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.