Aren't matches tragic?
They only fulfill their purpose
upon their own self-induced destruction.
10.12.07
light translated
Light.
The opponent of the Dark, the Good, the opposite. It is hard to think of light--or appreciate it--without the looming, oft described as repressive, Dark. Yet for all it stood for, in English there is only one word used, whether figuratively or literally--only Light, electric or not.
Ilaw/Liwanag.
Yet here in Filipino we have two words we associate with Light--Ilaw, commonly used as the literal light ("Paki-buksan naman yung ilaw") and Liwanag, more used in the figurative sense and ad campaigns ("Liwanag sa Dilim"; "May Liwanag ang Buhay"). The choice of translation, of course, changes with the context. One does not say "Paki-buksan naman yung liwanag"--one sticks with Ilaw, the real, visible one; using Liwanag sounds so wrong and out of place. Ilaw is also easier to spell and pronounce--perfect for everyday conversation.
Which leads me to think on how the Filipino thinks in relation to what is real (the material/literal), and what is not (the figurative). There has been a need to put a dividing line between what is real and what is not, between the literal and the figurative.
Probably because sometimes, we are often encouraged to "get real".
To paraphrase Virgilio Almario in "Pilipinas ang Ating Haraya", we have forgotten how to dream, our literature always dwelling on the struggles of our people. Nothing wrong with that, but as the essay reminds us, we need to laugh and dream once in a while. Or for a much more recent quote, Neil Gaiman's reason for sponsoring the Philippine Graphic and Fiction awards had said that the Philippines had a strong literary streak, but in realism and not in unrealism.
Streching it a bit further, how many of us have been told to get real and pursue careers that would earn us real money in th so-called real world? A lot, probably, like those who take up nursing for the promise of working abroad, or the English majors that have been told their only future job will be underpaid and overworked teachers.
In getting real, the figurative--the dream--died.
Besides, who wants a longer word just for Light when you're just going to ask somebody to turn it on anyway? After all, we Filipinos have a sometimes tragic penchant for getting everything quick--from sari-sari and convenience stores to getting rich quick schemes like lotto, jueteng, and pyramid scams.
With all the realism, Ilaw arose, Liwanag confined to the dusty shelves of libraries. To survive, Liwanag is now the adjective, not entirely necessary (after all the most basic sentences are just nouns and verbs). It is in that adjective maliwanag, seen in the everyday speech, that the figurative lives on; as in figurative speech is used to describe and flatter, so is the adjective.
And maybe like the adjective, we and our dreams may survive, only albeit with a little compromise and a little change along the way.
The opponent of the Dark, the Good, the opposite. It is hard to think of light--or appreciate it--without the looming, oft described as repressive, Dark. Yet for all it stood for, in English there is only one word used, whether figuratively or literally--only Light, electric or not.
Ilaw/Liwanag.
Yet here in Filipino we have two words we associate with Light--Ilaw, commonly used as the literal light ("Paki-buksan naman yung ilaw") and Liwanag, more used in the figurative sense and ad campaigns ("Liwanag sa Dilim"; "May Liwanag ang Buhay"). The choice of translation, of course, changes with the context. One does not say "Paki-buksan naman yung liwanag"--one sticks with Ilaw, the real, visible one; using Liwanag sounds so wrong and out of place. Ilaw is also easier to spell and pronounce--perfect for everyday conversation.
Which leads me to think on how the Filipino thinks in relation to what is real (the material/literal), and what is not (the figurative). There has been a need to put a dividing line between what is real and what is not, between the literal and the figurative.
Probably because sometimes, we are often encouraged to "get real".
To paraphrase Virgilio Almario in "Pilipinas ang Ating Haraya", we have forgotten how to dream, our literature always dwelling on the struggles of our people. Nothing wrong with that, but as the essay reminds us, we need to laugh and dream once in a while. Or for a much more recent quote, Neil Gaiman's reason for sponsoring the Philippine Graphic and Fiction awards had said that the Philippines had a strong literary streak, but in realism and not in unrealism.
Streching it a bit further, how many of us have been told to get real and pursue careers that would earn us real money in th so-called real world? A lot, probably, like those who take up nursing for the promise of working abroad, or the English majors that have been told their only future job will be underpaid and overworked teachers.
In getting real, the figurative--the dream--died.
Besides, who wants a longer word just for Light when you're just going to ask somebody to turn it on anyway? After all, we Filipinos have a sometimes tragic penchant for getting everything quick--from sari-sari and convenience stores to getting rich quick schemes like lotto, jueteng, and pyramid scams.
With all the realism, Ilaw arose, Liwanag confined to the dusty shelves of libraries. To survive, Liwanag is now the adjective, not entirely necessary (after all the most basic sentences are just nouns and verbs). It is in that adjective maliwanag, seen in the everyday speech, that the figurative lives on; as in figurative speech is used to describe and flatter, so is the adjective.
And maybe like the adjective, we and our dreams may survive, only albeit with a little compromise and a little change along the way.
9.12.07
hills, rolling boulders, and fire
So many things to talk about, and so many things I've rediscovered the past few weeks (or more like the time gaps between the posts).
I've rediscovered poetry, having read a couple of poems from the 1980 Palanca Anthology last lazy Friday while waiting for Mom to pick me up at Bestsellers in Galleria. Yesterday I went back and bought it--at 250php it's a bargain for some of the gems of Philippine Lit.
The newsprint pages hid the words of the poets, the fragmented moments they captured through words and contained through verses.
I've again questioned the existence of everything--most particularly of divinity and the established truths of blind faith. After all, would it matter if the image on the Shroud was the Messiah or the thief on his right? The findings presented during the Turin exhibit were at most inconclusive. Plus it doesn't matter if really was the shroud of the Messiah or a prophet or a thief--people would still go on living the way they do after that moment of shock and surprise.
Even the most absurd of all follies would seem of the most impeccable of reason with blind faith.
I've realized, too, that being a demi-god--or a ruler or a leader or whatever you may wish to call it--becomes monotonous and tiring after a while. It's just like Sisyphus pushing a rock up a hill; or Prometheus, the fire, and his liver being eaten by those birds.
I am already burned out by the fire that I held; and I let the boulder fall not intending to pick it up sometime near the future.
I return to the pages of poetry, and the muse--from this drudgery and through these words-- save me.
I've rediscovered poetry, having read a couple of poems from the 1980 Palanca Anthology last lazy Friday while waiting for Mom to pick me up at Bestsellers in Galleria. Yesterday I went back and bought it--at 250php it's a bargain for some of the gems of Philippine Lit.
The newsprint pages hid the words of the poets, the fragmented moments they captured through words and contained through verses.
I've again questioned the existence of everything--most particularly of divinity and the established truths of blind faith. After all, would it matter if the image on the Shroud was the Messiah or the thief on his right? The findings presented during the Turin exhibit were at most inconclusive. Plus it doesn't matter if really was the shroud of the Messiah or a prophet or a thief--people would still go on living the way they do after that moment of shock and surprise.
Even the most absurd of all follies would seem of the most impeccable of reason with blind faith.
I've realized, too, that being a demi-god--or a ruler or a leader or whatever you may wish to call it--becomes monotonous and tiring after a while. It's just like Sisyphus pushing a rock up a hill; or Prometheus, the fire, and his liver being eaten by those birds.
I am already burned out by the fire that I held; and I let the boulder fall not intending to pick it up sometime near the future.
I return to the pages of poetry, and the muse--from this drudgery and through these words-- save me.
nightlights
Written in a traffic jam on 20:38, 12.07; somewhere along EDSA, between Magallanes and Makati.
The night sky
looks down on me,
devoid.
Only these faux stars
of these fifteen minutes
pretend to return my gaze,
as I amble along this labyrinth of
concrete, asphalt and steel.
They
the same ones
who ate the real occupants
of the sky,
claiming it for their own.
The night sky
looks down on me,
devoid.
Only these faux stars
of these fifteen minutes
pretend to return my gaze,
as I amble along this labyrinth of
concrete, asphalt and steel.
They
the same ones
who ate the real occupants
of the sky,
claiming it for their own.
2.12.07
two-hundred and fifty
"...at least 250 words."
And what would I say that would account for more than two-hundred and fifty words?
Maybe I could help weave dreams, specially the dreams of children that grown-ups would usually dismiss as just mere fantasies; fluff. I wish to teach them to dream as well—or for those who have forgotten, the art of dreaming—like the way many that have gone ahead of me did, through their works and tomes.
I would tell my story—and that of a thousand others, whose voices couldn't be heard because of the incessant babble by the so-called high-and-mighty. I would lend my words to the speechless, I will be their voice.
After all, I am a writer; there is no writer that speaks alone, and only for his/her own thoughts. Every writer was, is, and will be influenced by others; and every work will cause a change in someone’s life, no matter how minute. As that saying goes, “No man is an island”—same with writing; no work is devoid of any influence from other works or real-life experiences with other people.
Like the best advice that I ever received from a writer:
“Sumulat Magbasa Sumulat Mabuhay Sumulat.”
Write, read, write, live, write.
Then again, I always could write about him. Yet even if I wrote a million essays about him, it still wouldn't be enough to explain why I love him; he whose words matter most to me, he who helped me to smile and live again.
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