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.