‘Don’t English Me, I’m Panic’

Iníng mga nagpaparapansúpog o nan-iinsúlto sa mga tarataong mag-irEnglish—na ngonyan inaapod sa social mediang “English shaming”, “smart-shaming”, o kabáli na sa mas dakúlang terminong ‘anti-intellectualism’—daí man daw sinda an enot na pinasurúpog kan mga aki pas'na?

Tibaad kadto, sinda nag-iskusar man na mag-inEnglish sa klase ninda sa elementarya o dawà gayod sa sekondarya. Alagad kawásà si maestro o si maestra—in vez na si potential na makanuod nin tamà—mas nahíling, pigparatuyaw dangan pigparadudúan si mga salà ninda. Kayà nagin self-fulfilling prophecy logod ini sa mga buhay ninda. Dai na sinda naka-“move on” sa trauma.

Kayà pag-agi kan panahon, poon kadto pag-abot sa high school, college asta ngonyan na gurúrang na sa trabaho ninda—sa pabrika magin sa opisina—  “sourgraping” na s’na an gibo ninda.

Kawásà dai matukdol kan layas na ayam si nagkakaralay alagad haralangkawon na úbas, sinabi na saná kaining maaalsóm sinda. Kawásà súboót dai niya na maipadágos o mapaáyo an kakayahán sa English—dawa ngáni pwede niya man pag-adalán saná ini—sinasabi niya na sana sa katrabahong Inglesero o Inglesera, “Uy, spokening dollar’!” 

“Ano na 'yan—haypalúting ka baga!”

Nakanood ka sanang mag-English, very another ka na.

Abaana.

Mayo man naginibo idtong balisngág na English policy sa klase kaidtong mga 1980s—ásta ngonyan igwá pa—na mabáyad ka sa class treasurer kun mádakop daáng nagtatarám nin Bikol sa laog kan classroom.

Kun mádangog na dai nag-Eenglish, matao nin fine; kun dai man madakop, marhay sana. Kayà si iba ta nganing dai magbáyad, nagparáhiringhingan na s’na. Dai pigparápadángog si totóong dílà ninda. Ginibong aswang si sadiring tataramon ninda. Tiniklop sa cartolina. Iniripit, Alagad nag-uruldot si iba. Itinágo sa paldá. Linuom. Nagmayòmò. Pagsangáw, maparàton na. Si English, iyo na ngonyan si kontrabida. 

Kan sinisingil na kan tesorerang si Malyn si Pablo ta mga dies pesos na daá an babayádan niya, simbág saiya kan taga-Bigáas na matibáyon magbasábas, “Recess baga ko ka’to nagtarám—hay’paluting ka! Dai mo daw ‘ko. Don't me!”

Knowledge Production before the Age of Internet

In the 1990s, I attended high school and college classes where we would be periodically asked to “research” on some of the topics covered in the syllabi. This was before the age of Google and Wikipedia. 

Based on project-based learning, our subjects covered topics that would now and then require us to research from knowledge coming from the local community—interviews with the local people and yes, folk wisdom and social history.

In other words, not all the things we tackled in class come from the top-down knowledge flow led by the teacher. This was because these teachers—primarily those in the social sciences—did not rely on the textbook. In more senses, I have been a participant and witness to the rather lateral knowledge flow in the classroom. 

When classmates reported on legends culled from the local folks; or when we submitted interviews with overseas Filipino workers on economic diaspora; or when we asked our parents to become parts of answering questions related to family, we were being active components of the knowledge production. 

Once in our junior high school Practical Arts class which covered “Retail Merchandising”, I was asked to profile our local electric cooperative two rides away from our school campus. So I spent several afternoons rummaging through their archives and learning the dynamics of power distribution, and losses owing to jumpers and all other forms of pilferage, etc. 

I was fortunate to learn about the power supply in the process. It was participatory learning galore. 

For that project alone, I could say, I was not only assessed by my teacher but also appraised for efforts that rendered my output originality and authenticity inasmuch as it had come from the invaluable knowledge supplied by our local community.

Writing: Then and Now

In the 1990s, I would write letters to family and friends on paper and send them through the post office. But in the 2000s, when the internet and cellphones became the norm, I began texting and e-mailing them. 

Back then, I would crumple papers to rewrite my letters from the very beginning because of my erasures—I wanted them to be neatly written. I also once tried typing my letters and signed them with my name in the end but it was laborious. 

But using the keyboard or keypad now, I am amazed how I can articulate my expression with precision. I can delete wrong words if I need to or just want to. I can also compose my sentences more neatly than before because of the “Delete” function of any computer or mobile phone. 

Any gadget’s “Delete” function has gotten rid of the scratch papers I would have otherwise needed so I could rewrite my words and sentences and finish a clearer letter or article. 

When I thought of changing a word I just wrote, I crossed them out—but since I knew I didn’t have the luxury of paper, I would first carefully think of the right word to use before I wrote them. 

Meanwhile, the word processing machine—I mean, the computer—has given me more options. With it, I could now write more freely—or more aptly, faster—I can now type whatever comes to mind because I know that I can delete and edit these words anytime later if I need to.

When I began using computers in writing, I was also amazed how my spelling can be corrected by the machine. The Spell-check feature of the computer informed me of more words than I knew. I also became aware of which better words to use using the Shift F7 or to get alternative words I can use for what I wrote. I used to do previously by referring to a thesaurus. 

The formatting feature of these gadgets also adds to the clarity—and beauty—of my expression. As an image, for example, a carefully chosen font can add to the tone of my message.

With the personal computer, laptop or Smartphone nowadays—writing for me has leveled up dramatically. I became more efficient in writing letters and sending messages. Now I could write better than I did before.

I have also been blogging since the 2000s. In blogging a post, from then until now, I have posted my articles, but also have them rewritten later. 

Sometimes, when someone reacts to my post on social media, they virtually become my “reviewers” if not co-authors—pointing out a typographical error in one or correcting my words or facts in another. When this happens, I promptly correct such and other errors so that my writing would be clearer and better to them. I even revise the piece altogether based on any comments of the readers online. 

Furthermore, the “Edit” feature online does not only help me correct a written blog—it also allows me to add more ideas that enriches the original article. 

In sum, the more open writing space afforded by the social media and internet allows my ideas to be expressed freely—with the added incentive of being corrected and even enriched by those who read my articles. 

Finally now, in posting this article, the Grammarly app installed as extension on my browser suggested to me the tone of my own article, saying that it sounds not only formal and confident but also optimistic. 

It also asked me whether these said adjectives are just right; and I just clicked on the three checks to agree!

Privileges of Learning

When I started school, teachers and textbooks were the sources of learning. At times, my parents, too, were my teachers. As a pupil, I virtually did what I was told—and as I was told. I read my books and came to know things and learned from the teacher.

In high school, I probably did the same thing because of the rules we had to follow but I enjoyed it especially how our teachers made us engage with lessons.

Within the halls of Ateneo, my senior year in high school was particularly memorable. Toward the end of the year, we were required by our English teacher to dig deep into the life of one prominent person in history from A to Z. Assigned to the letter “F”, I made a shortlist which included Michael Faraday, Robert Frost and Sigmund Freud. Eventually, I chose Freud.

Up until the 1990s, I had to browse books and scour card catalogs from the library to make that paper. These were no days of Wikipedia—my classmates and I had to source out the lives of these famous people from tomes of books in Amelita’s Verroza’s kingdom called Periodicals Section of the old high school library on the ground floor of the Burns Hall.

Some of us even had to invade Ms. Esper Poloyapoy’s and Aida Levasty’s College Circulation across the hall in the Burns Hall. There in the College Library was where I found the juicier Freud—in the definitive biography by his bosom friend, Ernest Jones. Encyclopedia Britannica, World Book, Encyclopedia Americana, all encyclopedias and primary sources—these were the heyday of index cards filed in that brown box—title, author and subject cards. I did not know why but why of all these cards, it’s the subject card that looked the most beautiful of them all. And from that class, some fifty personalities were featured enough to collect in a compendium of sorts. That project I think was legendary.

 Does this mean that the approach used by my high school teacher border on the reflexive? Was it evident in the way I was given a choice by my English teacher to work on something and I personally chose Sigmund Freud? Did this, too, mean I practically helped design my own learning? If it were so, then I would have more of these eventually in college when almost all projects for the courses I enrolled in allowed us to produce the output of our own preferences.

After our high school graduation, my classmates went to enroll in universities while I stayed in the same school. At the time, studying in a bigger school in Manila— the country’s capital—was a status symbol.

For any youth at the time, there was nothing cooler than that. It did not only mean pursuing courses that suited your taste; it also promised an idyllic academic environment we’d see in the university brochures. It probably also meant “more knowledge”—even as these universities would place prominently in the world rankings, and so on. So did it mean having better chances to succeed in life? Yes.

In college, meanwhile, some of my course papers and essays were more directed to answering key questions to satisfy their rubrics. But certainly, other outputs in the humanities and social sciences were born of my own insight and creativity. Were the didactic and the authentic approaches prominent in my college education? Probably.

Nevertheless, all knowledge that I could have known only lay everywhere—from the books and encyclopedias to almanacs to journals—but were they accessible to me? No. Did our school library have a big collection of these? Not really.

So this was the time when one had to go to a university to access a piece of information which was only available from the exclusive collection of this school or that university. Knowledge before the age of the internet was so precious and rare—one had to search it as if on a mission, as it were.

But when every school had interconnectivity, things changed. Schools in the regions now “mattered”. They became equally competitive—along with the leveling up of the graduate-level faculty who now came back to their departments.

I was surprised that I could now find books easier through an online public access catalog or OPAC in our school. If then, I relied too heavily on what my teachers had to say, this time, much knowledge and information were efficiently at my disposal.

Everything that I only probably wondered about because I heard them from my teachers or was sparked by their discussions I could now probably know elsewhere. I have been so enamored by so much information I can now find online. And since then, I have not stopped.

 Advances in technology—the digital media and the internet—significantly leveled the playing field for universities and colleges. “Decentralization” and “regionalization” became the bywords. “Periphery” also became a relative term. Because knowledge became more accessible through the new media, the modern learner became more empowered than ever before. (The new generation really grew up being babysat not only by television but by the internet—gadgets and all.)

Years ago, I had to spend hours in the library to come up with my project, I had to compare notes with my classmates on their own and I had to see my teachers in the Faculty Room personally to submit to her the required journal, now, everything is different.

 In the 21st century, my students must have a personal computer, laptop or Smartphone to connect online and attend my classes—they must log in the Classwork Attendance I posted on Google Classroom; meet me on Google Meet once a week; download the modules I prepared in PDF or PowerPoint and screen the instructional videos I attached; and upload their own drawn emojis as part of their Reflection Paper.

 And one day, I just found myself in one small corner of the world, my room with interconnectivity—where I can teach and learn—is now my sanctuary.

Traditional, Progressive Or Both?

A few years ago, I read a post by one of my students on a social networking site, telling his classmates how he met me in a student press congress in Aklan.

He was my freshman student at the Philippine Science High School or PSHS, the state-subsidized high school where Science- and Mathematics-gifted students were taught and trained to pursue science courses when they step onto college. More or less inspired by the Dewey school of thought, this school is programmed to supply the nation’s body of scientists.

In the post, he said he was surprised to see me and went on to say he could not forget their classes with me a few years earlier. In particular, he recalled how their English class was conducted—how, for example, I’d ask them to get “one loose sheet” (of pad paper) to start each lesson or how I’d also tell them to skip one line as they wrote on it.

He also commented on how I would write my full name on the handouts and/or periodic tests I gave them. (At the time, our periodic exams were made by individual teachers following only one syllabus).

He also recalled how I awarded them certificates for their individual achievements in Homeroom (I was their class adviser, too.). For instance, I gave one of their classmates “Best in Journal Writing” while another was awarded for her congeniality, and so on.

Did he hate doing those things? Did they hate me for those things?

Did I “run their class like a slave plantation,” where they were just “told to do or accomplish something”? Was that how I made him or them feel? Probably. Probably not.

Did I make them feel the way Charles Darwin or Winston Churchill did in their Latin classes? He must have wondered about the purpose of making them do it again and again. So did I ever tell them why they needed to do it? Probably. I must have implied its importance to them. But did I help him process or understand it? Should I have?

I did them because I thought they were the right thing to do.

Being enrolled in the country’s premiere science high school, my student must have been swamped and exhausted by their biology, chemistry and physics classes that observed methods, procedures and all that. So did he expect something else from his English class—that it would do away with the methodical ways of doing things? Maybe. But whatever I did, I am certain that I didn’t want to make them feel like the prisoners in Fresnes.

Reading his post only made me recall how I was aware and overly particular of my routines as a teacher. It reminded me of the consistency I wanted to cultivate in them, which surely formed part of an honestly traditional approach.

Years later, I would begin to appreciate the post because more than anything, it made one thing clear to me—that along with those instructional routines, I did not only promote order in class but also sought to “cultivate their individuality”.

I must have replicated the traditional discourse I inherited—what my teachers did in their time some ten or twenty years back. I even used the same phrases my teachers used in our own high school—even adopting their mannerisms in instructing students in class. Of course, I knew some of my teacher’s pet words back in those days. And they never left my memory—they became my very own.

I virtually echoed my teachers in my own classrooms at the time. I could say I learned so much from the organization and the routine of it all—I am sure not all of my students appreciated it; but I’m glad that that’s what my student also remembered.

In their class activities and projects, I started with calling the roll, prayer, and so on—order and routine—yes, consistency—but I also made sure I allowed them to express themselves in the form of learning outcomes and assessments.

While their armchairs were all lined up separately—that is, six rows by five columns—yes, 30 of them—I made sure I broke them into groups during seatwork, quizzes, and projects. Every now and then, I would ask them to work with a partner or in threes or more to finish a group essay.

I must have also allowed the architectonic dimension—the configuration of the learning space—to work for them. So, say, in a session, armchairs would be uprooted from their usual spots—and lifted (usually dragged) to groups of three or four.

            Once they did that, I’d feel relieved because by then, when the noise and the chatter already began, I knew that they wouldn’t feel isolated anymore. I knew that doing things in groups would help them work better.

But then again, I’d direct them to focus on their task. Giving them discussion questions, I’d ask them to churn out ideas and insights from each other and come up with collective answers to the questions.

In these instances, I loved how the routine is made to work constantly with “deviations from sameness”—by reaching out to their individualities. How the structure of groups allowed them to open their minds to free expression—and how the same let them work as a group so their minds were drawn to cohere to one idea or statement.

Did I succeed in trying to make them more reflective persons? Maybe. Were the ten-or-so essays plus their quarterly projects they themselves helped choose or determine for the whole year make them more introspective? Maybe. Across the lessons, I would also ask for individual output—but these were also shared to the class in the sense that I wanted to always affirm them.

I remember how they also performed well in grammar exercises but also remember how I looked forward to reading their essays and reflections. Following a syllabus, I chose to have fewer grammar exercises and made sure they rather devoted more hours to finishing their “Book of Myself” scrapbooks which they submitted at the end of the first quarter.

In all these, I think that the traditional and the didactic was pervasive in my classes, from the instructional routine—I regularly telling them to observe the order and the specifics of a particular output—to the tests or assessments—how their individual ideas should be made to cohere to a more sensible whole. But the same can be said about how I chose to be progressive—which was expressed in the routine group work where each of the student’s interests and personalities was given space and expressed so that it stood out.

I must have—in the ideas of Rousseau—let my scholars “reason” for themselves. After all, I only literally “put the problems before them and let them solve it themselves”. I gave them guide questions and it was up to them to draw their own papers, presentations and/or any other output. I relished how such progressive approach drew their varied and exciting output, performances, or participation.

Reflecting on my student’s sentiment, I rather chose to think that that was not everything in my class. What he wrote was probably only what made some impressions upon him.

If it were so, then were these the only things he learned from that class? What did he really learn from it?

Did I only help build a social architecture of sameness or did I, too, help produce creative thinkers and introspective individuals?

The said routines may have been a form of “forcing something on them”—or at least some of them—but I also remember, in various instances I “let them do what they want to do in their own time at their own pace”.

I am sure at one time or another I had also been more agreeable in their class or lenient in their participation or their submissions—probably to the extent that A.S. Neill of Summerhill may even be smiling at me.

The Left-handed Armchair

ONE MORNING IN GRADE 1, section Kanda, the pupils were excited to see a new thing in their classroom.

 

Everyone was talking about it: we were looking at it, yes, marveling at it. After all, we’d never seen anything like it before.

 

A beautiful thing made of wood—sleek, polished and brown, smooth brown. Anyone who entered our small classroom couldn’t miss it. Because it was not like our desks.

 

It was an armchair. And it was left-handed. Made especially for Clara, our teacher’s daughter, who was also our classmate. Her father made it for her.

 

So on this particular day, Clara sat on her new, left-handed brown armchair near her mother’s table at the back of the rest of us facing the chalkboard. She attended our class in her new armchair while we sat and wrote in our desks.

 

At the time, I must have wondered why they had to make her own armchair when she could also have used the desk just like us. 

 

On one hand, the armchair must have given her space to work on—but I doubt it: that armchair was in fact smaller than our desk. And I remember it was more comfortable writing on our desks. 

Maybe Clara must not have been anymore distracted in her armchair; yet, I’m sure, sitting in that lone armchair away from us deprived her of the conversation with us, her classmates.

 

Clara was probably limited by the desk—so it wasn’t useful to her at the time. Probably her parents—our teacher—deemed it best that she learn to write properly by supporting her left hand—and that cannot be done other than providing her a left-handed armchair where she could write. 

 

But whether one wrote with his left hand or right hand, the desk I shared with my seatmate was big enough to accommodate both our hands. It also had drawers where we put our books and writing materials.

 

Why did she really have to have an armchair? Was she being distracted—or bullied—by her seatmate? Did we, her classmates, annoy her in any way that she had to be placed separately from us? Maybe. I cannot anymore remember—I was only 6-or-so.

 

So why did she need the armchair? Was she given it based on her whim? Was it the whim of her parents? Clara was a quiet one, but she was a regular kid like us—so why was there even a need for her to be distanced—as in displaced—from the rest of the class?

 

Years later, I would not see Clara sitting in that left-handed armchair—in Grade 2 or anytime later. In later grades, she sat in the two-pupil desk just like us. Did her mother request our next-grade teachers to accommodate her armchair and was refused? Or did she just outgrow (the size of) the armchair itself?

 

If any, my classmate Clara’s left-handed armchair story shows that the one-size-fits-all approach in education obviously did not work and this was in the early 1980s Philippines.

 

Isn’t this what the New Learning is talking about—that a traditional approach does not usually suit everyone? While intended to serve a purpose, the tool of education used at the time—the desk—did not particularly suit the individual needs of the pupils. So a different kind of a learning tool—an armchair—was considered the alternative.

 

For one, Clara was fortunate she had parents who thought of an alternative to whatever she needed at the time. They thought it better for her to use an armchair. And they had leeway because Clara’s teacher was her own mother—she could give anything she needed in her own class.

 

The armchair was intended to suit Clara’s need—but did she learn fast or better in it? If it did, it certainly represented the breaking away from the tradition and the norm of the desk—to fit the need of an individual. It literally did away with the traditional desk.

 

Did it then form part of the “conscious, well-thought-through aspect of learning” deemed necessary by Clara’s teacher who was her own mother? So did it really help her? 

 

Using the left-handed armchair must have helped her to write well or learn better, but was it, after all, just another tool of the traditional approach, another representation of the didactic pedagogy—because it also rather limited Clara’s social interaction and isolated her from us?

 

An Totoóng Hélang

An totoóng hélang bako iníng helang.

An totoóng hélang máyò sa pahayagán.

An totoóng helang kun saen-saen lang.

An totoóng hélang máyò sa kahaharungán.

An totoóng hélang iyó ning katibaádan.

An totoóng hélang winawarágwág sa kahanginan.

An totoóng helang garo aswáng.

An totoóng helang i'tong daí nasasabótan.

An totoóng hélang nanunudan sa eskwelahán.

An totoóng hélang tibáad nalingawán dumán.

An totoóng helang luwás-laóg sa simbáhan.

An totoóng helang i’tong daí namimisáhan.

An totoóng helang i’tong soboot binasbasán.

An totoóng helang daí gayod mababasbasán.

An totoóng helang i’tong daí mahinggustuhán.

An totoóng helang iyó an mga swápang.

An totoóng helang iyó an harambugan.

An totoóng hélang yáon sa haràbonan.

An totoóng hélang laóg-luwás sa Malakanyáng.

An totoóng hélang yáon sa hurulnakan.

An totoóng hélang yáon sa diringkilan.

An totoóng helang iyó an ururihan.

An totoóng helang yáon sa rapákan.

An totoóng helang máyò sa irinuman.

An totoóng helang yáon sa daí nahingáwan.

An totoóng helang mayo sa nagkakagaradan.

An totoóng helang iyó an mga paragadan.

An totoóng hélang sain manunuparan—

An totoóng helang máyò sa sàdan.

An totoóng helang i’tong garo ka nang mautsán.

An totoóng helang yáon daá sa surùsúan.

An totoóng hélang pàno minasúpang—

An totoóng helang daí masasabótan.

An totoóng helang daí ipapaáram.

An totoóng helang huringhuding lang.

An totoóng helang daí mauumáyan.

An totoóng helang sagin-sagin lakatán.

#BikolBeautiful

 

Balikán Ko Idtong Agosto, 1974

Lúnad ka sa pamabá kansubago saróng óras ka— garó mga duwáng kilometro pa, ika nása Bolaobalite na.

Úni ka, digdi sa agihán, na bagá na máyong kasagkódan, dará-dára an mga bádò asin kagamitán—natutumtóm nin basà an saímo nang kalawásan; nagbigláng hágáwak an urán sa mapolót na dálan.

Náhihilíng ta kang nagbubukás kan trangkáhan kan eskwelahán. Digdí sa bàgo mong destíno

na an sabi igwá kang maíistarán; an haralabang bángkò sa laóg kan classroom piráng semána mo nang higdáan.

Náhihilíng ta kang ngonyan napupurisaw sa pagtúrog. Ramrag na, napíyong ka pa saná. Máyo kang gumód-gumód, binayáan mo si Nánay sa Ilawod, ngonyan nagpapasúso pa kan saindóng nguhód.

Iká man, úni ka, igwang sukbít na sundáng; sa táhaw kan mga kaakían, may kamagurángan;

nagpaparáharáwan kamó sa tugsaran kan eskwelahán; kamiseta mo basà-básà nin gànot hasta na sanáng maaláng.

Gustó ta kang dumanán. Kutà na sabíhan, pondohá na kun anó man an ginigíbo mo ngonyan. Dai magparapágal; pahídon an hínang; an sadíri mangnohón lámang. Magdiskánso man. Mag-ulì muna ki Nene mo; sa limang igin mo; na iyóng gáyo, purùngaw na namán saímo.

Pero máyò man talaga kong maginíbo. Titiripónon ko sana ining mga ritrato mo. Nagkasararay ni Nánay poon pa kaidto—sa kada sarò, nganüd, sa  o ótro ága, o saróng aldáw, tibaád igwa siyang iistórya sakò, na saindong niño boníto.

'Teacher Factor'

Susog sa “The Teacher Factor” ni Randy David.
Yaon sa Philippine Daily Inquirer, July 18, 2021

Sa sakong column kan sarong semana, pigtawan ko nin duon kun pàno nakakatabang an lenguaheng ginagamit sa pagtokdò sa pagkanood kan mga estudyante—lalo na kan mga aking nagpoporoón pa saná.

Susog sa nagkapirang pag-adal, orog daang nadidipisilan an mga estudyante kun an lenguaheng ginagamit sa pagtokdò sainda—halimbawa sa Mathematics o Science—iba man sa lenguaheng ginagamit ninda sa harong.

Kun an mga estudyante nakakanood palan pag naiintindihan ninda an lenggwahe kun sain ini tinotokdò, tama lang na gamiton an mother tongue, poon halimbawa ngaya sa mga enot na taon.

Dai nagkakauruyon an gabos sa isyung ini. 

An mga aki kan inaapod na middle-class—o sabihon tang idtong nakakaangat sa mga kasaraditan—mayong problema kun English an gagamiton sa classroom. Kadaklan sainda nagdarakula sa harong na pirmi nang duwang lenggwahe an ginagamit. Para sainda, jologs kun gagamiton an Bikol—o Tagalog o Hiligaynon—man ngaya sa classroom. Garo man saná sindang pigpipiririt na makanood sa lenggwaheng dai man husto.

Para sainda kaya, an English bakong arog kan Bikol—o Tagalog o Hiligaynon. Iyo ini an lenggwahe kan gabos—an embodiment of everything modern.

Dangan sa gabos na nasyon na nag-ako nin kahilwayan pagkatapos kan Gierra Mundial Numero Dos, kita idtong enot na nakausad sa pag-uswag kawasà kan English, na pinabisto sato kan mga Kano sa mga public school. Sarong henerasyon [nin mga Pilipino] an duminakulang edukado asin nagtataram English. Pigpara-padara baga sato kan mga kataraid na nasyon an mga aki ninda ta nganing makanood English. Tàno ta hahaleon ta pa an bentaheng ini?

Para kaya sainda, kun matibay ka sa English, máuswag an buhay mo—an English iyo an pamaági para sa “magandang buhay”. Para sainda, bako man talagang issue na English an gamiton sa pagtokdò. 

Segun sainda, bakong English an problema sa edukasyon sa Pilipinas. An problema yaon sa surusuan sagkod kurulang na classroom; sa mga rugado sagkod na dai-tarataong mga paratokdò; sa kurulang na marahay na mga materyales sa pagtokdò.

Para sainda, an problema sa edukasyon digdi sato yaon sa gutom sagkod malnutrisyon na sinasapo kan mga kaakian—lalong-lalo na idtong mga aki kan kasaraditan.

An gabos na ini iyo an kawsa kun tàno an mga kaakian ta “pinupurot sa kangkongan” pag-abot sa mga international assessments na ‘yan. Ta nganing mataparan ini, kaipuhan man nanggad dugangan ta an budget sa edukasyon.

Hale sa budget na ini, tagamahan ta kuta an pagpaadal sa satong mga paratokdò. Pagkatapos baga kan nakaaging Gierra Mundial kaidto, kadakuldakul na Pilipino an pinaaradal nganing mahasà sa pagtokdò nin English. Kadaklan sainda nagin mga principal o supervisor kan mga public school. Dangan tinorokdoan ninda si saindang kairiba sa paggamit kaini bilang pangenot na lengwahe sa pagtokdò.

Nagtápos ako sa public elementary school sa Pampanga. Biristado ko pa an gabos kong maestro asin maestra poon Grade 1 asta Grade 6. Tandà ko pa an mga lalawgon ninda. Mauurag sinda gabos. Bilib ako sainda ta matibay sindang magtaram nin English o Kapampangan man kun kinakaipuhan.

Magayonon sindang magtokdò. Para sako, sinda an panalmingan kan mga tawong edukado. Iyo man ini an pagmátì ko sa gabos na maestro asin maestrang tuminaták sa sakong pagkatawo pag-abot sa college sagkod graduate school.

An mga árog kaining paratokdò—susog ki Humberto Maturana, sarong biologist na taga-Chile—“dai lang minahirás nin pagkaáram; tinotokdò pa ninda sa mga aki kun pàno mabuhay. Sa pamaáging ini, an mga rule sa arithmetic, law sa physics o grammar, naaaráman; [alagad] para sa mga aki, mismong an maestra asin maestro ninda an saindang talagang nanonòdan.”

“Andam an mga aking makanoód nin dawà ano, basta mayò saná saindang magsabing—“O, masakiton daw an Math!”, o kaya “Boring bagá an Grammar”; o “Mas ‘boríng’on daw an Biology!” 

Susog pa ki Maturana, kaipuhan dangogon na marhay kan mga paratokdò an mga estudyante ninda—dangan dangogon nindang marhay an saindang pagdangog. Hapoton man nanggad ninda kun ano an nadadangog sainda kan mga estudyante. Kaipuhan magpursigi an maestro o an maestrang gibohon ini—orog na para duman sa mga dai nakakadungan sa kadaklan sa klase. 

Pinakamahalaga an huring puntong ini—kawasà kayà digdi, mahihiling ta an pagkakaiba kan sistemang naglalangkabà asin nagpapadanay kan dai pagkapantaypantay sa komunidad ta sagkod kan sistemang nagmamàwot na tamaon ini.

Igwa ngonyan debate sa harong mi (an duwa kong aki parehong nagtotokdò sa University of the Philippines) manongod sa kun ano man nanggad an papel kan paratokdò. Saro sainda—an sabi—an paratokdò daa dapat sarong pastor. Kaipuhan sigurohon niyang an mga maluyang makanuod daing gayo nawawalat kan mga matitibay na o madaling makanuod. 

Iniinsister man kan saro na bakong siring ka’yan. Para saiya, an paratokdò sarong gatekeeper—na kumbaga nagbabantay sa kun siisay an málaog o maluwas. Kaipuhan igwa siyang paninindugan na pamantayan asin ipasunod ini. Kaipuhan natataparán niya an mga pangangaipo asin dai nasasayang an ano man na naaabot kan mga matitibay na.

Para man sakò—na nagin paratokdò sa laog nin apat na dekada—pareho kaipuhan an mga ini. Pareho sinda mahalaga—dai kaipuhan na magkontrahan.

Nagkakaproblema saná kun kawasà naherak kayà daa, dángan pinarasár na saná dawà dai man tatao magbasa. Hunà kan mga paratokdòng ini nakakatabang sinda. An dai ninda aram—tinugutan saná nindang an dai man tatao dai man talaga makadungán asin mahirakan na saná kan balinsngag na sistema kan edukasyon. 

Problema man giraray kun an hábol ta na saná idtong mga pamantayan sa urag o katibayan man ngayá, na mayò nin lábot o pakimàno sa dai-man-talaga-pararehong oportunidad kan mga kaakian ta. 

Bolaobalite, 1976

Ma, pasensya dai na ko nakapaaram kanimo amay-amay pa si first trip; marhay ngani ta nakasakay ako. Dai ta ka na pigmata paggios ko ta turog-turog ka pa, pagal-pagal kakaaling ki Nonoy pirang ngitngit na man nagpaparapastidyo; pero kun kinakarga ko, pwerte man baga, nag-aalu.

Baydon ko na sana tibaad yaon na man ko diyan sa Sabado. Pero sabi mo man ngonyan na semana tibaad mag-abot na si Onding ni Manoy Jeremias. Marhay kun siring ta igwa na kitang mawalatan kan mga igín.

Digdi sa eskwelahan, siribot naman kami ngonyan ta gusto kan mga maestrang mag-Christmas party kaiba kan mga magurang sa plaza—apwera pa kan sa mga kaakian. Nahugos na kanamo an PTA kaya dakulon gibohon ko digdi. Mga lesson plan ngani dai ko pa ubos macheck-an. Pero marhay man ta igwa ako digding masarigan.

Kansubanggi—iparayo nin Dios—nagralaen naman si pagmati ko. Nagimata ‘ko sa init; ginagaranot ako; basa-basa si sakong ulunan, tumtom pati higdaan. Pero tinutumar ko si bulong na pigreseta kadto sa Naga. Dai ka na maghadit ta maboot man si May Peling;  pinapatundugan niya ko ka’yan sa mga aki nin pangudtuhan o minsan mirindalan.

Sunod na semana, makompleanyo ka na baga kaya mighulat ka sana, Ma; ako kanimo may surpresa.

Blasts from the Past

The Internet generously caters to our whims—for one, allowing us to re-inhabit the past and stay there as much as we want.

Take the case of AIMP, a freeware audio player for Windows and Android, which features player skins—from Akai to JVC to Kenwood to Sony—even Telefunken Magnetophon 77, which you just probably saw in an old movie—brands of hi-fi systems paraded around in the 1980s up to the 1990s as prized possessions.

In those days, these sound systems or what they simply called ‘component’, along with the still-tube TV sets, were the centerpiece of the houses of the working and middle class.

Alagad kun kaidto, pagtitipunan mo an arog kaining klase nin patugtog—ngonyan, may laptop ka lang, yaon na an gabos na brands: makakapili ka pa depende kun anong kapritso mo!

Today’s technology has trivialized the fact how my own folks—uncles, cousins, brothers—and even I valued these sound systems as prized possessions or even status symbols. Now it has aggregated these household names—and features them as options to time travel to any user, as it were. 

            For one, I get to own all these in my laptop and indulge in reliving the past:

Say, when I choose Kenwood KX-800 and play Air Supply’s “Love and Other Bruises” or “Don’t Turn Me Away” I am easily effortlessly transported to Manoy’s mixed tape in the 80s right away.

How about clicking Akai GX-F90 and play Kenny Rogers’ “Islands in the Stream” and “You and I”—then I easily bring myself to my Uncle Harben’s living room where he loved to play the Kenny Rogers 1983 Bee Gees-authored vinyl the whole day?

Late last night, I picked Cassette Player 3D and played Fra Lippo Lippi’s “Stitches and Burns” and “Thief in Paradise” among their greatest hits, and so high school memories came flooding in, later engulfing the room.

One afternoon, I will click the JVC skin and play Toad the Wet Sprocket's “Walk on the Ocean” or R.E.M.'s “Losing My Religion”, then, there he would be, my cousin Jokoy whispering in my ear, praising Michael Stipe to high heavens. Nice...

This evening I will click the Sony Media Tower skin and load in my playlist Enigma’s “Sadeness, Part 1,” among many other chill-out cuts—and soon, I will return to some familiar place where I once went to, a state of mind which gives me serenity.

With all these possibilities now only at the tip of my fingers, who could have ever known that the past is never gone, that the past is rather ever-present?