Two Words in Our Time

Recently, I have observed two words that have entered our modern lexicon, both of which merit some discussion and perhaps, appreciation.

Consider the first one: selfie. Announced by Time Magazine as one of the top 10 buzzwords for 2012, “selfie” refers to any self-portrait photograph—taken by the subject himself or herself with the use of a modern technology gadget like a cellular phone, tablet, or just about any portable camera; and later uploaded on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, or any other social networking site.

Writing for the BBC news magazine online, Charissa Coulthard says that, owing to the fact that this type of photos has been flooding social media sites in recent months, “selfie” has become commonplace enough to be monitored for inclusion in the online version of the Oxford English Dictionary. Coulthard reports that a search on Instagram retrieves over 23 million photos uploaded with the hashtag #selfie, and a whopping 51 million with the hashtag #me.”

Further, one selfie alone posted by one of my FB friends as her Profile Picture elicited some 90 Like!s from all her friends from across the world. What can be more amazing than that?

But among others, selfie serves some purpose. Upon the very act of posting one’s own picture online, the subject flings himself or herself open to public examination. Because the self becomes the subject of public scrutiny, judging from the likes and comments that the post elicits or draws out from other Internet users, he or she can be made aware of their own charm, or the lack of it.

And if one selfie elicits many reactions, with some of them even citing certain aspects of the photo or features of the subject, the whole exercise can guide the person which of their characteristics can be considered desirable—and which cannot.

The concept of selfie then rises beyond vanity, or some penchant to take pride in and parade one’s own beauty. In a sense, the selfie is able to relay back to the subjects not only how they look good to others but how else they can look better.

The entire online exercise—from choosing which picture to post to enhancing them using software applications to actually posting it to eliciting reactions from others—allows for self-examination and even introspection.

Then, there is the other word—“Bombo” or “bombo,” functioning both as noun and verb—which I suppose has already been a household name long time ago.

In the provinces and cities across the country, the Bombo Radyo by the Florete Group of Companies from Iloilo has permeated the public consciousness owing to the presence of their radio stations across some 20 major provinces in the archipelago.

Through the years, Bombo Radyo has staged commentators and announcers for their news and public affairs department who have criticized on air practically almost everyone whom they consider misbehaving, errant or corrupt both in private and public spheres.

Virtually, the Bombo programs have gained notoriety even as its literal drum noise barrages on air—indeed, in order to parade its subject’s misdemeanors for everyone to hear. While it has gained the ire of its subjects, through time, the commentary culture it has fostered has also helped create a Filipino audience critical of social issues.

So commonly nowadays you would hear how one public figure or even an entirely anonymous person literally “figured in public” because “na-Bombo siya,” meaning—his or her name was mentioned in the Bombo Radyo commentary program), which also means he or she figured in some scam, scandal or anomaly.

During Bombo Hanay or similar commentary  programs, the commentator host raises a particular issue that primarily concerns the public, presents the allegedly errant personalities or officials and then, basing on reports of malfeasance, strips them bare to the bone.

Their accuracy or observance of media ethics notwithstanding, these and the counterpart commentaries in other radio networks keep the public officials and other social leaders in check even as they do not only examine the issue but also more than scrutinize the behavior of the personalities involved.

It is always best to attack the issue as the case in point. At times, however, the verbal criticisms on the radio become vitriol, cannot help but do so “below the belt,” because the host can hardly separate the issue from the personality involved.

As such, the word Bombo performs a function similar to the one delivered by selfie. Through this, Bombo keeps its subjects in check and makes them aware of themselves. And by doing so, the media involved is virtually holding up the mirror of the community to its own constituents to make them see the ills of their own society. Such has always been the mandate of the fourth estate.

In this sense, both “selfie” and “Bombo” subject the personalities or persons to be judged per se; and both forms of criticism create avenues to critique the self, and how it can do better or be better.

While this parallelism may appear new, the thing about self-criticism is not new all. Not surprisingly, such concepts elicited by both words had already been pondered ages and eons ago, particularly by the Greek Socrates,  who said: “The unexamined life is not worth living,” or something to that effect. Trite but true; so trite but so true.

Mayon Unlimited

Certain dimensions are altered

by chance height or

deliberate distance.

On this slope at 25 hundred feet

rivers and roads,

hills and houses

Shrink. Even the sea is changed,

becomes a kitchen plate of blue—

so empty, so new.

And this proud breast-mountain

turns into a fulcrum

for the universe—

Brings us to the company of stars:

beyond its graveled

bouldered peak,

We hear the arguments of suns,

the briefs of planets,

judgments of galaxies.

We hear the relevance of men questioned:

our politics and terrors,

our many gods and treasures

into awesome absurdities reduced.

"The View from Mt. Mayon"

by Luis Cabalquinto

The Literary Apprentice 47:2, November 1974, 74.

Aftertastes

Some years ago, I came to Iloilo for a number of reasons. Yet, none of them is the fact that I would have to enjoy, among others, the food in this part of our country.

The Ilonggo are food-loving people, which is not very much different from the culture of the people in Bicol where I grew up. Through the years, I must say I have come to love Iloilo food. In fact, my palate has not craved for more, probably because some Ilonggo dishes only remind me of those I have also tasted savored & relished back home.

Bakareta
I first ate bakareta in 2005, when a fellow high school teacher suggested after our morning classes that we order it for our lunch from a lutong bahay in Magsaysay Village in La Paz. I found it was not different from our very own inadobong baka. After all, bakareta is the combined form of baka and kaldereta, both terms and dishes we also have in Bicol.

I always enjoy bakareta’s tender beef and gravy, which I suppose should not be too much. One day, when my father-in-law put just pepper into the tenderest beef he must have bought from Super (Iloilo’s largest public market), I could only utter ohhs ahhs & mouthfuls of praises. Holy cow. The treat was unforgettable.

Laswa

Around the same year, I was introduced to láswa (soft a in the second syllable), a sticky hodgepodge of okra, kalabasa, beans and some leafy vegetables like saluyot or (if budget permits, pasayan or shrimps and dayok, or small shrimps). While the viscous dish is because of the okra, I relish the soft squash and the nutritious tastelessness of the leaves that this dish offers. 


Every time I eat laswa, I think of my liver my heart & my lungs being able to breathe rejuvenate & renew after I have eaten tons of peanuts or indulged in lechon or fastfoodstuff (Stuff is the right word for all fast food since they just stuff you with salt sugar & spice and other hardly soluble ingredients). I am grateful with laswa because I become aware how the leaves roots & fiber would help absorb douse or wash down the oil salt & sweets accumulated in my system.

For the supply of greens, Bikolanos would put ugbos kamote (young camote leaves), okra, or other tender leafy vegetables over the simmering rice. Or we cook them in other ways. While Bikolanos have no laswa, with its exact ingredients and cooking procedure, we enjoy kettlefuls of vegetables which are best cooked with small fish or smaller chunks of meat in ohhsome coconut milk (gutâ) or else. Besides the regular sili or labuyo, I wonder where else we would get the gusto for everything without the gutâ?

Paksiw

In the 1980s, my mother would ask me to buy paksiw from Tiya Deling who owned a nearby carinderia. A classic bestseller in those days, the Bikol paksiw is virtually sinigang na baboy with lubás leaves that flavor and douse off the porky smell of the pork. But one day in Iloilo, I was surprised when a friend ordered paksiw and was given some small fish onioned peppered & soaked in langgaw, their homemade vinegar. There, I found out that Iloilo’s paksiw is Bicol’sinón-on, where ginger or garlic is used to douse the fishy smell of the fish. I sip inon-on’s gravy that is langgaw that comes in any paksiw treat as long as it is not onioned. We hardly used onions for inon-on (these two words are almost anagrams); otherwise, it would really smell different. Or inonions.

In Bicol, ginger or lâya best douses the smell of any fish, except perhaps pági or patíng, with which bigger aromatic leaves like lubas (libas) or ibâ (kamias) are cooked. Whenever I am treated to paksiw or whenever I cook inón-on myself, I make sure there is more vinegar. If not, I set aside something from the dish which I could fry later. Sure, once I cook it in little oil, the small fish soaked cooked & intimated in langgaw would become crunchy mouthfuls of stories to tell.

Poe3

An Magayon Na Tibaad Mangyari Satong Duwa Susog Sa Librong Binabasa Ko Dies Minutos Bago Ako Magsaka Sa Bus Pauling Naga Tanganing Mahiling Ta Ka Giraray

Susog sa Transparent Self.
Ni Sidney M. Jourard. New York, 1971, 52–53.

Namomotan ta ka. Anong ma’wot silingon sini? Ma’wot kong buhay ka para sakuya sagkod ma’wot kong buhay ka para sa sadiri mo. Ma’wot  kong buhay ka. Ma’wot kong yaon buhay ka susog sa paging ma’wot mo. Ma’wot kong yaon ka na mayong nag-uulang saimo.

Mantang ibinibiklad mo sako an sadiri mo, sa tubang ko, minayaman an buhay ko. Nagiging mas buhay ako. Namamatian ko an sadiri ko na yaon sa mga bulutangon na pinapapangyari mo; nagkakaigwa nin saysay kag kahulugan an buhay ko.

Saro kang palaisipan na ma’wot kong maliwanagan. Alagad dai ta ka mapagibo nin ano pa man. Maaagda ko sana man asin mabibiklad mo sako an palaisipan ini. Ma’wot kong mamidbidan ta ka, namomo’tan ko. Ta nganing mamidbidan ta ka, kaipuhan mong magpahiling. Magpamate. Magparamdam.

Ta nganing mabiklad mo sako an palaisipan na, kaipuhan na magtiwala ka sako na igagalang ko ‘ni, o an mga ini. O maoogma ako sa mga ini. Magin ini amo an pagdata kan hawak mo sa lawas ko, bagay na dai ko pwedeng masabutan kun dae pa nangyayari. Magin ini iyo man an saimong ginapanumdom, iniimahenar, pinagpaplano, o namamati.

Ngaa mapamidbid ka kan sadiri mo sako kun dai ko man muya, okun ma’wot ko sana man gamiton ta ka sa mga obhetong dai ko ginasiling saimo? Mamimidbidan mo ko, an nagahambal na namomoot saimo.

Kun mimidbidon mo ko, kaipuhan kong magpabisto. Kaipuhan ipabisto ko saimo an sadiri ko, an pagkatawo ko, sa pakikipag-ulay, ta nganing magkamidbidan kitang dungan. Mantang pinapabisto mo sako an pagkatawo mo, nagkakaigwa ako nin ideya manongod saimo, na pag-uban-uban maagi sana, huli ta sa amo nga tiempo, daw naga-ilis ka na. Kun makikipag-ulay giraray ako saimo, an nagligad nga ideya ko bako nang matuod, kaya kaipuhan ko na ataduhon giraray idto, dangan pauro-utro.

Kun ika nagatalubo, na mayo nin ano man na kaulangan o nag-uulang saimo, makikibot na sana ako. Paparibongon mo an ulo ko, dangan baad mayad man sako.

Kun namomotan man nanggad ta ka, namomotan ko an mga ginigibo mo, huli ta sinda gikan saimo. Pwede man na tabangan ta ka kun muya mo. O pabayaan ta kang gibuhon mo sana ni nin solo, kun ini makahulugan saimo. Igagalang ko an mga kama’wotan mo sa mga butang na amo ni.

Kun namomo’tan ko an sadiri ko, namomo’tan ko an mga gibo ko, huli ta sinda buhay ko. Kun namomo’tan mo ko, tugot ka sa mga ginaobra ko; tinatabangan mo kong maobra sinda, dawa an boot silingon sini ako sana an magibo. Kun gibohon mo na pugulan mo ko, dai ka namomoot sako. Kun pugulan ta ka, dai ko namomoot saimo. Mayo nin kaipuhan mag-ulang saimo, sagkod tinataw’an ko nin saysay an saimong libertad. Mayo man nin mag-uulang sako, asin tinataw’an ko nin saysay an sadiri kong libertad.

Ako sarong lawas. Ako yaon sa lawas. Siring man ika. Ma’wot kong yaon ako, igwang lawas. Muya ko an lawas mo, an pagigi mong lawas. Kun dai ko muya an atado mo, o pagkaatado mo, hahambalan ta ka. Ta an pagkamoot niyato, katotoohan.

Saro akong sexual na linalang. Siring man ika. Kitang duwa naobra nin sarong bagay na masiram, magayon kag marhay para sa aton nga duwa. Inaagda mo kong mamidbid ta ka sa paagi kan lawas ko; inaagda ta kang mamidbidan mo ko sa paagi kan lawas ko. Sama’ kita sa masisiram kag manana’gum na puwedeng tang ipapangyari, sa kasiraman, sa kana’guman.

Kun muya mo ko tapos dai ta ka gusto, dai ko pwedeng magbalu’bagi. Nagsasabi sana kan totoo an lawas ko. Dai ta ka makukua kun dai mo itatao sako an sadiri mo. Dai man puwedeng maghambog an lawas mo.

Kun mahihiling dangan madadangog ta ka, orog na mamimidbidan ta ka kaysa kun mahihiling ta ka sana. Alagad kun kaputan ta ka, parungon ta ka, namitan ta ka, mas orog ta kang mamimidbid. Alagad dai ka matugot na gibohon yan saimo kun mayo kang tiwala sako, kun habo mong mabisto ta ka man nanggad.

Sinurublian sa Hiligaynon

Magsaka, magsakay, magsakat

Silingon, sabihon

Sini, kaini

Kag, sagkod, asin

Amo, iyo

Ginapanumdom, iniisip

Ngaa, ta’no, nata’

Okun, o

Ginasiling, sinasabi

Daw, garo

Naga-ilis, minahira, minasangli

Nagahambal, nagsasabi

Sa amo nga tiempo, sa oras na’yan,

Nagligad, nakaagi

Nga, na

Matuod, tama, sakto

Makikibot, mabibigla

Ulo, payo

Mayad, marhay

Butang, bagay

Hahambalan, sasabihan

Naobra, (mi)nagibo

Aton, satuya

Copyright 1998–2011

Carbon Dating

I first saw Lolita Carbon and her band perform at the Bahay ng Alumni in UP Diliman in 1999. There they rendered a few numbers in a concert for a cause along with True Faith, Parokya ni Edgar and Eraserheads. 

And on this one fine evening, in Poblacion Mambusao, Capiz, she opened the night with “Masdan Mo Ang Kapaligiran,” a rather slow tune to start the ball rolling. After singing the piece, she said everyone must have known the song. True, it reminded me of my childhood. The piece was widely played on the radio when I was a grade-schooler. And it has never been as relevant as today—as perhaps countless climate change activities would make use of the anthem in all efforts toregain Mother Nature.

After the first two songs, she asked if the audience was still there. The audience was shockingly quiet, as in composed. The space inside the Villareal Cultural Center bordered serenity. Perhaps the Mambusaonons only liked to listen, I thought.  The performer casually talked as she tried to engage the audience who hardly reacted. With a few applauses here and there, Lolita Carbon perhaps leveled off to her audience. Yet, it must have come effortlessly as her repertoire of songs consisted more of anthems of the soul, not the outbursts of a drug addict.

I supposed Lolita found it hard to have rapport with the audience, who perhaps expected a rather solemn repertoire. We, the crowd, were made to sit on Monobloc chairs—as in a graduation rites or a political rally, which is a rather awkward arrangement for a concert that you could possibly head-bang on. Well, what can you do? The concert was for a cause.

The audiences were old folks, perhaps religious men and women and their families who came in droves to support the fundraising. I came to the concert with Jennylen Laña, my teacher friend. Jenny joined me the entire evening.

I found myself singing along with Lolita Carbon, much to Jenny’s delight and awe. She was surprised that I know the lyrics of most of the songs by heart—some words across the lines I could barely recall. Having listened to Asin through the years, I told her some of their songs even became my anthems.

Lolita Carbon wrote and sang the songs from her heart—she sang “Magulang” and “Itanong Mo sa Mga Bata” to probably inject some morale into the audience. “Usok” reminded me of the nights many, many years ago when I would seek refuge from the tedium of city work. I remembered how the karaoke nights along Visayas Avenue just made me go on. That was before. That was before.

Have you ever roused someone from sleep, she asked. Perhaps the most difficult person to wake is someone who is wide awake—nagtutulug-tulugan lang. Lolita then sang, “Gising Na, Kaibigan Ko” which made me sing with her all throughout—“Nakita mo na ba ang mga bagay na dapat mong nakita? /Nagawa mo na ba ang mga bagay na dapat mong ginawa? /Kalagan ang tali sa paa; imulat na ang iyong mga mata; /Kaysarap ng buhay lalo na’t alam mo kung saan papunta.”

The song did not need Lolita Carbon’s conversation or explanation; her incantations were enough to make someone reflect. It also reminded me of the recent Nescafe TV ad—which asks, “Para kanino ka gumigising?” A purposeful life is worth living, it said.

Later in the night, Lolita related that many, many years ago, she wrote “Tuldok” with Cesar “Saro” Bañares, Jr. “Tuldok” said everyone has to be humble because compared to the whole universe, we are infinitesimal. Some years ago I learned how Bañares was knifed to death in a bar brawl somewhere in Mindanao. No amount of stardom can make someone supernova, indeed.

Towards the end of the evening, Lolita featured a song “Pagbabalik,” which she said won for her a music award back in the late 70s. Immediately, the song made me recall Ninoy Aquino’s plight when he was exiled to the United States—“Bayan ko, nahan ka?/Ako ngayo’y nag-iisa/Nais kong magbalik/Saiyo, bayan ko/Patawarin mo ako/Kung ako’y nagkamali/Sa landas na aking tinahak.”

Having read much of the national hero’s life and works, I could picture Ninoy’s famous last TV footage before he was gunned down in tarmac in 1983. I felt alive that I just do not exist—having these recollections and the ability to remember something significant beyond myself, I thought I proudly belong to history.

Some indistinct voices at the back requested for more numbers from the band. That’s why the last number was rendered with the sponsor priest. But soon after that, the night was over.

The concert wrapped up with Lolita Carbon singing with the sponsor priest, Fr. Banias, who sang “Dahil Sa’yo/Because of You” with the rock star. The last piece was more of a prayer, as it was sung with a priest. I heard my voice singing to God. “Dahil sa’yo, nais kong mabuhay/Dahil sa’yo, handang mamatay.” When the priest sang with the rock star, the melody, the harmony created went up the air as in “Usok,” in utter prayerful fashion.

It was too early to finish the concert. Yet, the husky voice of Lolita Carbon [when she said thank you and good night] told me two things. One, the Mambusaonons could have jammed with her the whole night long if they wanted to—her singing voice could simply relax anyone’s nerves. Her chords and her band’s drums and percussion will surely make one grab the next Red Horse bottle, and he could simply start to want to talk about something worthwhile.

Or, was it now the best time to end? The audience barely reacted to her. And the solemn concert arrangement disabled any wild audience to break out to head bang or something. Perhaps because the songs were just enough to make the audience recall. To make them recall is enough to make them quiet and spend their own spaces throughout the evening.

It was as if the audience came from an opera. Everyone was quiet and composed as the time they went in. All throughout the concert, Lolita engaged the audience, and made them sing with her and her band. The songs and their themes, I suppose, were more moral than musical, spiritual than synthetic. It was one of the most serious concert audiences I have been with.

“Kung tunay man ako ay alipinin mo/Ang lahat sa buhay ko’y dahil sa’yo.” I thought Lolita Carbon’s voice rose not only from her diaphragm but from her soul. I also thought perhaps if my soul has a voice, it would be hers. I thought I could tell her that.  I told Jenny I would want to meet the rock star at the backstage. I realized that I was one of her biggest fans. I wanted to talk to her. I asked one of the organizers if they sold CDs or stuff. There was none, I was told. It was simply a concert for a cause, I thought. 

Two weeks ago, Mrs. Erna Ticar, my fellow employee who works for the church, handed me the ticket labeled “Biyaheng Langit: Lolita Carbon of Asin and her Band in Concert.” The five hundred-peso ticket came with the privilege to donate for the reroofing of the church of St Catherine of Alexandria parish of Mambusao, Capiz.

Proceeds of the event will go to the renovation of the house of worship of the Mambusaonons, I thought. Or the ticket must have meant—perhaps Bro wants me to take things easy in my new work environment—and is probably telling me to relax and slow down. Really slow things down. I was right on both.

I thought that Lolita Carbon just sang it right, “Kaya wala kang dapat na ipagmayabang/Na ikaw ay mautak at maraming alam/Pagkat kung susuriin at ating isipin/Katulad ng lahat, ikaw ay tuldok rin.”

When Jenny and I stepped out from the crowd, it was still evening.

*For more information on how to donate for the St Catherine of Alexandria Parish, you can visit http://sanctacatalina.blogspot.com.

Into each life, some song

Songs for Humanity, Songs of Ourselves II

Some three

Jose Garcia Villa

We first meet him as the author of “The Coconut Poem,” a lyric brimming and overflowing with coconut milk and sexual juices whose testosterone-loaded innuendoes caused him his expulsion from the University of the Philippines. Enough said.

But what else could you make of JGV?  Never contented with the commonplaceness of the literary environment he was in, the self-proclaimed Doveglion [dove eagle lion] Jose Garcia Villa literally rose among the ranks of writers to his own ivory tower.

An arrogant literary critic who scathed other writers’ works more than cared for them, JGV gained the ire of other promising sensibilities, perhaps primarily Angela Manalang Gloria whose poetic works he greatly berated. No one cared for his poetry which others had declared no more than intellectual masturbations that made only him orgasmic [and him alone].

But when he started making sense to other people with his comma poetry and philosophy, no one bothered him in his ivory tower. Up there, the self-proclaimed prophet of poetry could have never been more alone.

Henry David Thoreau

When Henry David Thoreau wrote that he is perhaps most anxious when he is in the throngs of people, he did not really complain of agoraphobia nor did he publicly declare that he admires some of them in private. He merely harped on how man can attain wholeness through self-possession.

Living with Ralph Waldo Emerson could not have made him more social—only antisocial. A religious minister who himself fell out from the fold, Emerson’s influence on the young Thoreau helped create the masterpiece titled Walden, an insightful individualistic journal that highlighted how man can go back to his primal nature and still survive civilization.

But Thoreau’s Walden campout is not just an NSTP immersion; it is a return to man's spiritual nature in which  he can rethink his purpose not really by living alone away from the noise or far from the madding crowd—but by practicing simplicity which is man’s true nature.

Emily Dickinson

American recluse Emily Dickinson is one interesting soul who selected her own society, choosing few for many and simplicity for ornament. With her hyphenated—and her Caps and Lowercase intimations about flowers and things, life and death, morbidity and turgidity, she stood out through history as another genius of the language.

Emily Dickinson’s life seemed no more than that of Eleanor Rigby in Paul McCartney’s song—“Aaaaa look at all the lonely people”—and if she were alive today, she would have preferred less than 10 friends on her Facebook account. She would not really refuse a means of networking like FB or even multiply, as she sought to bond and correspond with people following too many deaths in her family.

But would you ever forgive Dickinson for being so selfish she relished her own poetry by herself? Her poetry was made so private by her that her genius was only discovered up on a roof after her death.

Villa, Dickinson and Thoreau must have attended only one school—the University of Solitary where the major graduate paper was an Individual vs. Society thesis. By insisting on individuality in their rhetoric and poetry, consciously or otherwise they defied an existing social order that rather imposed conformity monotony lethargy. All three graduated with highest honors.