My wife and I thought that Ms. Raj, the 22-year old Bicolana beauty, would bring the bacon home. She was the only Asian in the finals and oozed with confidence and grace as she walked down to represent the Philippines at the 2010 Miss Universe Pageant at the Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino in Las Vegas last night. Until at the very end...my heart sunk!
The question and answer section was a bummer. The question was about a major mistake in her life and her action to make the wrong right. Her answer mentioned her 'morally-right' upbringing and thanked her family, but never addressed the actor's (William Baldwin)question well. BUMMER! And down her big score. The rating meter has swung, most probably to zero. To my wife, it was an acceptable answer. To me, it wasn't and I felt bad about it. To me, it was a time when a diamond-studded crown and scepter turned into a mere withering bouquet. And it sure was. Miss Philippines was named the fourth runner-up. Miss Mexico got the Miss Universe title.
Human as we are, we have committed mistakes in our lives. Maybe that mistake did not lead to a police blotter, but, at least, there was something in our 22 years in life that, at our own personal or subjective point of view, is major. Cheating in class is a major offense to me personally, but is trivial to others. Lying is... to me; but is nothing to others. Ms. Raj answer created a smirk and interpreted probably as a "holier-than-thou" attitude, a negative effect to an inner beauty and sharpness of mind.
"Was Ms. Raj's answer a reflection of who we are or what our training is?" My mind wandered as I drove to the gym for my 11 pm workout. The Miss Philippines response brought my memories back to my time when I taught graduate students at the Philippine Normal University.
Showing posts with label Philippines. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Philippines. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Saturday, December 12, 2009
A Christmas Poem & A Nostalgic Christmas
MERRY CHRISTMAS
(A Shakespearean sonnet in Acrostic)
Melodious carols playing in the air.
Exciting lights that make the world so bright
Rekindling hope for those in need of care
Rejoice! It’s Christmas! Show your heart’s delight.
Yes, yuletide’s here, let’s raise our voices high.
Christ’s birth proclaimed, ye, people of goodwill.
Hear ye, oh people, sadness you’d get by.
Rejoice! It’s Christmas! New hope to unveil!
In times like this some need a little aid.
Show them some love, portray the love of God.
The joy you’d feel so dear you won’t dare trade.
Must do this deed in truth, not just façade!
Ah, Christmas is the time to share and cheer
So share it now and all throughout the year.
NOSTALGIA: Dreaming of a WILD and SMOKEY Christmas
Edmund Melig Industan
Well, the concert of the Fil-Am Symphony Orchestra (FASO), under the baton of Maestro Robert Shroder is over. My mouth was opened almost through out the program as I listened while they stringed and drummed the heavenly Handel's Messiah, and joyously accompanied a Filipino chorus and children's choir as they sang Pinoy and other universally known Christmas carols in a concert at Pasadena Convention Center on December 6th. It was called HANDOG NG FASO SA PASKO, so it brought tears as we immersed into the lyrics of Filipino well-loved Christmas carols. Coming home from the concert, many might have experienced mixed emotions: appreciative that a concert have brought Philippines yuletide just a few miles away from our doorsteps, but oh boy, we became, all the more, nostalgic.
Searching how to fill emptiness and to make themselves busy so as to forget nostalgia, many probably have also considered attending the three O'clock (Dec. 13th-that's tomorrow)Christmas concert of Lake Avenue Sanctuary Choir (also in Pasadena), of which I and four other Filipinos have been members. Then, some may even have thought of joining Lake Avenue Church Sanctuary Choir and the symphony orchestra on Dec. 20th (5p.m.) for a Sing-Along performance on Handel's Messiah, where copies of musical score would be waiting at the door for all those who wanted to join in the singing. Many might have thought to come with the hope that it would make their Christmas season complete. But everyone knows that it won't! Spending Christmas back home is definitely different.
FASOs concert was absolutely superb, professionally sang and performed. Certainly, everyone was entertained, but it did not completely fill in the gap of what we feel missing. Ah, everyone is probably missing the spontaneity of celebrating Christmas in the Philippines.
Oh, if we could just have a couple of weeks off work; if there could just have an available seat in any Philippine Airlines flight, we surely would have been packing lightly to savor the real Philippine yuletide. Longings of coming home during Christmas always sets in. The deafening, booming and swooshing sound of firecrackers and bamboo luthang (cannon), the wee-hour Simbang Gabi , and the constant caroling by off-keyed children, who sometimes come to our door a couple of times in one evening to sing carols for a quick buck. Yes, despite peak season for travel; despite being ogled and treated like a white bearded and red-suited chubby Santa, even though we are slim and skinny, smooth, and almost half-naked (due to heat and high humidity), we still want to be home for Christmas. Almost everyone would not mind if Christmas trip to the Philippines would be so expensive. If our work would just allow us and flight seats would be available, all of us would surely fly home. Unfortunately, not all of us could go.
We let our tears roll down like the Pagsanjan or Sawaga Falls while listening to Christmas music. We intentionally honk our cars, while driving either to the mall or work place, to simulate busy traffic in Quiapo or Colon district in Cebu. Our bosses and colleagues often see us staring at the horizon and doubling their effort to call our attention, because we find ourselves dreaming of colorful parols, the acidic smell of bibingka, and the infusing smoke of puto bumbong. We daydream ignoring the effluvium from uncollected garbage, muddy streets and alleys in Baclaran and Divisoria, huge holes in pockets and purses, and the hustle-bustle from honking jeepneys, buses, taxis and mendicants. We just feel that nothing can compare spending Christmas in the Philippines.
Growing up in a small barrio before Malaybalay (Bukidnon) became a city, then, gotten older while living in a real estate subdivision close to Camarin, Caloocan City before coming to the U.S., I always miss the young carolers in the Philippines. I miss those rattling homemade tambourines made from flattened tops of bottled soda, soy sauce or Tanduay. I miss the banging of plastic pails and spoons to accompany the singing of "Ang Pasko ay Sumpait" by enterprising kids and teenagers. I miss listening to a cantata by a small church in Constitutional Hills, QC, who comes to our house every Christmas for cheers and fund raising. I miss hearing those off-keyed tunes of "Thank you...thank you...ang babait ninyo"; even those from ungrateful kids who sing "Thank you...thank you...ang babarat ninyo!" Oh, if we could just have such carolers here in US, we probably would feel complete at Christmas time.
Hey, we could probably bring over here some good cultural practices on Christmas. I am aware that some Catholic groups are already having Simbang Gabi. What about bringing in some smoked banana leaves and dough and request a few church goers to let the fire going just outside the church to bring the smokey-side of Simbang Gabi. Fil-Am churches or non-profit organizations could probably organize Christmas carolers to sing in Filipino homes and raise funds for a cause. I am pretty sure, many Filipino household would welcome it. Who knows some non-Filipino households would also welcome Filipino carolers to their homes. Organizers would just have to send letters to the households to be sure that carolers would not be infringing their privacy. Who knows, caroling, the Filipino way, and Simbang Gabi would etch their way as accepted cultural practices here in US. How about giving them a try next year?
Maligayang Pasko ho sa lahat.
(A Shakespearean sonnet in Acrostic)
Melodious carols playing in the air.
Exciting lights that make the world so bright
Rekindling hope for those in need of care
Rejoice! It’s Christmas! Show your heart’s delight.
Yes, yuletide’s here, let’s raise our voices high.
Christ’s birth proclaimed, ye, people of goodwill.
Hear ye, oh people, sadness you’d get by.
Rejoice! It’s Christmas! New hope to unveil!
In times like this some need a little aid.
Show them some love, portray the love of God.
The joy you’d feel so dear you won’t dare trade.
Must do this deed in truth, not just façade!
Ah, Christmas is the time to share and cheer
So share it now and all throughout the year.
NOSTALGIA: Dreaming of a WILD and SMOKEY Christmas
Edmund Melig Industan
Well, the concert of the Fil-Am Symphony Orchestra (FASO), under the baton of Maestro Robert Shroder is over. My mouth was opened almost through out the program as I listened while they stringed and drummed the heavenly Handel's Messiah, and joyously accompanied a Filipino chorus and children's choir as they sang Pinoy and other universally known Christmas carols in a concert at Pasadena Convention Center on December 6th. It was called HANDOG NG FASO SA PASKO, so it brought tears as we immersed into the lyrics of Filipino well-loved Christmas carols. Coming home from the concert, many might have experienced mixed emotions: appreciative that a concert have brought Philippines yuletide just a few miles away from our doorsteps, but oh boy, we became, all the more, nostalgic.
Searching how to fill emptiness and to make themselves busy so as to forget nostalgia, many probably have also considered attending the three O'clock (Dec. 13th-that's tomorrow)Christmas concert of Lake Avenue Sanctuary Choir (also in Pasadena), of which I and four other Filipinos have been members. Then, some may even have thought of joining Lake Avenue Church Sanctuary Choir and the symphony orchestra on Dec. 20th (5p.m.) for a Sing-Along performance on Handel's Messiah, where copies of musical score would be waiting at the door for all those who wanted to join in the singing. Many might have thought to come with the hope that it would make their Christmas season complete. But everyone knows that it won't! Spending Christmas back home is definitely different.
FASOs concert was absolutely superb, professionally sang and performed. Certainly, everyone was entertained, but it did not completely fill in the gap of what we feel missing. Ah, everyone is probably missing the spontaneity of celebrating Christmas in the Philippines.
Oh, if we could just have a couple of weeks off work; if there could just have an available seat in any Philippine Airlines flight, we surely would have been packing lightly to savor the real Philippine yuletide. Longings of coming home during Christmas always sets in. The deafening, booming and swooshing sound of firecrackers and bamboo luthang (cannon), the wee-hour Simbang Gabi , and the constant caroling by off-keyed children, who sometimes come to our door a couple of times in one evening to sing carols for a quick buck. Yes, despite peak season for travel; despite being ogled and treated like a white bearded and red-suited chubby Santa, even though we are slim and skinny, smooth, and almost half-naked (due to heat and high humidity), we still want to be home for Christmas. Almost everyone would not mind if Christmas trip to the Philippines would be so expensive. If our work would just allow us and flight seats would be available, all of us would surely fly home. Unfortunately, not all of us could go.
We let our tears roll down like the Pagsanjan or Sawaga Falls while listening to Christmas music. We intentionally honk our cars, while driving either to the mall or work place, to simulate busy traffic in Quiapo or Colon district in Cebu. Our bosses and colleagues often see us staring at the horizon and doubling their effort to call our attention, because we find ourselves dreaming of colorful parols, the acidic smell of bibingka, and the infusing smoke of puto bumbong. We daydream ignoring the effluvium from uncollected garbage, muddy streets and alleys in Baclaran and Divisoria, huge holes in pockets and purses, and the hustle-bustle from honking jeepneys, buses, taxis and mendicants. We just feel that nothing can compare spending Christmas in the Philippines.
Growing up in a small barrio before Malaybalay (Bukidnon) became a city, then, gotten older while living in a real estate subdivision close to Camarin, Caloocan City before coming to the U.S., I always miss the young carolers in the Philippines. I miss those rattling homemade tambourines made from flattened tops of bottled soda, soy sauce or Tanduay. I miss the banging of plastic pails and spoons to accompany the singing of "Ang Pasko ay Sumpait" by enterprising kids and teenagers. I miss listening to a cantata by a small church in Constitutional Hills, QC, who comes to our house every Christmas for cheers and fund raising. I miss hearing those off-keyed tunes of "Thank you...thank you...ang babait ninyo"; even those from ungrateful kids who sing "Thank you...thank you...ang babarat ninyo!" Oh, if we could just have such carolers here in US, we probably would feel complete at Christmas time.
Hey, we could probably bring over here some good cultural practices on Christmas. I am aware that some Catholic groups are already having Simbang Gabi. What about bringing in some smoked banana leaves and dough and request a few church goers to let the fire going just outside the church to bring the smokey-side of Simbang Gabi. Fil-Am churches or non-profit organizations could probably organize Christmas carolers to sing in Filipino homes and raise funds for a cause. I am pretty sure, many Filipino household would welcome it. Who knows some non-Filipino households would also welcome Filipino carolers to their homes. Organizers would just have to send letters to the households to be sure that carolers would not be infringing their privacy. Who knows, caroling, the Filipino way, and Simbang Gabi would etch their way as accepted cultural practices here in US. How about giving them a try next year?
Maligayang Pasko ho sa lahat.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
MY THANKSGIVING DAY: THEN and NOW
As far as I can remember, Thanksgiving Day celebration in the Philippines is conflicting and confusing. It is therefore obvious that many Filipinos do not celebrate it as festive as barrio or town fiestas.
Couple days ago, I asked a dozen Filipino elders if they ever think of September 21st as they celebrate Thanksgiving Day. More than half looked at me perplexed. Four of them told me that it was the day that Martial Law was proclaimed by the deposed president and, by Presidential Decree 577 signed on September 1974, also declared as the National Thanksgiving Day probably to conceal the repressive character of the New Society. One of the twelve even told me that he never celebrated Sept. 21st as a Thanksgiving Day. In fact, when it was proclaimed, he imagined that the deposed president would like all Filipinos to treat him like Mao-tze-tung: the entire country go out to the street with his picture paraded and hailed, along with red buntings and confetti. "Thank God, that didn't happen", he further said. National Thanksgiving Day in the Philippines was obviously political in nature.
Actually, July 4th was the original Thanksgiving Day in the Philippines. It was the day in 1946 when the US government, under the Tydings-McDuffie Law officially recognized the 1935 First Philippine Constitution. It was a thanksgiving for freedom received from foreign rule. When thanksgiving date was moved to Sept. 21st, 4th of July was renamed as the Philippine-American Friendship Day. Unfortunately, the day never became a national thanksgiving celebration. We do celebrate it with street parades, but never as a family festivity.
Anyway, at the church where I grew up, Thanksgiving is a "church family" festival. Church members go out to the community to invite non-church goers. Food committee busied themselves cooking at the back of our church. Decoration committee decorated the church interior with red and green coffee berries naturally lined on their twigs, corn cobs firmly intact on their stalks, hands of ripe bananas, riped guavas, sour sop, star apples, legumes, green and yellow squash and red and white sweet potatoes with vines neatly hanging down the table and sprawling onto the cement floor. More corn cobs and stalks, and banana trees with ripe yellow and red fruits hanging in cluster, standing tall on both corners outside the church. We brushed aside, even church politics, to joyously celebrate (in thanksgiving) all the blessings and fruits of our labor for the year. After church service, many spread colorful mats and blankets on the church yard and we feasted on lechon and fried chicken, pansit and meatballs, Dakan (taro leaves cooked in coconut cream with anchovies), and pechay and adobong string beans. Those who brought food shared what they have. So, we also have dried fish and sardine balls, biko and cassava suman, puto and cassava linusak (cooked cassava mashed with freshly grated coconut and sugar). Most of the church members were farmers; however, no one raised turkey in our barrio, so that probably made us "un-american". But Thanksgiving Day was always the time when the church got more tithes and offerings.
I remember that we always celebrate Thanksgiving in November. Call it American mentality, but I don't care. Our church was a product of zealous effort by early Baptist missionaries from America. But I also remember that when Martial Law moved Thanksgiving to September, the festive celebration waned. Many church members would like to move it back to November, because they felt that there was nothing to celebrate in September, except maimed tongues and bruised psyche. I still remember my father, the pastor, preached on Psalm 136: 3 for everyone not to forget to thank the Lord for His love never fails. He told us, during one lean year, that even though harvest was scarce, there was still so much to be thankful of.
Coming over and celebrating Thanksgiving Day in November always takes me back to those very good old days. Although thoughts are often times marred with secularism, Thanksgiving sale, and enjoyed the televised Macy's Parade rather than a feast on church yard; but at least, we always have a family reunion and a feast on turkey and ham, on rice (sorry, only my grandchildren like mashed potato) and cranberry, and of biko, suman, and leche flan. It wouldn't be a church festivity anymore, but I am glad my family still celebrate it in November along with the rest of America.
Happy Thanksgiving to you all.
Here's a ghazal for you to enjoy. This was published in Pasadena Star News last year and in LA Pinoy Magazine this month.
THANKSGIVING
(An Acrostic in Ghazal)
Table full of food on Thanksgiving Day…
Happy ties renewed on Thanksgiving Day.
All enjoying turkey, ham and cranberry…
Never a bad mood on Thanksgiving Day!
Keeping togetherness as one family…
Shrugging off a feud on Thanksgiving Day!
Grateful for life and love and prosperity…
Instill what is good on Thanksgiving Day.
Value for love, you share for those who’ve not…
Indeed joy is pursued on Thanksgiving Day.
Numerous good deeds to do for others, I say,
Give thanks! Be happy this Thanksgiving Day.
(c) 2007 edmund melig industan
NOTE: Should you want to give a thanksgiving or Christmas present for your friends and loved ones, I would encourage you to give them copies of my book, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses. Only $9.99 in the US. Available on Amazon.com, comfortpublishing.com/store,vroman's.com, borders.com, barnes&noble.com. Also available online in UK, Italy, France, Germany, Japan, Australia, Canada, New Zealand, India, and So. Africa.
Couple days ago, I asked a dozen Filipino elders if they ever think of September 21st as they celebrate Thanksgiving Day. More than half looked at me perplexed. Four of them told me that it was the day that Martial Law was proclaimed by the deposed president and, by Presidential Decree 577 signed on September 1974, also declared as the National Thanksgiving Day probably to conceal the repressive character of the New Society. One of the twelve even told me that he never celebrated Sept. 21st as a Thanksgiving Day. In fact, when it was proclaimed, he imagined that the deposed president would like all Filipinos to treat him like Mao-tze-tung: the entire country go out to the street with his picture paraded and hailed, along with red buntings and confetti. "Thank God, that didn't happen", he further said. National Thanksgiving Day in the Philippines was obviously political in nature.
Actually, July 4th was the original Thanksgiving Day in the Philippines. It was the day in 1946 when the US government, under the Tydings-McDuffie Law officially recognized the 1935 First Philippine Constitution. It was a thanksgiving for freedom received from foreign rule. When thanksgiving date was moved to Sept. 21st, 4th of July was renamed as the Philippine-American Friendship Day. Unfortunately, the day never became a national thanksgiving celebration. We do celebrate it with street parades, but never as a family festivity.
Anyway, at the church where I grew up, Thanksgiving is a "church family" festival. Church members go out to the community to invite non-church goers. Food committee busied themselves cooking at the back of our church. Decoration committee decorated the church interior with red and green coffee berries naturally lined on their twigs, corn cobs firmly intact on their stalks, hands of ripe bananas, riped guavas, sour sop, star apples, legumes, green and yellow squash and red and white sweet potatoes with vines neatly hanging down the table and sprawling onto the cement floor. More corn cobs and stalks, and banana trees with ripe yellow and red fruits hanging in cluster, standing tall on both corners outside the church. We brushed aside, even church politics, to joyously celebrate (in thanksgiving) all the blessings and fruits of our labor for the year. After church service, many spread colorful mats and blankets on the church yard and we feasted on lechon and fried chicken, pansit and meatballs, Dakan (taro leaves cooked in coconut cream with anchovies), and pechay and adobong string beans. Those who brought food shared what they have. So, we also have dried fish and sardine balls, biko and cassava suman, puto and cassava linusak (cooked cassava mashed with freshly grated coconut and sugar). Most of the church members were farmers; however, no one raised turkey in our barrio, so that probably made us "un-american". But Thanksgiving Day was always the time when the church got more tithes and offerings.
I remember that we always celebrate Thanksgiving in November. Call it American mentality, but I don't care. Our church was a product of zealous effort by early Baptist missionaries from America. But I also remember that when Martial Law moved Thanksgiving to September, the festive celebration waned. Many church members would like to move it back to November, because they felt that there was nothing to celebrate in September, except maimed tongues and bruised psyche. I still remember my father, the pastor, preached on Psalm 136: 3 for everyone not to forget to thank the Lord for His love never fails. He told us, during one lean year, that even though harvest was scarce, there was still so much to be thankful of.
Coming over and celebrating Thanksgiving Day in November always takes me back to those very good old days. Although thoughts are often times marred with secularism, Thanksgiving sale, and enjoyed the televised Macy's Parade rather than a feast on church yard; but at least, we always have a family reunion and a feast on turkey and ham, on rice (sorry, only my grandchildren like mashed potato) and cranberry, and of biko, suman, and leche flan. It wouldn't be a church festivity anymore, but I am glad my family still celebrate it in November along with the rest of America.
Happy Thanksgiving to you all.
Here's a ghazal for you to enjoy. This was published in Pasadena Star News last year and in LA Pinoy Magazine this month.
THANKSGIVING
(An Acrostic in Ghazal)
Table full of food on Thanksgiving Day…
Happy ties renewed on Thanksgiving Day.
All enjoying turkey, ham and cranberry…
Never a bad mood on Thanksgiving Day!
Keeping togetherness as one family…
Shrugging off a feud on Thanksgiving Day!
Grateful for life and love and prosperity…
Instill what is good on Thanksgiving Day.
Value for love, you share for those who’ve not…
Indeed joy is pursued on Thanksgiving Day.
Numerous good deeds to do for others, I say,
Give thanks! Be happy this Thanksgiving Day.
(c) 2007 edmund melig industan
NOTE: Should you want to give a thanksgiving or Christmas present for your friends and loved ones, I would encourage you to give them copies of my book, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses. Only $9.99 in the US. Available on Amazon.com, comfortpublishing.com/store,vroman's.com, borders.com, barnes&noble.com. Also available online in UK, Italy, France, Germany, Japan, Australia, Canada, New Zealand, India, and So. Africa.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
ANOTHER RECAP: Dialect is not a Language
Many lay people would confuse a minor language to a dialect. Probably, the reason behind this is that they confuse a language to a lingua franca (trade language).
In my home country, the Philippines, most people would think that other than the eight major languages; namely, Tagalog, Bisaya/Cebuano, Ilocano, Hiligaynon/Ilonggo, Bikolnon/Bisakol, Waray-waray, Kapampangan, and Pangasinan/Pangasinense, the remaining 167 minority languages are mere dialects of these major ones.
This might help a lay person determine a medium of communication a language. If we speak the language or the lingua franca of the region, where we live in, and we have problem understanding another person, whom we have come in contact with, and we are not prejudicial in any way on the manner that person speaks, consider his language different from yours; hence, a language. If we understand the speaker, despite the differences in pronunciation, accent, intonation, and with some slight intelligibility problem, then, consider his language a dialect.
Dialect is a variation of a particular language. Bisaya in Mindanao, and even the Binol-anon in Bohol island, are dialects of Cebuano/Binisaya in Cebu. Differences in pronunciation, accent, intonation, and a unique verbal production of some letter-sounds or a few extra and unique affixes exist; however, intelligibility between Bisaya (of Mindanao) and Boholano speakers is very high.
Cebuano or Binisaya in Mindanao may pronounced the /l/ in between vowels or may add /ha/ as a suffix to an action word to express exaggeration, example: (katawa = laugh in Cebu) vs. katawaha = laugh in Mindanao), but those Bisaya/Cebuano in Cebu can understand the Bisaya in Mindanao perfectly.
Similarly, the Boholanos/Bol-anons pronounces /y/ as /dz/ (e.g., ayaw (Cebuano of Cebu and Mindanao for 'do not...') vs. adzaw; however, the sentence structure and the words are the same. Henceforth, Bisaya in Bohol is a dialect of Cebuano/Bisaya.
Dialect can be caused by ones social class. This is what we call sociolect. As we, Filipinos, are aware that Tagalog spoken by students in exclusive schools has developed some vocabulary and unique sentence pattern. The differences may be intentional, out of the desire of distinguishing themselves from other Tagalog speakers, or it may have been caused by the school restriction for students to speak in vernacular.
An intentional code-switching in Tagalog, like "kilig to the bones", which originated from co-ed students in prestigious colleges, is an example of a sociolect. Others have caught up to this manner of speaking Tagalog, that we commonly now hear "Taglish", which is a Tagalog with a sprinkles of English words or phrase. Nevertheless, this Tagalog-English mix is also considered linguistically as a Patoi, because it is a non-standard dialect and it is not institutionally supported.
Regiolect or topolect can also cause the existence of dialect. The frequency of interaction and other neighboring languages can result to a development of new words and expressions, and borrowings from other nearby languages. Despite the regional "ala eh" expression of the Batanguenos (of Batangas)and few other lexical (word) differences does not mean that they are not speaking in Tagalog. They are! We distinguish them as Tagalog speaker from Batangas based on some expressions and accents that they have uniquely included in their speech patterns.
I hope this blog helps us not to get confuse on the use of the terms, dialect and language.
In my home country, the Philippines, most people would think that other than the eight major languages; namely, Tagalog, Bisaya/Cebuano, Ilocano, Hiligaynon/Ilonggo, Bikolnon/Bisakol, Waray-waray, Kapampangan, and Pangasinan/Pangasinense, the remaining 167 minority languages are mere dialects of these major ones.
This might help a lay person determine a medium of communication a language. If we speak the language or the lingua franca of the region, where we live in, and we have problem understanding another person, whom we have come in contact with, and we are not prejudicial in any way on the manner that person speaks, consider his language different from yours; hence, a language. If we understand the speaker, despite the differences in pronunciation, accent, intonation, and with some slight intelligibility problem, then, consider his language a dialect.
Dialect is a variation of a particular language. Bisaya in Mindanao, and even the Binol-anon in Bohol island, are dialects of Cebuano/Binisaya in Cebu. Differences in pronunciation, accent, intonation, and a unique verbal production of some letter-sounds or a few extra and unique affixes exist; however, intelligibility between Bisaya (of Mindanao) and Boholano speakers is very high.
Cebuano or Binisaya in Mindanao may pronounced the /l/ in between vowels or may add /ha/ as a suffix to an action word to express exaggeration, example: (katawa = laugh in Cebu) vs. katawaha = laugh in Mindanao), but those Bisaya/Cebuano in Cebu can understand the Bisaya in Mindanao perfectly.
Similarly, the Boholanos/Bol-anons pronounces /y/ as /dz/ (e.g., ayaw (Cebuano of Cebu and Mindanao for 'do not...') vs. adzaw; however, the sentence structure and the words are the same. Henceforth, Bisaya in Bohol is a dialect of Cebuano/Bisaya.
Dialect can be caused by ones social class. This is what we call sociolect. As we, Filipinos, are aware that Tagalog spoken by students in exclusive schools has developed some vocabulary and unique sentence pattern. The differences may be intentional, out of the desire of distinguishing themselves from other Tagalog speakers, or it may have been caused by the school restriction for students to speak in vernacular.
An intentional code-switching in Tagalog, like "kilig to the bones", which originated from co-ed students in prestigious colleges, is an example of a sociolect. Others have caught up to this manner of speaking Tagalog, that we commonly now hear "Taglish", which is a Tagalog with a sprinkles of English words or phrase. Nevertheless, this Tagalog-English mix is also considered linguistically as a Patoi, because it is a non-standard dialect and it is not institutionally supported.
Regiolect or topolect can also cause the existence of dialect. The frequency of interaction and other neighboring languages can result to a development of new words and expressions, and borrowings from other nearby languages. Despite the regional "ala eh" expression of the Batanguenos (of Batangas)and few other lexical (word) differences does not mean that they are not speaking in Tagalog. They are! We distinguish them as Tagalog speaker from Batangas based on some expressions and accents that they have uniquely included in their speech patterns.
I hope this blog helps us not to get confuse on the use of the terms, dialect and language.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The Toilet Problem
Winding up my blog on the Olympics was suppose to be my topic this mid-week; however, the report on the toilet problem, which I read on Weekend Balita (Aug. 23-26 issue)caught my attention.
The Associated Foreign Press report on the toilet problem was from the World Water Week forum, which was participated by 2,500 sanitation experts, recently held in Stockholm, Sweden.
Checking the internet on the issue, I also found the following: 1) It was reported by World Health Organization that nearly two million people die every year from diseased related to bad sanitation and 2.6 billion people around the world do not have access to proper restroom. 2) The United Nation launched The International Year of Sanitation 2008, in November of last year, primarily to bring international attention to this problem. 3) In response, the World Toilet Association (hmmm... didn't know before that such association exists) has been working towards providing toilet facilities particularly in developing countries. (CNN.com)
Despite humanitarian endeavor to solve this problem, the recently held conference in Stockholm reported that there is still an estimated 1.2 billion people, primarily in Asia and Africa, still do not use toilets (even if it is available) to defecate. The paper further said that the best method to make this effort a success has been to shame people.
Even though shaming may be the best method to encourage the use of toilets in India or Bangladesh, this must be used with extra caution when applying it globally. The culture of some people groups around the world might not welcome such strategy, that toilet advocates might be endangered. I just wanted to voice my concern, because some selfless and determined outsiders, may they be change agents or technocrats, might apply this strategy without considering the culture of the target population. There were many introduced change that were considered beneficial to the target population, but did not succeed just because the change agents failed (or ignored)to study the web of culture and the environment.
(Several years ago, I was invited to visit the Masahua Indian Development Program in Mexico by its executive director, my co-fellow at Haggai Institute in Singapore. I was happy to see that almost all programs were beneficial to the community, until I heard about this one project. Glass Etching. What on earth happened here? Many Masahua Indians live in small houses made of mud bricks that I can barely see the point of giving them the skill in glass etching! Anyway glass etching was no "biggie" than the state-sponsored swine program in the past, which was a complete failure.)
I see the need to aggressively advocate the use of toilet. Nevertheless, before a change agent introduces it, he or she must consider the culture and the environment. So many economic resources, many of these were money loaned from World Bank, have been wasted already.
I never will forget my time with the Ata Manobo in southern Philippines. I was a young, very ambitious and mission-minded change agent then. I was successful in advocating almost all the planned changes, but was minimally successful in toilet advocacy. Don't get me wrong. I practiced very good toilet training (LOL). Seriously, I was very good, if not excellent, role model. Unlike the villagers, I shunned using the open field or the river to defecate. I have my outhouse.
Shaming an Ata Manobo as a strategy would never work, because to shame somebody, in their culture, is tantamount to killing somebody. One cannot even laugh, while looking at an Ata Manobo passerby, because it always is taken seriously as an action done to shame him/her. Shame oftentimes triggers raiding and murder. Hence, a change agent cannot apply a "shame strategy" with them.
I tried my best to incorporate health and sanitation in the literacy and health programs, however, to encourage them to use an outhouse was difficult to hurdle.
Pit latrine was accepted lightly, because digging a two-meter pit in the village will turn into a water well. The water in the pit latrine became a breeding ground of the malarious anopheles mosquitoes. Further, the villagers cannot stand getting wet by the splashing of water while using the pit latrine. Furthermore, they cannot stand the stink, which they believe made them sicker.
The best solution to counteract the village refusal to use toilets was to encourage digging a shallow hole every time they defecate in the field. This was acceptable.
I just hope toilet advocates would try to find specific strategy to combat intestinal diseases based on the culture and environment, rather than resorting outright to shaming the target population. In short, don't consider that what is good for the gander is also good for the goose. So, just be careful out there. Good luck.
(NOTE: You can read more of my change advocacy among the Ata Manobo in my book, KOILAWAN: Letters and Poems of a Jungle Dad-Mom, now available in many online book outlets in 21 countries.)
The Associated Foreign Press report on the toilet problem was from the World Water Week forum, which was participated by 2,500 sanitation experts, recently held in Stockholm, Sweden.
Checking the internet on the issue, I also found the following: 1) It was reported by World Health Organization that nearly two million people die every year from diseased related to bad sanitation and 2.6 billion people around the world do not have access to proper restroom. 2) The United Nation launched The International Year of Sanitation 2008, in November of last year, primarily to bring international attention to this problem. 3) In response, the World Toilet Association (hmmm... didn't know before that such association exists) has been working towards providing toilet facilities particularly in developing countries. (CNN.com)
Despite humanitarian endeavor to solve this problem, the recently held conference in Stockholm reported that there is still an estimated 1.2 billion people, primarily in Asia and Africa, still do not use toilets (even if it is available) to defecate. The paper further said that the best method to make this effort a success has been to shame people.
Even though shaming may be the best method to encourage the use of toilets in India or Bangladesh, this must be used with extra caution when applying it globally. The culture of some people groups around the world might not welcome such strategy, that toilet advocates might be endangered. I just wanted to voice my concern, because some selfless and determined outsiders, may they be change agents or technocrats, might apply this strategy without considering the culture of the target population. There were many introduced change that were considered beneficial to the target population, but did not succeed just because the change agents failed (or ignored)to study the web of culture and the environment.
(Several years ago, I was invited to visit the Masahua Indian Development Program in Mexico by its executive director, my co-fellow at Haggai Institute in Singapore. I was happy to see that almost all programs were beneficial to the community, until I heard about this one project. Glass Etching. What on earth happened here? Many Masahua Indians live in small houses made of mud bricks that I can barely see the point of giving them the skill in glass etching! Anyway glass etching was no "biggie" than the state-sponsored swine program in the past, which was a complete failure.)
I see the need to aggressively advocate the use of toilet. Nevertheless, before a change agent introduces it, he or she must consider the culture and the environment. So many economic resources, many of these were money loaned from World Bank, have been wasted already.
I never will forget my time with the Ata Manobo in southern Philippines. I was a young, very ambitious and mission-minded change agent then. I was successful in advocating almost all the planned changes, but was minimally successful in toilet advocacy. Don't get me wrong. I practiced very good toilet training (LOL). Seriously, I was very good, if not excellent, role model. Unlike the villagers, I shunned using the open field or the river to defecate. I have my outhouse.
Shaming an Ata Manobo as a strategy would never work, because to shame somebody, in their culture, is tantamount to killing somebody. One cannot even laugh, while looking at an Ata Manobo passerby, because it always is taken seriously as an action done to shame him/her. Shame oftentimes triggers raiding and murder. Hence, a change agent cannot apply a "shame strategy" with them.
I tried my best to incorporate health and sanitation in the literacy and health programs, however, to encourage them to use an outhouse was difficult to hurdle.
Pit latrine was accepted lightly, because digging a two-meter pit in the village will turn into a water well. The water in the pit latrine became a breeding ground of the malarious anopheles mosquitoes. Further, the villagers cannot stand getting wet by the splashing of water while using the pit latrine. Furthermore, they cannot stand the stink, which they believe made them sicker.
The best solution to counteract the village refusal to use toilets was to encourage digging a shallow hole every time they defecate in the field. This was acceptable.
I just hope toilet advocates would try to find specific strategy to combat intestinal diseases based on the culture and environment, rather than resorting outright to shaming the target population. In short, don't consider that what is good for the gander is also good for the goose. So, just be careful out there. Good luck.
(NOTE: You can read more of my change advocacy among the Ata Manobo in my book, KOILAWAN: Letters and Poems of a Jungle Dad-Mom, now available in many online book outlets in 21 countries.)
Friday, August 1, 2008
A Blog on Elected or to-be Elected Officials
It's election year in USofA. Rhetorical battle between the Presidential candidates has been heating up, while the outgoing president has been trying to do something to be remembered positively.
Yes, government officials come and go. Some walk their talk; others just talk and talk. Selfless over-performers receive peoples accolade; egoistic under-performers receive insult and ridicule.
I never will forget an elected governor in the early 60s in Mindanao, Philippines. I learned that he wasn't a good governor; however, he was (and will continue to be) remembered. It's not because of his accomplishments, but because of his "carabao" English that he used to impress people with.
So, here I am perpetuating his government service by etching his "carabao" English in a Kyoka.
Kyoka is a Japanese poetry form considered as a crazy poem. It makes fun of politicians or leaders, and of a certain event that took place. Syllable structure is similar to Tanka: 5,7,5,7,7
The Governor's "Carabao" English
"Good morning this noon.
I’m here running for office.
Voting is here soon
You should vote for me, at least,
Because I’m the very best.
If you’d vote for me,
I’d invite one and all
And cows would kill me
And I’d surely eat you all
…Before we raise the flagpole."
Men in Mindanao
Let’s think twice before we vote
A change we need now
Put to office those we thought
Who are worthy of your vote.
Don’t forget the past.
Men spoke English to impress
Let’s act real fast
Lest you want to hear them say,
‘Let’s sing the flag ceremony!’
Edmund Melig Industan (copyright, 2007)
This Kyoka reflects a terrible English of this under-performing official in Mindanao, Philippines, but it also might have happened (or still happening) in other parts of the world.
So, elected officials, please do your best and put your words into action; otherwise, you only would be remembered from generation to generation by your high faluting words and unsatisfactory performance.
Notes: 1) One of the poems included in my upcoming book, 101+1 Poems on THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS: An Anthology.
2) Carabao is a Philippine English term for a water buffalo
Yes, government officials come and go. Some walk their talk; others just talk and talk. Selfless over-performers receive peoples accolade; egoistic under-performers receive insult and ridicule.
I never will forget an elected governor in the early 60s in Mindanao, Philippines. I learned that he wasn't a good governor; however, he was (and will continue to be) remembered. It's not because of his accomplishments, but because of his "carabao" English that he used to impress people with.
So, here I am perpetuating his government service by etching his "carabao" English in a Kyoka.
Kyoka is a Japanese poetry form considered as a crazy poem. It makes fun of politicians or leaders, and of a certain event that took place. Syllable structure is similar to Tanka: 5,7,5,7,7
The Governor's "Carabao" English
"Good morning this noon.
I’m here running for office.
Voting is here soon
You should vote for me, at least,
Because I’m the very best.
If you’d vote for me,
I’d invite one and all
And cows would kill me
And I’d surely eat you all
…Before we raise the flagpole."
Men in Mindanao
Let’s think twice before we vote
A change we need now
Put to office those we thought
Who are worthy of your vote.
Don’t forget the past.
Men spoke English to impress
Let’s act real fast
Lest you want to hear them say,
‘Let’s sing the flag ceremony!’
Edmund Melig Industan (copyright, 2007)
This Kyoka reflects a terrible English of this under-performing official in Mindanao, Philippines, but it also might have happened (or still happening) in other parts of the world.
So, elected officials, please do your best and put your words into action; otherwise, you only would be remembered from generation to generation by your high faluting words and unsatisfactory performance.
Notes: 1) One of the poems included in my upcoming book, 101+1 Poems on THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS: An Anthology.
2) Carabao is a Philippine English term for a water buffalo
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Civet-Excreted Coffee: The Priciest, but are we Sure?
There's a seven-feet coffee plant with limbs laden with black, deep crimson, red, orange, and yellow green berries that's growing in front of our house here in California. While looking at it yesterday afternoon, I cannot help but to think of two things: the most expensive coffee in the world and my childhood coffee experience in Mindanao, the second biggest, of the 7,100, islands of the Philippines, and just few hundred miles north of some Indonesian islands.
Yes, the Indonesian Kopi Luwak has been considered as the world's priciest coffee. Due to it's exotic extra flavor and the high demand from Japanese, British and American coffee drinkers to its low supply, the market dictates a whooping $500 for a pound or $50 for a cup,once brewed.
Kopi Luwak, as we probably all know by now, are collected on the ground from the excreta of the wild palm civet cat. Its passing through the animal's digestive system is believed to give its extra flavor. However, like the US-based food and drink critic, Chris Rubin, I question this marketing blitz. Is it the very unique process of depoding or the perfect ripeness of the berries, that only the palm civet cats know, gives that added musty flavor?
With more than thirty coffee plants robustly standing tall in our backyard, while growing up in southern Philippines, my friends and I usually were having fun racing to trees with lots of deep crimson berries. Why? I tell you why. Deep crimson berries means that they are fully ripe; hence, their pulps are very sweet and easy and soft to depod. But not only that! They also signify that there are lots of coffee beans on the ground that bats, rats, and (who knows) four-legged or two-legged (?) civet cats excreted or dropped on the ground for our picking.
We usually picked those fallen beans first before climbing up those 50-foot, more or less, coffee trees. Most of our coffee plants were Coffea arabica, and very few Coffea robusta (the shorter plant with smaller berries). We preferred to take the risk of (or enjoy)climbing those tall trees, because the pulp of arabica is sweeter, the marble-sized berries are enjoyable to pop into our mouths, the Chinese coffee buyer in town buy it few centavos more, and most of our parents preferred the flavor of brewed arabica more than that of the "commercial", shorter and smaller robusta.
Oh, yes, these five- to ten-year old two-legged "civet cats" climbed up those trees with tin cans strapped around their waist first thing in the summer morning, happily perched on those berry-laden sturdy branches, often times moving from one limb to another, while depoding those deep crimson berries with their mouths. They often tell jokes and horsing around by shaking the limbs hoping that their friends will move away. Holding ones dear life and laughing with five to ten berries in ones mouth were not a good combination, because many times, these two-legged "civet cats" ended up swallowing the slimy coffee beans. (Oh, yes, they have constipation the next day... and some would either pushed hard to poop while up the coffee tree or come-down and dig a shallow hole underneath those trees.)
If we just have known before that these coffee beans that pass through someones digestive system have very high market value around the world, we could have not strapped those cumbersome tin cans around our waist anymore. We could have just swallowed both the sweet nectar of those deep crimson berries and all the coffee beans for our picking the next day. Oh, well, the information is out since December of last year. Some two-legged "civet cats" are surely going to be young secret "millionaires". Secret or secrete "millionaries"? Just an insinuation! Don't puke!
Seriously, those who know (and are very sure) that the priciest coffee beans are from a four-legged wild palm civet cat excreta, please stand up!
Note: The short story, "The Coffee and the Two-Legged "Civet Cats", is included in my book project, Bedtime-Pastime: Collections of Short Stories and Bukidnon Folktales.
Yes, the Indonesian Kopi Luwak has been considered as the world's priciest coffee. Due to it's exotic extra flavor and the high demand from Japanese, British and American coffee drinkers to its low supply, the market dictates a whooping $500 for a pound or $50 for a cup,once brewed.
Kopi Luwak, as we probably all know by now, are collected on the ground from the excreta of the wild palm civet cat. Its passing through the animal's digestive system is believed to give its extra flavor. However, like the US-based food and drink critic, Chris Rubin, I question this marketing blitz. Is it the very unique process of depoding or the perfect ripeness of the berries, that only the palm civet cats know, gives that added musty flavor?
With more than thirty coffee plants robustly standing tall in our backyard, while growing up in southern Philippines, my friends and I usually were having fun racing to trees with lots of deep crimson berries. Why? I tell you why. Deep crimson berries means that they are fully ripe; hence, their pulps are very sweet and easy and soft to depod. But not only that! They also signify that there are lots of coffee beans on the ground that bats, rats, and (who knows) four-legged or two-legged (?) civet cats excreted or dropped on the ground for our picking.
We usually picked those fallen beans first before climbing up those 50-foot, more or less, coffee trees. Most of our coffee plants were Coffea arabica, and very few Coffea robusta (the shorter plant with smaller berries). We preferred to take the risk of (or enjoy)climbing those tall trees, because the pulp of arabica is sweeter, the marble-sized berries are enjoyable to pop into our mouths, the Chinese coffee buyer in town buy it few centavos more, and most of our parents preferred the flavor of brewed arabica more than that of the "commercial", shorter and smaller robusta.
Oh, yes, these five- to ten-year old two-legged "civet cats" climbed up those trees with tin cans strapped around their waist first thing in the summer morning, happily perched on those berry-laden sturdy branches, often times moving from one limb to another, while depoding those deep crimson berries with their mouths. They often tell jokes and horsing around by shaking the limbs hoping that their friends will move away. Holding ones dear life and laughing with five to ten berries in ones mouth were not a good combination, because many times, these two-legged "civet cats" ended up swallowing the slimy coffee beans. (Oh, yes, they have constipation the next day... and some would either pushed hard to poop while up the coffee tree or come-down and dig a shallow hole underneath those trees.)
If we just have known before that these coffee beans that pass through someones digestive system have very high market value around the world, we could have not strapped those cumbersome tin cans around our waist anymore. We could have just swallowed both the sweet nectar of those deep crimson berries and all the coffee beans for our picking the next day. Oh, well, the information is out since December of last year. Some two-legged "civet cats" are surely going to be young secret "millionaires". Secret or secrete "millionaries"? Just an insinuation! Don't puke!
Seriously, those who know (and are very sure) that the priciest coffee beans are from a four-legged wild palm civet cat excreta, please stand up!
Note: The short story, "The Coffee and the Two-Legged "Civet Cats", is included in my book project, Bedtime-Pastime: Collections of Short Stories and Bukidnon Folktales.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
CHANGES IN FATHER'S ROLE
The images of masculinity has been changing. Asserting father's role, as a case in point, has been increasingly not as rigid as in the past. Gone are those days when men are expected not to be condescending to women. Gone are those days when the epitome of masculinity are the likes of Clint Eastwood and Sylvestre(Rambo)Stallone, men, whose movie roles portray machismo (and others must give-in). More films are now showing men's sensitivity and vulnerability. Today, we see more men who are doing childcare and housework... and to see a picture of men tenderly holding a baby is not a laughing-stock anymore.( Pls. check photo on http://www.snopes.com/photos/military/gebhardt.asp) Instead, other men admire them and women praise them. Matter of fact, the term 'houseband','dad-mom', or 'Mr. Mom' is becoming a common household lingo.
Some of the reasons of this change are the following:
1) Women are equally educated as men and are important players in the labor force. Many wives are becoming very successful in the work place that they even are getting more income than their spouses. More are even becoming heads-of-the-state, nowadays. I can never forget the time when the current Philippine commander-in-chief, Pres. Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. Filipinos were led by men, even before they got their independence from the U.S. Hence, when Macapagal-Arroyo was confirmed to take over as the president, many Filipinos were not comfortable calling the president's husband as the 'First Gentleman'. People got used to having a 'First Lady' in Malacanang Palace.
2) The socio-economic status (SES)of women and the rising cost of living have allowed many married couples to decide, who is to stay with the children. Obviously, the one who takes less dough has to stay home.
3) The changing pattern of family, i.e. same-sex intimacy and legality, has been incresingly common, nowadays. (In fact, effective tomorrow, June 15, the state of California can legally issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples.) Whoever takes the father's role and the portrayal of such role in the eyes of the children, adopted or not, are of my keen interest as a researcher.
4) Another reason, which I am part of it, is due to a necessity.
My case was quite unique. I have to do the woman's job, because I have to save the life of a 4-month old boy. I was newly engaged that time when an outbreak of a cholera epidemic, in a tribal village where I worked, occured. Knowing that the baby would be killed by the uncles (and buried with the mom) the following day, I have to step in to save him. It was a difficult decision. My village role became confusing, not only to the villagers, but also to me. My role as a missionary-teacher and a researcher overlapped with my role to keep the baby alive in this remote village, where canned milk was scarcely available. I faced jeers and sneers from the tribesmen. However, I persevered. I walked my talk. I educated the whole tribe, even those from far away hamlets, by showing them how to nourish a malnourished baby, without the mother's milk. A couple of months later, I saw lots of changes to the villagers belief and practices. Men started helping their wives in bathing their kids and even picking leafy vegetables in the wild. My new role, and a monicker, as a jungle dad-mom was accepted and praised by almost everybody. God allowed me to save this 4-month old baby boy, to let the husbands realize that mutual cooperation, and not a clear-cut division of labor among spouses, is much more healthier and happier to raise a family. (Note: You can read more of my life with the Ata Manobo tribe in southern Philippines, including the saving of the baby, in my book, KOILAWAN.)
So, for all of us, dad, houseband, dad-mom, Mr. Mom, or whatever... HAPPY FATHER'S DAY.
Some of the reasons of this change are the following:
1) Women are equally educated as men and are important players in the labor force. Many wives are becoming very successful in the work place that they even are getting more income than their spouses. More are even becoming heads-of-the-state, nowadays. I can never forget the time when the current Philippine commander-in-chief, Pres. Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. Filipinos were led by men, even before they got their independence from the U.S. Hence, when Macapagal-Arroyo was confirmed to take over as the president, many Filipinos were not comfortable calling the president's husband as the 'First Gentleman'. People got used to having a 'First Lady' in Malacanang Palace.
2) The socio-economic status (SES)of women and the rising cost of living have allowed many married couples to decide, who is to stay with the children. Obviously, the one who takes less dough has to stay home.
3) The changing pattern of family, i.e. same-sex intimacy and legality, has been incresingly common, nowadays. (In fact, effective tomorrow, June 15, the state of California can legally issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples.) Whoever takes the father's role and the portrayal of such role in the eyes of the children, adopted or not, are of my keen interest as a researcher.
4) Another reason, which I am part of it, is due to a necessity.
My case was quite unique. I have to do the woman's job, because I have to save the life of a 4-month old boy. I was newly engaged that time when an outbreak of a cholera epidemic, in a tribal village where I worked, occured. Knowing that the baby would be killed by the uncles (and buried with the mom) the following day, I have to step in to save him. It was a difficult decision. My village role became confusing, not only to the villagers, but also to me. My role as a missionary-teacher and a researcher overlapped with my role to keep the baby alive in this remote village, where canned milk was scarcely available. I faced jeers and sneers from the tribesmen. However, I persevered. I walked my talk. I educated the whole tribe, even those from far away hamlets, by showing them how to nourish a malnourished baby, without the mother's milk. A couple of months later, I saw lots of changes to the villagers belief and practices. Men started helping their wives in bathing their kids and even picking leafy vegetables in the wild. My new role, and a monicker, as a jungle dad-mom was accepted and praised by almost everybody. God allowed me to save this 4-month old baby boy, to let the husbands realize that mutual cooperation, and not a clear-cut division of labor among spouses, is much more healthier and happier to raise a family. (Note: You can read more of my life with the Ata Manobo tribe in southern Philippines, including the saving of the baby, in my book, KOILAWAN.)
So, for all of us, dad, houseband, dad-mom, Mr. Mom, or whatever... HAPPY FATHER'S DAY.
Monday, June 2, 2008
An Experimental Hey Poem (Dasang /dah-SANG/)
As promised, I am posting the first experimental Hey Poem on the web and elsewhere. At first, I thought of posting a Hey Poem about McClellan's book; however, I decided to go for this poem on Mr. Poetry Prose.
Since this experimental Hey Poem is an adaptation of the Higa-onon's dasang(dah-SANG), I also would like to post a clip from You Tube of a tribal chieftain performing this speech-song. (Sorry guys, everytime I paste the Dasang clip, an animation is messing up with it. Promise, I'll try to post the dasang clip next time.)
Hope you'll appreciate the beauty and the art of the Higa-onon tribe of southern Philippines as adapted in the English poetry form.
Please enjoy!
TO YOU, MR. POETRY PROSE
(c)edmund industan 2007
Twenty-four seven, I am sharing my soul.
Daytime, I lay in some anatomy class
Naked to my minutest part! Students
Checking my innards to learn my craft.
At nightime, I wanted to be laid,
But very few invite me to bed.
Most prefer to be embraced by a silk
Not by a wool or a crocheted sheet.
So, at ten, I wear shades in the dark.
The night owls are dancing their hearts out.
'Though I'm not sure if they could hear my words
They added jolts and croons to my chords.
But hey!
I am awake! I am doing my part!
Hey!
I entertain until they are out.
Hey!
I stir the minds of the academe
But, I would love to be in someone's dream.
It's true, Poetry Prose, I'm in discontent.
I would love to expand and evolve...
Be active, out in the street...
Not passively awake in the shelves.
I'm glad you tried to adapt the form
Of Meticulous Prose! But, sure, not enough!
Convince me, P.P., I'm still an old Thomas...
Structure isn't enough to win the reader's heart.
You think you're better off than those on a diet?
They restrict too much to come up with a skinny form.
Ended up emaciated...light as a cotton ball!
People can't make a sense of the dress they don.
But hey!
It is not late! We still have the time.
Hey!
Let's associate; let us check the street.
Hey!
Let's check the world how they pace their time.
And evolve! Need to grow along with the time.
So Hey!
As mother hen, I am clacking for one,
'Come to my bosom and learn evolution.
There is a change to benefit the world
Not a change to be self-contained.'
Yes, we are a spook of the culture and not...
A hermit! We can't survive on our own.
We have to adapt on what other's need;
So that our art can help us better the world.
(Note: This hey poem is included in my upcoming book, "150+1 Poems...:An Anthology")
Since this experimental Hey Poem is an adaptation of the Higa-onon's dasang(dah-SANG), I also would like to post a clip from You Tube of a tribal chieftain performing this speech-song. (Sorry guys, everytime I paste the Dasang clip, an animation is messing up with it. Promise, I'll try to post the dasang clip next time.)
Hope you'll appreciate the beauty and the art of the Higa-onon tribe of southern Philippines as adapted in the English poetry form.
Please enjoy!
TO YOU, MR. POETRY PROSE
(c)edmund industan 2007
Twenty-four seven, I am sharing my soul.
Daytime, I lay in some anatomy class
Naked to my minutest part! Students
Checking my innards to learn my craft.
At nightime, I wanted to be laid,
But very few invite me to bed.
Most prefer to be embraced by a silk
Not by a wool or a crocheted sheet.
So, at ten, I wear shades in the dark.
The night owls are dancing their hearts out.
'Though I'm not sure if they could hear my words
They added jolts and croons to my chords.
But hey!
I am awake! I am doing my part!
Hey!
I entertain until they are out.
Hey!
I stir the minds of the academe
But, I would love to be in someone's dream.
It's true, Poetry Prose, I'm in discontent.
I would love to expand and evolve...
Be active, out in the street...
Not passively awake in the shelves.
I'm glad you tried to adapt the form
Of Meticulous Prose! But, sure, not enough!
Convince me, P.P., I'm still an old Thomas...
Structure isn't enough to win the reader's heart.
You think you're better off than those on a diet?
They restrict too much to come up with a skinny form.
Ended up emaciated...light as a cotton ball!
People can't make a sense of the dress they don.
But hey!
It is not late! We still have the time.
Hey!
Let's associate; let us check the street.
Hey!
Let's check the world how they pace their time.
And evolve! Need to grow along with the time.
So Hey!
As mother hen, I am clacking for one,
'Come to my bosom and learn evolution.
There is a change to benefit the world
Not a change to be self-contained.'
Yes, we are a spook of the culture and not...
A hermit! We can't survive on our own.
We have to adapt on what other's need;
So that our art can help us better the world.
(Note: This hey poem is included in my upcoming book, "150+1 Poems...:An Anthology")
Saturday, May 24, 2008
A PROSE POETRY ON DASANG (Hey Poem)
I promised you a sample of a Hey Poem (Dasang) to be posted this weekend. However, I decided to post this prose poetry, instead, to give you more information about it.
THE WORLD NEEDS A "DASANG" (Yell)
(c) e.industan 2007
I entered the jungle of concretes and brains. Then, I hopped in a cave full of bound papers and shelves. I went to a corner and fiddled some keys to find my way in the maze.
The cave is primeval, but houses all species from living to the dead. Only a cave, but I walked around the globe and onto someone's grave.
I strutted through the brown condos of famous and the sage. I gazed up, then down, while slightly touching the numbers of those in my reach: storages of Dickinson, Lowell, Sigourney, Whitman, and the rest.
Unnoticed at first, a mountain began to grow. As I rested, my mind wandered away from those tomes that caught me in awe. I whispered,'...but something's missing. I still am not convinced. There were lots of gentle...subtle voices in verses, but didn't hit me hard, as a hammer, in my head.'
I folded my elbow, thumped my forehead to rest. Eyes closed; mind zapped beyond the shelves. I heard from afar the yell of a speech-song by a tribe, the Higa-onon. A tribe in the Philippines, the speech is a "Dasang".
A hortatory used mainly by the chiefs...to admonish, advice, argue, implore, and scold the mischief's. They used flowery and sweets to numb the pain, while they hurled fiery arrows to those wolves among men.
The vision seemed so real as I listened to the rhythm: da-da-DAT-da-da-DAT on line after they said, "Git". After the "Git" the speech was sometimes flat...sometimes contoured with rhythmic patterns, but not strict at all. I'm conviced this is "it" that would fill the void in the caves.
Revived, I took a quill from my coat tail. I started stringing flowery words about our world. I hope to lift reality to its next level... that the world could see poetry, not just artsy, but as an active part of society.
Soon, I'll post the seed that I want to germinate. I hope the poets and the non-poets will stop by in some caves to see and savor the goodness of this ethnopoetic.
(Note: This prose poetry is included in my upcoming book: 150+1 Poems on THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG (Hey Poem) and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS: An Anthology.
THE WORLD NEEDS A "DASANG" (Yell)
(c) e.industan 2007
I entered the jungle of concretes and brains. Then, I hopped in a cave full of bound papers and shelves. I went to a corner and fiddled some keys to find my way in the maze.
The cave is primeval, but houses all species from living to the dead. Only a cave, but I walked around the globe and onto someone's grave.
I strutted through the brown condos of famous and the sage. I gazed up, then down, while slightly touching the numbers of those in my reach: storages of Dickinson, Lowell, Sigourney, Whitman, and the rest.
Unnoticed at first, a mountain began to grow. As I rested, my mind wandered away from those tomes that caught me in awe. I whispered,'...but something's missing. I still am not convinced. There were lots of gentle...subtle voices in verses, but didn't hit me hard, as a hammer, in my head.'
I folded my elbow, thumped my forehead to rest. Eyes closed; mind zapped beyond the shelves. I heard from afar the yell of a speech-song by a tribe, the Higa-onon. A tribe in the Philippines, the speech is a "Dasang".
A hortatory used mainly by the chiefs...to admonish, advice, argue, implore, and scold the mischief's. They used flowery and sweets to numb the pain, while they hurled fiery arrows to those wolves among men.
The vision seemed so real as I listened to the rhythm: da-da-DAT-da-da-DAT on line after they said, "Git". After the "Git" the speech was sometimes flat...sometimes contoured with rhythmic patterns, but not strict at all. I'm conviced this is "it" that would fill the void in the caves.
Revived, I took a quill from my coat tail. I started stringing flowery words about our world. I hope to lift reality to its next level... that the world could see poetry, not just artsy, but as an active part of society.
Soon, I'll post the seed that I want to germinate. I hope the poets and the non-poets will stop by in some caves to see and savor the goodness of this ethnopoetic.
(Note: This prose poetry is included in my upcoming book: 150+1 Poems on THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG (Hey Poem) and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS: An Anthology.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Ethnopoetic and the Higa-onon Dasang (dah-SANG)
Ethnopoetic isn't new to the literary world. It has been existing for, at least the last 200 years. The New Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics (1993) considers a literary work as such, if it is a means to compare poetry and related arts with a characteristics, but not exclusive emphases, to stateless, low technology cultures and on oral and nonliterate forms of verbal expression, and if the poetry or the idea is about the culture being studied. Ethnopoetic can also be a movement in contemporary literary world, in which literature and social science (particularly anthropology and sociolinguistics) devote to studying and adapting such poetic verbal expressions.
Even though ethnopoetic has been going on for many years, the term itself had been popularized in 1968 by a journalist, Jerome Rothenberg, and an anthopologist, Dennis Tedlock, when they collaborated to edit the magazine, Alcheringa, from 1971 to 1980. Alcheringa was an avenue to promote ethnopoetics. Consequently, 2 international symposia on the movement were held in 1978 and 1985. Unfortunately, ethnopoetic did not stir a considerable interest to the literary scholars and social scientists. Currently, it is in hibernation and would surely disappear into its eternal death if no one would attempt to revive it.
I really am feeling bad for the imminent demise of ethnopoetic, because ethnic languages are just as beautiful, interesting, complex, and unique as others. Let us take dasang, a poetic hortatory discourse of the Higa-onon (hii-gah-OH-noon) of southern Philippines. German ethnomusicologist, and my good friend, Hans Brandeis, who extensively did his research in the Philippines, categorized it as a speech-song. (see Hans Brandies Homepage)
I lived and worked among the Higa-onon tribe in the 70s and constantly heard dasang (dah-SANG) in tribal meetings to investigate lawlessness and resolve issues on intra-village problems. It is delivered, full of imagery, to avoid direct insult, shame, and embarrassment to a suspected culprit. At the same time, it is a way to win a case, negotiate for a lighter penalty, to advise the culprit, and to showcase the oratorical skill and artistry of the chieftain.
Dasang , by itself, is a beauty and art when performed. The lifting of the orator's behind and the swaying of the arms when the orator says a unique interjection, "git" or"kit" ( which I equate it with the English term, hey), is so entertaining that the villagers will congregate to witness an hour or so, of otherwise, boring meetings.
Despite its beauty and uniqueness, dasang is disappearing. Since it is transmitted orally, the younger generation, who are more inclined to adapt the national or world's pop culture for social acceptance, most definitely, has to be motivated to learn, embrace (as they embrace hip-hop), and have the self-pride to preserve it. One way for scholars to help in motivating the young generation is to promote and elevate dasang as a poetry form, which is adapted and accepted internationally.
I, as a member of another Philippine tribe (the Bukidnons), is advocating the revival of ethnopoetic. I have introduced dasang, as a hey poem, in my book, KOILAWAN (koi-lah-ONE): Letters and Poems of a Jungle Dad-Mom, which has been marketed worlwide. My upcoming book, 150+1 Poems of THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG (Hey Poem) and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS: An Anthology, have a dozen more hey poem to promote it. I hope that more literary scholars and social scientists will join the bandwagon in promoting, preserving, and reviving the movement of ethnopoetics.
Even though ethnopoetic has been going on for many years, the term itself had been popularized in 1968 by a journalist, Jerome Rothenberg, and an anthopologist, Dennis Tedlock, when they collaborated to edit the magazine, Alcheringa, from 1971 to 1980. Alcheringa was an avenue to promote ethnopoetics. Consequently, 2 international symposia on the movement were held in 1978 and 1985. Unfortunately, ethnopoetic did not stir a considerable interest to the literary scholars and social scientists. Currently, it is in hibernation and would surely disappear into its eternal death if no one would attempt to revive it.
I really am feeling bad for the imminent demise of ethnopoetic, because ethnic languages are just as beautiful, interesting, complex, and unique as others. Let us take dasang, a poetic hortatory discourse of the Higa-onon (hii-gah-OH-noon) of southern Philippines. German ethnomusicologist, and my good friend, Hans Brandeis, who extensively did his research in the Philippines, categorized it as a speech-song. (see Hans Brandies Homepage)
I lived and worked among the Higa-onon tribe in the 70s and constantly heard dasang (dah-SANG) in tribal meetings to investigate lawlessness and resolve issues on intra-village problems. It is delivered, full of imagery, to avoid direct insult, shame, and embarrassment to a suspected culprit. At the same time, it is a way to win a case, negotiate for a lighter penalty, to advise the culprit, and to showcase the oratorical skill and artistry of the chieftain.
Dasang , by itself, is a beauty and art when performed. The lifting of the orator's behind and the swaying of the arms when the orator says a unique interjection, "git" or"kit" ( which I equate it with the English term, hey), is so entertaining that the villagers will congregate to witness an hour or so, of otherwise, boring meetings.
Despite its beauty and uniqueness, dasang is disappearing. Since it is transmitted orally, the younger generation, who are more inclined to adapt the national or world's pop culture for social acceptance, most definitely, has to be motivated to learn, embrace (as they embrace hip-hop), and have the self-pride to preserve it. One way for scholars to help in motivating the young generation is to promote and elevate dasang as a poetry form, which is adapted and accepted internationally.
I, as a member of another Philippine tribe (the Bukidnons), is advocating the revival of ethnopoetic. I have introduced dasang, as a hey poem, in my book, KOILAWAN (koi-lah-ONE): Letters and Poems of a Jungle Dad-Mom, which has been marketed worlwide. My upcoming book, 150+1 Poems of THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG (Hey Poem) and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS: An Anthology, have a dozen more hey poem to promote it. I hope that more literary scholars and social scientists will join the bandwagon in promoting, preserving, and reviving the movement of ethnopoetics.
(Note: A sample of Dasang or hey poem will be posted here sometime this weekend.)
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Communicating What is True; Ignoring What is Not!
Communication is one of the three functional requisites of societies. It can be verbal or nonverbal. It can be intrapersonal or interpersonal. It is the sine qua non of every social organization, whether animal or human.
Sad to say that communication can be positive or negative contributor to the development of man and society. As a means to transmit ideas, communication can either break or make an interpersonal relationship. It also can be deleterious to a nation.
Just recently, I received a chain letter, so hurtful to the Filipino people, that my initial impulse was to hurl brimstone and fire at the person, who allegedly wrote the hate letter. I have to shelve this week's blog topic, which I actually was about to post when I received the email, to respond to the disturbing message.
Being a sociologist, with lots of academic and research training in cultural anthropology, I have to first find a balm from this surgit amari aliquid (the iron entering the soul), before I write something in response to the letter. I have to breathe and address the issue systematically by doing some investigation. I just don't want to jump the gun indiscriminately.
The hate letter allegedly was sent by a radio talk-show host, Art Bell of Pahrump, Nevada. The title, "The Filipinos Make me Puke". It talked about how Filipinos has infested the USA like a disease, how their trashy quality of life has manifested through their extensive involvement in the US Armed Forces, how Filipinos try to assimilate with their Asian counterparts, but the only successful Filipinos are the prostitutes living in Japan. Then, it concluded with the message for the Filipinos to create an identity by not associating themselves with highly developed Asian countries, by recognizing that they are from a disgusting and filthy place, and by acknowledging that their technological acumen are not at par with that of Japan, Korea, and China.
My research on the web had resulted with the following: 1) Art Bell, as a radio personality, is incomparably good at entertaining UFOlogists, psychics, and conspiracy theorists, hence, his program on KNYE-FM specializes in tales of the supernatural, the paranormal, and the 'not-yet-categorized' weird. However, he is not a well-respected host. 2) His activities in radio broadcasting has been off-and on, affected by the victimization of his son by a pedophile substitute teacher and the death of his first wife from an asthma attack. 3) His second wife is half Filipino, and, the most significant information is that, 4) He did not make a broadcast calling the Philippines "a disgusting and filthy place", and that HE WAS NOT THE SOURCE OF THE HATE LETTER. The letter has been circulating online since the 90s. In fact, Mr. Bell sued the Philippine Daily Inquirer in 2001 for its outright treatment of the letter as fact when they published it. Philippine Daily Inquirer posted a retraction, however, the damage was done already. Sometime later, it was learned that the letter originated from a library computer at the Univ. of California-San Diego, posted by either a conspiracy theorist or weirdo. Ms. Valerie Polchari, the postmistress at UCSD library sent an apology to Mr. Bell. (Pls. check the ff. sites: Art Bell: A Who 2 Profile, Art Bell and Filipinos, etc.)
See how important communication is to a society? Besides promoting harmony and understanding, it also can be a "spark plug" of misunderstanding and chaos. I cannot emphasize strongly enough that before we circulate information, we really need to consider doing some research on its veracity. Harmony and progress in the world depend on us. Let us all do our part by communicating what is true and ignoring what is not.
Sad to say that communication can be positive or negative contributor to the development of man and society. As a means to transmit ideas, communication can either break or make an interpersonal relationship. It also can be deleterious to a nation.
Just recently, I received a chain letter, so hurtful to the Filipino people, that my initial impulse was to hurl brimstone and fire at the person, who allegedly wrote the hate letter. I have to shelve this week's blog topic, which I actually was about to post when I received the email, to respond to the disturbing message.
Being a sociologist, with lots of academic and research training in cultural anthropology, I have to first find a balm from this surgit amari aliquid (the iron entering the soul), before I write something in response to the letter. I have to breathe and address the issue systematically by doing some investigation. I just don't want to jump the gun indiscriminately.
The hate letter allegedly was sent by a radio talk-show host, Art Bell of Pahrump, Nevada. The title, "The Filipinos Make me Puke". It talked about how Filipinos has infested the USA like a disease, how their trashy quality of life has manifested through their extensive involvement in the US Armed Forces, how Filipinos try to assimilate with their Asian counterparts, but the only successful Filipinos are the prostitutes living in Japan. Then, it concluded with the message for the Filipinos to create an identity by not associating themselves with highly developed Asian countries, by recognizing that they are from a disgusting and filthy place, and by acknowledging that their technological acumen are not at par with that of Japan, Korea, and China.
My research on the web had resulted with the following: 1) Art Bell, as a radio personality, is incomparably good at entertaining UFOlogists, psychics, and conspiracy theorists, hence, his program on KNYE-FM specializes in tales of the supernatural, the paranormal, and the 'not-yet-categorized' weird. However, he is not a well-respected host. 2) His activities in radio broadcasting has been off-and on, affected by the victimization of his son by a pedophile substitute teacher and the death of his first wife from an asthma attack. 3) His second wife is half Filipino, and, the most significant information is that, 4) He did not make a broadcast calling the Philippines "a disgusting and filthy place", and that HE WAS NOT THE SOURCE OF THE HATE LETTER. The letter has been circulating online since the 90s. In fact, Mr. Bell sued the Philippine Daily Inquirer in 2001 for its outright treatment of the letter as fact when they published it. Philippine Daily Inquirer posted a retraction, however, the damage was done already. Sometime later, it was learned that the letter originated from a library computer at the Univ. of California-San Diego, posted by either a conspiracy theorist or weirdo. Ms. Valerie Polchari, the postmistress at UCSD library sent an apology to Mr. Bell. (Pls. check the ff. sites: Art Bell: A Who 2 Profile, Art Bell and Filipinos, etc.)
See how important communication is to a society? Besides promoting harmony and understanding, it also can be a "spark plug" of misunderstanding and chaos. I cannot emphasize strongly enough that before we circulate information, we really need to consider doing some research on its veracity. Harmony and progress in the world depend on us. Let us all do our part by communicating what is true and ignoring what is not.
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