It's June 19. Nothing special today. I was in school, perusing over some notes. No frills nor semblance of an activity outside. Not much traffic. People went on with their weekend routine unhampered. Unless Gloria Arroyo happen to come nearby to inaugurate some projects. Her appearance brings a chaotic change from the routinary, as roads are jammed due to re-routed traffic, as policemen swarm the intersections, and wang-wangs add its noise to the usual sounds of the ambulances and firetrucks.
Today was so ordinary I only learned late in the day that today is the birthday of the Philippine national hero, Dr. Jose Protacio Rizal. Yes, in the Philippines we celebrate the deaths of people. Many times, we forget about their birthdays. Rizal died on December 30 and the government marks the date as a holiday. But the government never gave a hoot about June 19.
I could dismiss this trivia about Jose Rizal. But somehow I also felt guilty about something pertaining to Rizal.
When I was working abroad, one of the service providers of the company I was working with was based in Germany. As an IT Manager, I was always accompanied around by the PR man of the service provider each time I was in Germany.
When in Germany, I was based in Weinheim, a picturesque and hilly town popularly known as the home of the luxury car maker Mercedes Benz. A town nearby was the home of rival BMW. Every weekend, I went around the town and its suburbs. And I was a peculiar sight to behold as locals stopped whatever they were doing to stare and size me up, as if they saw a ghost or a weird ET. One time a bicycle careened into the canal beside the road because the driver kept on looking back at me. Possibly, in this area of Caucasians, I was the only brown human.
My German guide was a well-travelled young man. He seemed to know a lot about the Philippines. I told him I liked the smalltown ambience of Weinheim and that, I liked a lot the nearby city of Heidelberg. It was more cosmopolitan and, atop the city were the ruins of an ancient castle which I visited each time I was in the city. Then my guide recited stanzas of a poem. And he seemed disappointed when I didn't react.
'You mean, you didn't recognize the poem?' he asked. 'That was the official English translation.'
'I'm sorry but I was not familiar with the lines,' I replied.
'Really?'. He thought I was joking. 'Those were lines from the poem To The Flowers of Heidelberg. By Dr. Jose Rizal. Your national hero.'
'And how did you know that?'
'I graduated from the University of Heidelberg, where Dr. Rizal took his Opthalmology. There is a Rizal statue near Heildelberg, in the village where he used to live when he was a student.'
I was embarrassed. I should have known these trivias. I should be the one to inform this foreigner about Rizal. But frankly, I didn't know about these. Or perhaps, I forgot. I knew that Rizal studied in Heidelberg. But I didn't know it was the Heidelberg I frequent on weekends. I knew that he wrote poems. But I didn't know he wrote a poem specific to Heidelberg. Perhaps, it would be understandable that I didn't know there was a Rizal statue in the area. But still I felt pathetic and miserable. Rizal or any Filipino would have been ashamed of me. I felt incompetent and not professional enough beside this German whose salary was less than mine. What if I told him something about the German national hero? But I was not even sure if Germany had a national hero. I didn't like to mention Hitler either because Germans had mixed feelings about him.
That incident happened more than a decade ago. But thinking about it now, I still shiver with embarrassment. Perhaps, I regard Andres Bonifacio as my hero. But Rizal was still an impressive historical figure to be proud of. During those periods of discrimination, he towered above the foreign oppressors.
Today, just like other Saturdays, we went to mass in the evening. And I prayed for Dr. Jose Rizal. Afterwards, we went out to eat. For a change, I was the one who ordered as, ordinarily, my children ordered for the food. The children noticed that our order was over-the-top compared to the usual.
'Daddy dami nating order. Anong occassion?' they asked.
'It's the birthday of a friend,' I replied.
'Sinong friend? Special ba siya? Dahil sa birthday mo nga, pancit lang tinitipid pa.' They giggled.
'Birthday ni Dr. Jose Rizal, our national hero.'
Then we talked about Rizal, his life, his works, and about my experience in Weinheim. I told the kids about the Rizal statue in Heidelberg and about the poem To The Flowers of Heidelberg. I still didn't memorize any line of the poem, but the kids searched for it in the internet when we arrived home. They hoped to recite it in their class in the future.
Yes, today was an ordinary day. But I was sure, with all my blunders, today Rizal would have forgiven me.@
A Las Flores De Heidelberg
José Rizal
Id a mi patria, id, extranjeras flores,
sembradas del viajero en el camino,
y bajo su azul cielo,
que guarda mis amores,
contad del peregrino
la fe que alienta por su patrio suelo!
id y decid ... decid que cuando el alba
vuestro cáliz abrió por vez primera
cabe el Neckar helado,
le visteis silencioso a vuestro lado
pensando en su constante primavera.
Decid que cuando el alba,
que roba vuestro aroma,
cantos de amor jugando os susurraba,
él tambien murmuraba
cantos de amor en su natal idioma;
que cuando el sol la cumbre
del Koenigsthul en la mañana dora
y con su tibia lumbre
anima el valle, el bosque y la espesura,
saluda a ese sol aún en su aurora,
al que en su patria en el cenit fulgura !
y contad aquel día
cuando os cogía al borde del sendero,
entre ruinas del feudal castillo,
orilla al Neckar, o a la selva umbria.
Contad lo que os decía ,
cuando, con gran ciudado
entre las páginas de un libro usado
vuestras flexibles hojas oprimía.
Llevad, llevad, oh flores !
amor a mis amores
paz a mi país y a su fecunda tierra,
fe a sus hombres, virtud a sus mujeres,
salud a dulces seres
que el paternal, sagrado hogar encierra ...
Cuando toqueis la playa,
el beso os imprimo
depositadlo en ala de la brisa,
por que con ella vaya
y bese cuanto adora, amo y estimo.
Mas ay llegáreis flores,
conservaréis quizas vuestras colores,
pero lejos del patrio, heroico suelo
a quien debéis la vida:
que aroma es alma, y no abandona el cielo,
cuya luz viera en su nacer, ni olvida.
To the Flowers of Heidelberg
by José Rizal
(A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin)
Go to my country, go, O foreign flowers,
sown by the traveler along the road,
and under that blue heaven
that watches over my loved ones,
recount the devotion
the pilgrim nurses for his native sod!
Go and say say that when dawn
opened your chalices for the first time
beside the icy Neckar,
you saw him silent beside you,
thinking of her constant vernal clime.
Say that when dawn
which steals your aroma
was whispering playful love songs to your young
sweet petals, he, too, murmured
canticles of love in his native tongue;
that in the morning when the sun first traces
the topmost peak of Koenigssthul in gold
and with a mild warmth raises
to life again the valley, the glade, the forest,
he hails that sun, still in its dawning,
that in his country in full zenith blazes.
And tell of that day
when he collected you along the way
among the ruins of a feudal castle,
on the banks of the Neckar, or in a forest nook.
Recount the words he said
as, with great care,
between the pages of a worn-out book
he pressed the flexible petals that he took.
Carry, carry, O flowers,
my love to my loved ones,
peace to my country and its fecund loam,
faith to its men and virtue to its women,
health to the gracious beings
that dwell within the sacred paternal home.
When you reach that shore,
deposit the kiss I gave you
on the wings of the wind above
that with the wind it may rove
and I may kiss all that I worship, honor and love!
But O you will arrive there, flowers,
and you will keep perhaps your vivid hues;
but far from your native heroic earth
to which you owe your life and worth,
your fragrances you will lose!
For fragrance is a spirit that never can forsake
and never forgets the sky that saw its birth.
Translated from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin
Sa Mga Bulaklak ng Heidelberg
Pumaroon kayo sa mutya kong bayang pinakamamahal,
O mga bulaklak na hasik sa landas niyong manlalakbay,
At doon, sa silong ng maaliwalas na langit na bughaw,
Sa mga mahal ko'y di nagpapabaya't laging nagbabantay,
Inyong ibalita itong pananalig na sa puso'y taglay
Ng abang lagalag na di lumilimot sa nilisang bayan.
Pumaroon kayo, inyong ibalitang madilim-dilim pa,
Kung kayo, sa bati ng bukang-liwayway, ay bumubukad na,
Sa pampang ng Neckar na lubhang malamig ay naroon siya,
At sa inyong tabi'y inyong namamasid na parang estatuwa,
Ang Tagsibol doong hindi nagbabago'y binubulay niya.
Inyong ibalitang kung sinisingil na ng bukang-liwayway
Ang buwis na bango ng inyong talulot pag ngiti ng araw,
Habang bumubulong ang bagong umagang halik ang kasabay
Ng "Kung inyo lamang nababatid sana yaring pagmamahal!"
Siya'y may bulong ding inaawit-awit sa katahimikan,
Kundiman ng puso na sa kanyang wika'y inyong napakinggan.
At kung sa taluktok niyong Koenigsthul ay humahalik na
Ang mapulang labi ng anak ng araw sa pag-uumaga,
At ang mga lambak, gubat at kahuya'y binubusog niya
Sa daloy ng buhay na dulot ng sinag na malahininga,
Yaong manlalakbay ay bumabati ring puspos ng ligaya
Sa araw, na doon sa sariling baya'y laging nagbabaga.
At ibalita rin na nang minsang siya'y naglalakad-lakad
Sa pampang ng Neckar ay pinupol kayo sa gilid ng landas,
Doon sa ang tanod ay ang mga guhong bakas ng lumipas,
Na nalililiman ng maraming punong doo'y naggugubat.
Ibalita ninyo kung paanong kayo'y marahang pinupol,
Pinakaingatang huwag masisira ang sariwang dahon,
At sa kanyang aklat ay ipinaloob at doon kinuyom,
Aklat ay luma na, datapuwa't kayo'y naroon pa ngayon.
Hatdan, hatdan ninyo, O pinakatanging bulaklak ng Rin,
Hatdan ng pag-ibig ang lahat ng aking nga ginigiliw,
Sa bayan kong sinta ay kapayapaan ang tapat kong hiling,
Sa kababaihan ay binhi ng tapang ang inyong itanim;
Pagsadyain ninyo, O mga bulaklak, at inyong batiin
Ang mga mahal kong sa tahanang banal ay kasama namin.
At pagsapit ninyo sa dalampasigan ng bayan kong irog,
Bawa't halik sanang idinarampi ko sa inyong talulot
Ay inyong isakay sa pakpak ng hanging doo'y lumilibot,
Upang sa lahat nang iginagalang ko't sinisitang lubos
Nawa'y makasapit ang halik ng aking pag-ibig na taos.
Maaaring doo'y makarating kayong taglay pa ang kulay,
Subali't ang bango'y wala na marahil at kusang pumanaw,
Wala na ang samyong sa talulot ninyo'y iningatang yaman,
Pagka't malayo na sa lupang sa inyo'y nagbigay ng buhay;
Iwing halimuyak ang inyong kaluluwa, at di malilisan
Ni malilimot pa ang langit na saksi nang kayo'y isilang.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Rizal's Day
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Most horrifying horror movie
Cannibal Holocaust could be the most controversial movie of all time. After the movie was premierred in the 1980's, it was seized by the courts, banned in some 50 countries, and its director, Ruggero Deodato, was charged and thrown to prison for murdering his actors as shown in the film. He was later released after he summoned his actors to appear in public. But the film (screenplay by Gianfranco Clerici and filmed in the Amazon rainforests), regarded as the best horror movie ever which spawned so many imitations, remained banned or censored in some countries, even as it reportedly became the biggest hit in Japan, second only to ET.
I watched the film a long time ago in VHS, when DVD was still unknown. And I really thought that it was semi-documentary because the scenes were very realistic. It had a lot of gore, nudity, obscenity, and cruely to man and animals. I even showed it to a friend and asked him to verify who among the characters were the real cannibals in the movie, because to me, it was the civilized urban characters who terrorized the uncivilized jungle natives.
The movie was about a university anthropologist who looked for a film crew which was reported missing after it left for the South American jungles to get a scholarly documentary on the lives of the jungle tribes who could be cannibals. With a lot of help from the locals, the anthropologist succeeded to recover reels of film of the missing crew. On his return to civilization, he learned of the tragic fate of the crew as shown in the reels of film recovered from the jungle tribe.
I happened to stumble on this movie again only lately in the internet. And it was only at that time when I fully understood that this Italian movie was indeed a fiction.
Watch this critique. Warning: Some scenes could be unacceptable to some.
@
Thursday, June 10, 2010
First Class ang ticket
I was doing a project on students' academic and non-academic performances in the city and province of Iloilo when a group of teachers asked me about the results. I told them I only had raw data and that the project I was doing was not yet finished. But the teachers were very excited about the results and they prodded me to just give them hints of the rankings I made. So I enumerated to them some schools that made a good showing.
I mentioned first private schools from the city, and the teachers just nodded their approval with a smile. But when I mentioned the schools from the province, particularly from the town of Lambunao, the teachers looked at each other and commented, 'Oh, first class!'.
I looked around if others heard the remark. To my knowledge, the comment was derisive and discriminatory, and may not sit well with somebody from Lambunao.
I'd been away from the Philippines for a long time and I had not been privy to the shifts in local perceptions. Later, when I was with some college students, I asked them if they knew the connotation of First Class when referred to somebody from Lambunao. The students were clueless. It seemed they didn't even know that the words were once synonymous with Lambunao. And that when somebody was referred to as First Class, everybody knew where he came from.
But not anymore. I think this is a good development. I know many people from Lambunao and I have friends from there. And these people are very polished, educated, accomplished, and well-travelled. They can stand shoulder to shoulder with anybody in the world. They can never be tagged as First Class, as how I understood the word way back then.
So how did the words First Class got entangled with somebody from Lambunao?
To those who have not known, this was the story I heard a long time ago.
Years ago, indi pa uso ang travel by airplane. So when people went to Manila, or some other island destinations, they travelled by boat. The price of a boat ticket, just like today, was dependent upon the class of accomodation. First Class was the most expensive, followed by the Second Class, and the cheapest was the Third Class or Economy. It followed that First Class had the best accomodation - with aircon, set meals in exclusive dining saloon, and spick-and-span toilet and shower rooms. Of course, Third Class was the cheapest because it was not airconned and the accomodation was a bit messy. Bisan diin lang may karga. Tupad mo mga kaing kang paho kag uling. May mga manok kag pato pa. Kag grabe pasahero kay barato. Kon adlaw, magahod hibi ka mga bata. Sa gab-i, magahod huragok ka mga mal-am. Ay sus!
It was therefore not surprising that being in the First Class Section was a badge of honor. Indi lang matawhay sa First Class. But more so, mas mahal ang bayad tuya. Gani, kon First Class ticket mo, astig ang dating. Dami pera.
And so this bisoy (for those who do not know, during my time bisoy meant bisayang tisoy) from Lambunao went to Manila. And because it was his first time, he would like to impress everybody. So he purchased a First Class ticket. Bigtime!
So, nagsaka na siya sa barko. And he showed with pride his ticket to the gangplank crew. First Class gid man ticket nya. And he was ushered to a separate and much cleaner gangplank for First Class passengers only. All the crew greeted him as his luggage was carried by the porters. Feeling sikat gid siya. Siyempre. First Class ang ticket.
Then the ship left the pier and off they headed for Manila.
In his accomodation, feeling rich gid siya because malamig ang aircon. It was a farcry from the payag he left in Lambunao. Yes, it was also cold and airy in his hometown abode, but it was because of the holes on his walls and not because of the latest technology. And when night fell he got his pajamas from his bag. Yes, pajamas. Kay ti mapa-Manila na siya, indi mapaharab sa uma. Gani dapat naka-pajama. Then he took his toiletries and went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and wash his face with soap and water. And what a life. The floors were tiled and water just ran through. Back in Lambunao, he had to fetch water from far away.
But wait a minute. Something was wrong because the guy beside him was saying something.
'Pre, ngaa dira ka nagapanghilam-os haw?', asked the guy.
'Insa haw?', answered back bisoy.
'Pre, indi ka dapat magpanghilam-os da!'
'Insa haw? Perst klas man tiket ko.'
'Pre, indi puwede dira.'
'Insa gani, kay perst klas man tiket ko?'
'Pre, basin na ang ginapanghilam-osan mo. Inudoro. Indi ka manghilam-os sa inudoro.'
'Inudoro. Ano pagkama-an mo kanakon? Perst klas tiket ni!'
The other guy just left in a huff while bisoy toweled himself off as he murmured, 'Perst klas tiket ni!'.
I don't know if this incident really happened. If true, the other guy could really be a chismoso because the story spread like acne on the face of bisoy from Lambunao. During my student days, the label stuck. First Class referred to people from Lambunao.
Here's a video of a similar incident. I don't know if the person in the video was also labelled First Class.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Ti san-o ka masunod?
Gusto ko mag-EB sa mga klasmeyts ko. (Para sa mga insomniacs diyan na di masyadong techie, please contain your libido. This post is still rated GP. Sori sa mga utak-bastosin. But to me, EB is just plain face-to-face kumustahan.) But our EBs do not start with the usual 'Kumusta ka?' My klasmeyts break the ice with 'Ti san-o ka masunod?' Literally, 'When are you going to follow?'
I noticed this a long time ago when I was in college. One weekend when I was home, I met a klasmeyt I last saw in our high school graduation. She was holding a baby. Beside her was a gangly teenager who was the best basketball player in our place. They looked too young to be parents. I was too nabigla to say a word. (During those laid-back years, teenagers hardly used their tarugo for worldly purposes other than for peeing. Not for lack of desire but for lack of motivation and a surfeit of parental authority.) So, while eyeing her partner and her situation with obvious embarrassment, she started the conversation with 'Ti san-o ka masunod?' And I heard her asked the same question each time she met another klasmeyt. As if her life was worth emulating.
I hated the question. 'Ti san-o ka masunod?' As the object of the question, I felt miserable. It was asked more to highlight the missing in me than to emphasize the obvious in the person who asked. Or it was meant to cover up embarrassment for a naughty deed. When I caught a klasmeyt with a girl, he asked 'Ti san-o ka masunod?' When a klasmeyt left for abroad to wallow in milk, honey and money, everybody in the despedida was asked, 'Ti san-o ka masunod?'. Subliminally, it was to inform everyone that klasmeyt who went abroad was very lucky indeed. And those who were left behind, manigas kayo! Kon mayad gid man kamo, insa nga giya pa kamo sa Pinas nagabira-bira nga gamay man lang suweldo niyo! Wow. It hurt so much to be dismissed as an underachiever for vowing to serve my country till death do us part.
'Ti san-o ka masunod?' Actually, it is not a question. To my klasmeyts, it's a form of greeting. It's the most used greeting. Far second lang ang 'Kumusta ka?'. When somebody got married, well wishers were greeted with 'Ti san-o ka masunod?'. When one became a father/mother, friends ribbed each other with 'Ti san-o ka masunod?'
Now many klasmeyts are certified grandmas/grandpas. And they proudly parade their apos in strollers. Frankly, they looked like yayas than grandmas.
Klasmeyt grandma held her apo to me and asked, 'Ti san-o ka masunod?' Of course the question was not just intended for me. But still, I cringed at the question. Possibly, feeling high lang siya bcoz napamatud-an nga indi baog anak niya kag cute apo niya; or too embarrassed about the reality nga mal-am gid tana.
But give me a break. Did klasmeyt really think that life is the same for everyone? Or just because they are grandparents I would pray that I be like them soonest even if my eldest still talks and writes jejemonic at 11yo? But then I got my chance to let them taste the bitter dose of their own medicine. When we recently attended the burial of a klasmeyt, as klasmeyts were about to cry, I asked all of them seriously 'Ti san-o kamo masunod?' Ouch! Ti man. Yes, on hearing this, they all forgot to cry.
I haven't had an Eye Ball with klasmeyts after that. But I am sure that in our next EB, they will simply greet me with 'Kumusta ka?' @
