An Asian crooner was just picked up by her host at the Los Angeles International Airport. Feeling tired and sleepy, she decided to pass, when her host invited her to come with them to their concert. Just as her hosts left, the telephone rang. She picked it up.
"Hello! This is the coroner speaking," she said thinking that it was her host calling.(She had that nickname, because she used to sing in a small bar.)
"Hi,", a woman's voice answered. "May I talk to Tommy?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, mom, but Tommy just pass away."
"WHAT?" Shocked, the woman asked. "What about Linda?"
"I'm sorry, mom, Linda also pass away."
"You mean, my daughter also passed?"
"Yes, mom. They have a cancer."
"WHAT? May I know again who is talking?"
"This is Alona, the coroner.
********
An absolute mess. Certainly, the guest meant it well, but the message was not communicated well. Now, put yourself in the shoes of Linda's mom. How would you feel?
Sapir-Whorf hypothesis theorized that language is not only a tool to express ideas, it is itself the shaper of ideas. We express and shape ideas based on our culture and language ability. Definitely, Linda's mom was devastated after that short conversation.
What about when you are manning a call center? The call center agent interacts with a stranger everyday. Yes, he/she had a month of intensive training, but it certainly was not enough to know everything. And I am pretty sure, the trainer (hopefully a native English speaker or if not, has lived and interacted for many years with a native English speaker)have not taught them everything. The would-be agent must keep on practicing and learning the English language and the culture of his/her clients.
I will give myself as a case in point. My mother tongue or first language is Binukid, which is an indigenous language. My second language is Binisaya, which is also the lingua franca in southern Philippines. My third is Tagalog, which is the Philippine national language that I learned from school. My fourth is English, which I also learned alongside with Tagalog. So, I linguistically grew up with only four vocoids: /a/,/i/,/u/, and /e/. The sound of my /e/ is like that of /oo/ in "book"; however, when I produced the sound, my lips are unrounded. Instead, I produced /e/ with my mouth slightly stretch sideways, like posing a trace of a smile.
The sounds of my consonants are produced pretty much the same as in any other Philippine languages. Unlike in English, I produced my /t/ with the tip of my tongue touching the front of my palette, and voiced, not at the back of my teeth, and voiceless. Unlike in English, I produced my /d/ with the tip of my tongue touching the mid-section of my palette and voiced, not touching the back of my teeth, and voiced.
With such pronunciation used from childhood to college, it was a painstaking effort for me to unlearn and relearn. I felt bad that my English teachers from elementary to high school did not teach the proper English pronunciation, while my tongue was still soft and supple. I felt real bad, because my English Communication college professor, who earned his English degree from a very reputable private university in Manila, did not meticulously and exaggeratedly teach the class on phonics. All the while, I thought that my English was okay, because I was getting "A's" and "A minuses" in my English courses.(Definitely, my English, when written, was alright. Unfortunately, writing is different from speaking.)
I realized my shortcoming in the English language, when I took Orthography and Phonology courses in my graduate studies in applied linguistics. Slowly, but surely, my pitfall began to unravel. Often times, I stirred misconception and I vehemently reacted to the culture of my Australian colleague. In fact, I have been feeling embarrassed to say that I have caused them to end their work in southern Philippines 25 years ago after I wrote a despicable letter in reaction to one natural, idiomatically correct, English statement. I was very close to this couple. Matter of fact, they were one of my wedding sponsors. And I blew away my relationship with them. I ended their love to live and work in southern Philippines.
I have to unlearn my "carabao English". Sorry for the description. I don't want to label it as a "Filipino English", because there are Filipinos, who have been trained to speak the English language properly even when they were still in their mom's belly.
I have to learn the proper production of my vowel and consonant sounds. And, oh boy, despite several applied linguistic courses in graduate school, I didn't learn the proper English pronunciation overnight. Quite frankly, traces of my "carabao English pronunciation" still lingers unwittingly sometimes. That said, I still practice. My wife and my grandchildren still see me learning the nasal twang as I watch, listen, and mimic my favorite TV personalities. I still am learning.
I hope those call center aspirants, who are non-native English speakers, will do the same. Well, they have to double their effort, because they don't rub elbows with native English speakers most of the day. Nevertheless, they should not be discouraged. Just keep on learning both the English language and the culture. Practice, practice, practice! Exaggerate, exaggerate, exaggerate! Use the English language when talking either to yourself or friends. Definitely, you have to speak English to your teachers. Ignore those who laugh at you and label you as "trying hard" or "keeping up with the Joneses". You need it when applying for a job that requires a good command of English.
Showing posts with label culture and art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture and art. Show all posts
Friday, February 27, 2009
Saturday, November 1, 2008
A POETRY BLOG & A THOUGHT ON UNICEF PROGRAM
Well, Halloween is over. Today is the UNICEF day... time to donate some "Old Presidents" as this United Nation's organization help educate and nourish young minds in developing countries.
Yes, I still cannot forget those years in the early 60s, when I helped my grade school teacher-mom, opened those huge tins of golden cheese and bags of powdered whole milk from the UNICEF. To many Filipinos, who live in the rural areas, cheese was never a part of their meals; hence, cheese was absolutely introduced by the UNICEF program to them. Initially, many kids did not like the taste; however, teachers like my mom, patiently educated the kids of its nutritional value. Slowly, the kids begin to like it. Before the end of the school year, most wanted to have a bigger share of it so that their parents could have some, too. And the powdered whole milk? Oh, the schoolchildren loved them. Kids were always ready with their cone-shaped paper for that powdered milk. They wanted to be the first person in the line. As the kids were going home from school, most of them were sipping the powdered milk through a small hole at the tip of those cone-shaped paper. So, friends, I, for one, would like to see the UNICEF program go on. Hope you are, too.
Meanwhile, here is the last part of my special story blog, The Curse. This is the poetry version. You also can read this in my book, KOILAWAN: Letters and Poems of a Jungle Dad-Mom. Enjoy!
(14) SAVING A DEAR CHILD
Edmund melig Industan
The wailing stopped! Some gasped in disbelief.
Seems it's the last oink at a slaughterhouse.
It slowly faded, hush was all around
Not one in jungle wailed again that night.
I won't forget that rainy night of yore.
A mom with ember cried in pain…for help.
An infant was about to see his grave,
For jungle culture is in darkest night.
The smoke of death had passed through villages.
The child's mom inhaled, kicked the bucket.
With culture so unique and so mundane,
This nursing child, considered the culprit.
The ember left, I followed it in haste.
…Unmindful of the muddy narrow trail.
My thought was on a roller coaster ride.
The prayer I made, the only calming state.
The chanting wail got loud as loud can be,
…As I edged closer to that bark-walled shack.
The soft and somber tune of bamboo lute,
I now can hear amidst the oinks and barks.
Just as I started climbing that chipped log
The shaman yelled a yapping, 'wo-wo-wo!'
Warding the evil off with frond of palm
That village could be freed from frightful woe.
Just as my head surfaced that squeaking floor…
The child, I saw, half-naked that cold night.
As he saw me, he cried with opened arms…
As if to tell me, 'Please, save me tonight!'
I tip-toed 'round the corpse that lay in state…
Around the spouse, who's laid there fetus-form.
Picked up the child and swayed him in my arms…
And calm him from a dreadful crying bout.
As soon as comfort came to this poor child,
The wails of kin and chants of shaman rolled.
Consoling words I gave, but not enough!
Most kin would like to see the child dead!
'He's curse! He'd kill again someday.
Our forebear wouldn't want… see him alive!
The pestle's ready! Press his neck tonight!
That curse will end and joy… is here again!'
As catalyst, I tried and tried so hard.
I gave them reasons known in heaven and earth.
But shaman's word's so strong, and mine was weak.
Until I stood and said, "I'd take the curse!"
The chirping crickets stopped; the silence heard!
And there's no hooting owl was overheard!
Right then, I knew, I'd stop! The battle's won!
Flee darkness! Flee! Oh, light! Illuminate!
At last, the grandma's nod was quietly given.
The tapping rain had stopped; the stars have shown.
The grips, I felt, from teeny-tiny hand
Seemed saying,' Thanks! You're here…now I'm alive!'
I left the stilt shack with a swaddled child…
Feeling the stares of eyes in darkness loomed.
A force seemed pushing me to a sure doom.
In prayer I whispered, 'Thanks…now, be my guide.'
Maybe you wonder after two decades.
I'm still alive! Still Kicking! Humbly proud!
The jungle came to know what's wrong and right
…The child? Oh, yes! My child is still alive.
(c) edmund industan, 2007
NOTE: Those who still have not gotten a copy of KOILAWAN, check it out now in your favorite online book outlets. The book is still available in 21 countries. A portion of my royalty fee will go to the Ata Manobo Literacy Fund of the Translators Association of the Philippines, a non-profit Christian organization that I used to head before I migrated to the USofA.
Yes, I still cannot forget those years in the early 60s, when I helped my grade school teacher-mom, opened those huge tins of golden cheese and bags of powdered whole milk from the UNICEF. To many Filipinos, who live in the rural areas, cheese was never a part of their meals; hence, cheese was absolutely introduced by the UNICEF program to them. Initially, many kids did not like the taste; however, teachers like my mom, patiently educated the kids of its nutritional value. Slowly, the kids begin to like it. Before the end of the school year, most wanted to have a bigger share of it so that their parents could have some, too. And the powdered whole milk? Oh, the schoolchildren loved them. Kids were always ready with their cone-shaped paper for that powdered milk. They wanted to be the first person in the line. As the kids were going home from school, most of them were sipping the powdered milk through a small hole at the tip of those cone-shaped paper. So, friends, I, for one, would like to see the UNICEF program go on. Hope you are, too.
Meanwhile, here is the last part of my special story blog, The Curse. This is the poetry version. You also can read this in my book, KOILAWAN: Letters and Poems of a Jungle Dad-Mom. Enjoy!
(14) SAVING A DEAR CHILD
Edmund melig Industan
The wailing stopped! Some gasped in disbelief.
Seems it's the last oink at a slaughterhouse.
It slowly faded, hush was all around
Not one in jungle wailed again that night.
I won't forget that rainy night of yore.
A mom with ember cried in pain…for help.
An infant was about to see his grave,
For jungle culture is in darkest night.
The smoke of death had passed through villages.
The child's mom inhaled, kicked the bucket.
With culture so unique and so mundane,
This nursing child, considered the culprit.
The ember left, I followed it in haste.
…Unmindful of the muddy narrow trail.
My thought was on a roller coaster ride.
The prayer I made, the only calming state.
The chanting wail got loud as loud can be,
…As I edged closer to that bark-walled shack.
The soft and somber tune of bamboo lute,
I now can hear amidst the oinks and barks.
Just as I started climbing that chipped log
The shaman yelled a yapping, 'wo-wo-wo!'
Warding the evil off with frond of palm
That village could be freed from frightful woe.
Just as my head surfaced that squeaking floor…
The child, I saw, half-naked that cold night.
As he saw me, he cried with opened arms…
As if to tell me, 'Please, save me tonight!'
I tip-toed 'round the corpse that lay in state…
Around the spouse, who's laid there fetus-form.
Picked up the child and swayed him in my arms…
And calm him from a dreadful crying bout.
As soon as comfort came to this poor child,
The wails of kin and chants of shaman rolled.
Consoling words I gave, but not enough!
Most kin would like to see the child dead!
'He's curse! He'd kill again someday.
Our forebear wouldn't want… see him alive!
The pestle's ready! Press his neck tonight!
That curse will end and joy… is here again!'
As catalyst, I tried and tried so hard.
I gave them reasons known in heaven and earth.
But shaman's word's so strong, and mine was weak.
Until I stood and said, "I'd take the curse!"
The chirping crickets stopped; the silence heard!
And there's no hooting owl was overheard!
Right then, I knew, I'd stop! The battle's won!
Flee darkness! Flee! Oh, light! Illuminate!
At last, the grandma's nod was quietly given.
The tapping rain had stopped; the stars have shown.
The grips, I felt, from teeny-tiny hand
Seemed saying,' Thanks! You're here…now I'm alive!'
I left the stilt shack with a swaddled child…
Feeling the stares of eyes in darkness loomed.
A force seemed pushing me to a sure doom.
In prayer I whispered, 'Thanks…now, be my guide.'
Maybe you wonder after two decades.
I'm still alive! Still Kicking! Humbly proud!
The jungle came to know what's wrong and right
…The child? Oh, yes! My child is still alive.
(c) edmund industan, 2007
NOTE: Those who still have not gotten a copy of KOILAWAN, check it out now in your favorite online book outlets. The book is still available in 21 countries. A portion of my royalty fee will go to the Ata Manobo Literacy Fund of the Translators Association of the Philippines, a non-profit Christian organization that I used to head before I migrated to the USofA.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
CULTURAL SIEVE AND SAME-SEX MARRIAGE
In the book, Mirror of Man, anthropologist Clyde Kluckhohn describes culture as a sieve. Any new idea has to pass through it. Since same-sex marriage is fairly new idea, and a very delicate, sensitive, and complex issue because it affects the core (spiritual) value of many, it is not surprising that it would not easily pass through in many cultural sieves.
For nominal Christian, non-Christian and radicals, same-sex marriage is just part of a cultural dynamics. They will not consider it difficult to adapt and integrate to their existing way of life. However, for traditionalist and biblically-rooted Christians, this cultural mesh is more stringent. Any profane idea would take awhile or will have difficulty passing through it. Why? It is because another mesh(the biblical norm) is superimposed to the communal mesh.
As a non-homophobic Christian sociologist, who is living in California, I seriously have thought of same-sex marriage ever since the San Francisco Mayor allowed it in 2004, where 4,000 marriage licenses were issued, albeit invalidated when California Supreme Court struck it down. Now, that the same court has changed its position, hence, has legalized same-sex mariage, effective on June 16, in the state of California, stirring protest and further court battles, I have to think some more about it.
I am torn between three overlapping sets of cultural sieves: communal sieve is my culture A as a member of the society,in general; carreer sieve is my culture B as a member of the 'social science world' obligated to try one's best to look at a phenomenon bias-free, and spiritual sieve is my culture C having been born, raised, and with faith that is deeply-rooted in biblical dogma.
The problem is that marriage is not only a socially approved mating relationship, it also is a sacrament of the church. In the Scripture, it is specifically a mating relationship between man and woman. Mating outside such relationship, is considered an abomination. To impose same-sex marriage on the traditionalist and biblically-oriented citizens is like forcing,tearing or wounding that spiritual mesh, and beyond that, rubbing too much salt onto it. This problem wouldn't be easy to resolve.
Possible solution to the problem:
1) Rather than passing a ballot measure in November that would effectively overturn the court's decision by defining marriage as "between a man and a woman", a ballot measure that reiterates the subclassification of marriage must be passed. Since the term 'marriage' is the center of conflict, ( that's why the term,legal partnership, is considered unfair and for second-rated citizens) why can't we not just adhere to two specific classifications: Sacramental marriage ( define as a church scrament to symbolize the unity of a man and a woman as into one body.), Ceremonial marriage ( a ceremony performed by any licensed or authorized officials, other than the religious leaders. Maghos, the origin of the English term, marriage, which, according to Joseph Shipley, seems likely to come from Greek, Cornish, Lithuanian, etc., means virgin, of either sex.
2) Non-nominal Christians to just consider same-sex marriage as a sign of the end-times. If same-sex marriage is unstoppable, we should consider it as a motivation to stengthen our faith for the end time is near. Rather than wavering our faith, we should bridle our eyes and look up for that glorious appearing. There are things that are beyond our control, but it is part of God's plan. Having such marriage is a force to test our faith. Having such marriage is a test that will determine who are the "Jezebels" among us, most especially, among the religious leaders.
Following the thoughts of Theodore Mills (The Sociology of Small Groups, 1967:108) same-sex marriage has disrupted the existing structure of emotional and normative relations. The affected are the traditionalists and the non-nominal Christians; the goal-seekers are the pro same-sex marital groups. I just hope that this issue would be resolved very soon.
For nominal Christian, non-Christian and radicals, same-sex marriage is just part of a cultural dynamics. They will not consider it difficult to adapt and integrate to their existing way of life. However, for traditionalist and biblically-rooted Christians, this cultural mesh is more stringent. Any profane idea would take awhile or will have difficulty passing through it. Why? It is because another mesh(the biblical norm) is superimposed to the communal mesh.
As a non-homophobic Christian sociologist, who is living in California, I seriously have thought of same-sex marriage ever since the San Francisco Mayor allowed it in 2004, where 4,000 marriage licenses were issued, albeit invalidated when California Supreme Court struck it down. Now, that the same court has changed its position, hence, has legalized same-sex mariage, effective on June 16, in the state of California, stirring protest and further court battles, I have to think some more about it.
I am torn between three overlapping sets of cultural sieves: communal sieve is my culture A as a member of the society,in general; carreer sieve is my culture B as a member of the 'social science world' obligated to try one's best to look at a phenomenon bias-free, and spiritual sieve is my culture C having been born, raised, and with faith that is deeply-rooted in biblical dogma.
The problem is that marriage is not only a socially approved mating relationship, it also is a sacrament of the church. In the Scripture, it is specifically a mating relationship between man and woman. Mating outside such relationship, is considered an abomination. To impose same-sex marriage on the traditionalist and biblically-oriented citizens is like forcing,tearing or wounding that spiritual mesh, and beyond that, rubbing too much salt onto it. This problem wouldn't be easy to resolve.
Possible solution to the problem:
1) Rather than passing a ballot measure in November that would effectively overturn the court's decision by defining marriage as "between a man and a woman", a ballot measure that reiterates the subclassification of marriage must be passed. Since the term 'marriage' is the center of conflict, ( that's why the term,legal partnership, is considered unfair and for second-rated citizens) why can't we not just adhere to two specific classifications: Sacramental marriage ( define as a church scrament to symbolize the unity of a man and a woman as into one body.), Ceremonial marriage ( a ceremony performed by any licensed or authorized officials, other than the religious leaders. Maghos, the origin of the English term, marriage, which, according to Joseph Shipley, seems likely to come from Greek, Cornish, Lithuanian, etc., means virgin, of either sex.
2) Non-nominal Christians to just consider same-sex marriage as a sign of the end-times. If same-sex marriage is unstoppable, we should consider it as a motivation to stengthen our faith for the end time is near. Rather than wavering our faith, we should bridle our eyes and look up for that glorious appearing. There are things that are beyond our control, but it is part of God's plan. Having such marriage is a force to test our faith. Having such marriage is a test that will determine who are the "Jezebels" among us, most especially, among the religious leaders.
Following the thoughts of Theodore Mills (The Sociology of Small Groups, 1967:108) same-sex marriage has disrupted the existing structure of emotional and normative relations. The affected are the traditionalists and the non-nominal Christians; the goal-seekers are the pro same-sex marital groups. I just hope that this issue would be resolved very soon.
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")
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