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.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, February 13, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, February 10, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, February 03, 2006
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.
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.
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