prevailing “old maid” cultural stereotype.

What I find most tragic about these characters is that the only viable solution to their condition is found in men. Men are the only conceivable salvation and respite from the invisible but powerful ideological pressures imposed by the patriarchal system. Tinang might have married the Bagobo out of convenience, to save face, against her will. Ms. Mijares perceives her virginity (never been touched by a man ever before) as a liability and therefore chooses—no, surrenders to the man in the end, not because she loves him. She just has to.

I don’t find it ironic that it is the women who would have these kinds of characters in their stories. If anything, they were merely being honest about the plight of the Filipina, especially in these writers’ milieu. I do hope that things are considerably different right now. I hope that its not just me who thinks women have a lot more choices now, that women aren’t just passive victims of the usual circumstance.

The stories can tell that, and I can’t wait to get to the contemporary writings by women.

The Anti-hero, The Devil & The Witch (Part II)

I am not sure where my students’ motivation came from when some of them nodded their heads in agreement to a comment posted in class: that eventually, husband and wife will realize that they are married to the devil and the witch. It was a cynical assessment of marital relations which might be grounded on solid personal experience. But I do hope that we all prove this wrong when our own time comes.

Another good remark I got, during our animated discussion of Nick Joaquin’s May Day Eve, was that textual us of the terms “devil” and “witch” indicated that these were at that time the colloquial counterpart of “bastard” and “bitch” respectively. Just like the term “screw” back then didn’t mean gratuitous sex. On the other hand, the use of the images of the devil and the witch in this story called forth archetypal signifiers that made it a lot more cryptic—and yet, familiar. The catholic imagination filters anything pleasurable and beautiful and luxuriant as tempting and therefore evil. Not surprisingly, the central characters in May Day Eve were both young, good looking, at the prime of their (sexual) lives and therefore teetering on the edge of sin. Which brings us to why evil is often represented as a beautiful temptress or as an extremely attractive man always ready to seduce you, or even as a highly coveted, rare object that can give you power, prestige or wealth (think Friday the 13th, Bedazzled, etc.)

Anyway, this doesn’t apply to surreal/magic realist literature alone. Deception happens all the time, everywhere, in real life. And, of course, because it’s supposed to deceive you best beware of it in the most unlikely places, circumstances and people. If you’re sensitive to the signs, you’ll see it. At the present I am aware that some self-righteous person has been deceiving me—doing some surreptitious defamation, backstabbing me and yet that person [with a serious case of “messianic complex”] has the gall to act all nice and friendly around me. That kind of person is even worse than someone who shows me outright detestation.

It just proves that people who think they’re the saints and saviors of the world are actually the demons and dimwits that plague it.

next reading assignment

Please read "Love in the Cornhusks" by Aida Rivera-Ford. Jonah Lopez will be facilitating the discussion on the text.

The Anti-hero, The Devil, The Witch (part I)

The “coming-of-age” theme has always held great appeal among people especially when rendered in art and in literature. Its enigmatic power to stir the emotions is grounded on myth; and myth being the collective dream, imbued with forces that make us act the way we do and feel the way we do.

I always go back to one of my first loves in literature, Joseph Campbell’s The Power of Myth, since it’s inevitable to talk about archetypes whenever we talk about myth. And the archetypes that the recent stories we have taken up in class touch upon three of these maaaaany (“meni meni meni…” as my auntie used to say) archetypes found in literature, visual arts, film, religion, dance, etc. There’s our young hero/heroine coming of age, the devil and the witch.

Our inherent knowledge or affinity with these archetypes is what aids us in our understanding, if not appreciation, of art despite the language barrier, unfamiliar writing styles and complicated literary devices. Some readers in class might have found NVM Gonzalez’s language superfluous, perhaps as a way of supporting the “I” point of view via extreme subjectivity. The world is seen through the eyes of a fourteen year old boy deliriously in love with a coconut baron’s niece.

At first I may have scoffed at his sappy, gooey, melodramatic daydreams, which I know comes inevitably with unrequited love. But the condescending attitude in my head towards the character might perhaps mirror how I had been condescended on when I had been at that stage, and calls to mind how painful it was to be shaken out of romantic and idealistic notions of life. Put simply, everyone goes through that transition from childhood to adulthood, and it takes a lot of pain to be able to leave the “childish” things behind. We all know what its like to be losers at some point in our lives.

Alright I’ll stop for a moment before I post to my reaction to May Day Eve. Baka may ma-stroke, mahirap na. Oh, by the way, as regards reading its best to believe in the old age adage: practice makes [one]...better, if not perfect.

Sentimental or Sublime?

I had fun witnessing my students reactions to and what they had to say about Francisco Arcellana’s stories, The Mats and Divide By Two. Most specially the last one. I think it was in high school when I first read The Mats, and roughly three years ago when I got around to reading Divide By Two, when I heard that the author has passed away. It’s true, what they say about stories: the more you read them, the more meanings you can get. Parang vitamins: the more you take them, the healthier you get. Parang yung ibang kakilala ko: the more beer you get into them, the more secrets they reveal. Oh well, I’ll leave it to you to carry on with this analogy.

As I was saying, I enoyed reading and discussing the stories, but not as much as my students did (daw?). I first thought that their themes and subjects were quite universal, but not that we have discussed it in the light of our common experiences, I think they are more Filipino than anything else.

The dynamics of family relationships (between children & parents, among siblings, husband and wife) as represented by the Angeles family are familiar even within the most modern households. The breadwinner automatically becomes the head of the family and his/her authority is esteemed by the members of the household. And, yeah, there would be some struggle between equal or almost equal entities in the family—husband & wife, younger & older sibling. In more and more Filipino families however, the conventional father-leader set-up is changing as more choices become available to us. We can file a separation when our marriage fails, we can choose to be single parents, we can choose to move out and live on our own as soon as we get a job (or even before that), we can choose same-sex marriage, and many other things.

On the other hand, Divide By Two seem to have interested many of us in class especially when the discussion came down to possible “extra-marital activities” between the two neighboring couples (Trivia: the story was staged a couple of years ago as tribute to the late Arcellana).

What I liked about Divide By Two is the use of the adobe fence as a symbol for the reasons behind the animosity between the two male characters. The author used the fence in Divide by Two, and the mats in the other story, as explicit and physical representations of real issues that are “too difficult and painful” to talk about.

While it is human to not be able to directly confront the possibility of disloyalty, loss, death of loved ones, I find the penchant for sublimation particularly Filipino. ( While some critics label Arcellana’s writings sentimental, I think they show how people sublimate intense feelings).

Kaya siguro minsan sabi nila malabo daw tayong mga Pilipino mag-express ng matitinding emosyon. Hindi mo maintindihan kung ano ang pinaparating. I think people who say that are just either insensitive or naïve or foreigners.

Reading Assignment (or "what i forgot to tell the class...")

please read THE MATS by Francisco Arcellana and be prepared to participate in the class discussion (to be facilitated by Dennis Billano). thanks.

(masyado akong naaliw sa discussion natin. dami kasi kalokohan eh. hehe.)

Inherently Filipino

There’s a lot to compare about and contrast between Carlos Bulosan’s “My Father Goes to Court” and Manuel Arguilla’s “How My Brother Leon Brought Home a Wife.” The fact that they are [self-]consciously writing for a foreign audience (Americans in the US for Bulosan, Americans in the Phil. for Arguilla), and were still on the way to perfecting their use of English can be easily deciphered from the text.

It also seemed to me that both writers tried to faithfully represent the values & virtues of Filipinos as they knew it. Bulosan tried to mirror the resilience, affability and wit of Filipinos, and our affinity with the comic in everyday life. Arguilla’s story, on the other hand, with all its rich imagery and sensory detail, made me miss the wide open pastures of my (or my father’s) hometown in Cagayan Valley; and makes me wax nostalgic about the pure, unadulterated, essential and “seemingly” uncomplicated way of life.

The language of both authors, their characters, plots and themes replicate what they thought to be true and beautiful about Filipinos and the local culture. And they wrote this primarily for the “outsiders.” Filipino character, spirit, the beauty of the local terrain, family values & relations, and the olden way of life.

But then, up close one may sense that both stories have this deceptive “innocent” “apolitical” feel to it. Like the depiction of places that show no other turmoil beyond personal issues with neighbors or family matters, which get resolved conveniently in the stories, anyhow.

That’s why it’s ironic to think that they were both written during politically turbulent times here and abroad. One can picture Bulosan writing against the grain about his countrymen while he experienced racial discrimination and exploitation in America during the Great Depression; and Arguilla writing about the peace in the countryside—the very spaces ravaged by the Japanese and the guerillas alike during the war.

This is what I actually meant in my first blog entry which I had not articulated clearly (even for me, now that I read it again). What I actually meant in my first entry was that it is in turbulent times when one most distinctly feels the need assert his/her identity as a person, a member of a community, or a citizen. An attack on your nationhood, heritage, citizenship—like what Bulosan and Arguilla had experience—calls for a retaliation on the same level. Hence the emphasis in these stories on what the writers claim as inherently native, and true, and beautiful.

the PBB syndrome

What I found most interesting about the first batch of blog entries for the class is that while the majority claimed that they feel proud, there is substantial disparity among the reasons given for this pride in their national identity.

For some, being Filipino is closely tied up with the landscape—the beautiful beaches, beautiful countryside, and the beauty of the people themselves (especially the “chicks”). For some, it’s the skill, intelligence and ingenuity of our “exceptional” countrymen, especially those publicly acknowledged already (like the athletes in the recently held SEA games, the scientists and their breakthroughs, etc.).

There are also those who took note of other traits, those that have to do with the heart: i.e., Filipino hospitality, compassion, thoughtfulness and kindness, perseverance and goodness of heart. While I agree with the latter, I do appreciate those who were honest and introspective enough to bring up the negative traits in their country people, and probably even in themselves.

And then, there are those who are entirely unsure what to make of the question: what does it mean to you to be Filipino? They admit they don’t know, or they haven’t really thought about it before, or they don’t really give a piss. They gave vague statements like, basta, we have to be proud we’re Pinoy, but the reasons given don’t really substantiate the stand. I don’t mean to put down these people who wrote that. I give them the benefit of the doubt that they’re just really honest in their confusion and not just slacking off with the first assignment.

I guess what I reacted most negatively to were the frequent references to Pinoy Big Brother and the “nationalistic” theme song that has been aired on TV & radio over and over again—as in to the point of nausea. The first time I ranted about it my sister labeled me a "snob," so I never brought it up with her again. But this time, I just want to clear my mind of it.

I find it hard to accept that many Filipinos feel that the show is actually a representation of Pinoys in general and the condition of our lives today. I think the real values that the show has been promoting are to blatantly meddle with other people’s lives, to violate other people’s privacy, and to exercise power over others by those “privileges”. Sure, these people willingly gave up their right to privacy...for a million pesos. Money talks, talaga.

I wanted to ask my sister: Does the show make you feel like god? Or, okay, does it make you feel like a human psychology expert? Because I bet, for half of the country, it does. She might call it entertainment, but I call it "the pornography of the violation of privacy." Kaya nagbu-boom ang industriya ng chismis at tahasang pangingialam ng buhay ng may buhay sa bansa--kahit wala ka naman talagang mahihita.

Ironically, two of the participants aren’t even Filipino citizens. Lastly, the theme song of PBB is a rip off. They got the melody, the arrangement, everything from a song entitled “Chandeliers” by a UK (?) band called “The Care.” Don't believe me? See for yourself: http://media.putfile.com/pinoychandelierstayo

Sana tigilan na nila. Sana tigilan na ng mga mapagsamantalang galamay ng insitusyon ng mass media, ng mga gatekeepers ng ating lipunan, ang panggagago sa masang Pilipino.

About me. About Filipino

For the most part of my life, I have been living out a casual love affair with words. I forget when it started—probably in third grade when I started keeping a journal after reading “Harriet the Spy.” It was that novel and not “Pepe and Pilar” that I consider my first conquest in reading, earliest motivation into writing.

The reason I learned to love reading, and consequently writing, is because I have so been amazed at the amount of words these authors can use, master, and abuse. Thousands upon thousands, each with unique but pliable meanings. As a child, I liked saying and using words like “loathsome,” “trustworthy,” “bliss,” “aware,” in my assignments. In high school, I was totally fixated with “defiant,” “infringe,” “undermine,” and at times used my understanding of them to talk back to my parents.

I tried to imagine the store of meanings that can be derived from combinations of these words into coherent phrases, sentences, paragraphs, stories. It is as complex as the universe. Then I began to understand literature as worlds—a story or poem as a world wherein the only probable meanings are those that you can perceive from your standpoint.

So far, that is all I wish to tell you about myself. And no, I’m not at all a geek. Just preoccupied.

On the other hand, I have not been as preoccupied with being Filipino than I was with understanding words. I felt that the meaning of “Filipino” has been rammed down my throat ever since my earliest AP/Filipino classes in grade school. It seemed that the answers to “What is Filipino?” and “Who is Filipino?” have always been handed to me on a platter. All I had to do was to repeat after them, dress in a terno during Linggo ng Wika, sing national anthems at assemblies, memorize all dates, names and facts in those dreadful, dreadful history classes. A poor memory prevented me from appreciating—much less learning from—those AP history classes.

At this point in the essay you might conclude that I suffered from a bad dose of “colonized” mentality. Upon shallow reading you might conclude that if all you could see are the facts that, at an early age I already preferred reading western literature and detested subjects related to my heritage. What many people might not understand is that the conditions of the time have led to this “crisis” in many of my generation and the younger ones. English is the lingua franca, and there is something wrong about the way our history and the Filipino identity are taught in primary and even perhaps secondary levels.

But yes, the question does concern me. At times I think about it, especially when its all quiet and empty enough to contemplate on the crucial matter: what is the point in figuring out the difference about being Filipino? I look into literature, I look into what I know of history, and so far it seems to me that the Filipino identity becomes crucial in the face of adversary. When colonization, despotic rule, large-scale migration and racial discrimination become threats, the idea of Filipino extends to define the enemies’ limits. I think that lately the enemy has become wiser, though, dressed as globalization and free trade, and we don’t generally see it as a threat at all. “It’s all for the best” we say.

I hope so, I hope so.

I hope that through studying local literature at the crossroads, that is Filipino literature written in English (where native sensibilities coincide with a somewhat foreign medium), we could gain substantial insights about the modern Filipino condition.