Your article reminded me of that writer (whose names escapes me) who said that while the medium is English, the story is Filipino at its root. The implication that such a dichotomy exists- and the question of the extent that we are able to somehow form something cohesive out of that- brings to question the abrogation of language. There was that Kenyan writer, Ngugi Wa Thiong'o, who used to write in English and then decided that there was no way to reconcile his stories with the language (theory about how English is inherently colonial), and now he writes in his native language and refuses to have them translated.
It's not that easy for us, I think, because English has been very much a part of our way of story-telling. I mean, you're a Benedictine too, and I myself recall that there was a sense of impalpable shame connected to being Bisdak, of being local, in using the language of the streets, to watching Teban and Golyat. Now it's the flip side- I am embarrassed by how out of touch I am with our culture. Especially because I am now in another country that I wish I knew Cebuano as well as I know English. In all honesty I think something has been stripped from me. It is difficult for me to explain this to my friends from elementary school, because as far as I can tell we have carried over those attitudes.
Of course there's the desire to go back to Cebu, live there for some time, no that it would make me any more "authentic", but just enough to get a feel for the stories of the place. It is still, after all, home.=)
"Bullfighting, it seems to me, gives us a clue. Kill the beast by all means, they say, but make it a contest, a ritual, and honour your antagonist for his strength adn bravery. eat him too, after you have vanquished him. Look him in the eyes before you kill him, and thank him afterwards. Sing songs about him.
2 Comments:
Larry, what happened to the plan? Wahee. Nalagpot napud ka diha balik.
Haay.
Hey Larry--
Your article reminded me of that writer (whose names escapes me) who said that while the medium is English, the story is Filipino at its root. The implication that such a dichotomy exists- and the question of the extent that we are able to somehow form something cohesive out of that- brings to question the abrogation of language. There was that Kenyan writer, Ngugi Wa Thiong'o, who used to write in English and then decided that there was no way to reconcile his stories with the language (theory about how English is inherently colonial), and now he writes in his native language and refuses to have them translated.
It's not that easy for us, I think, because English has been very much a part of our way of story-telling. I mean, you're a Benedictine too, and I myself recall that there was a sense of impalpable shame connected to being Bisdak, of being local, in using the language of the streets, to watching Teban and Golyat. Now it's the flip side- I am embarrassed by how out of touch I am with our culture. Especially because I am now in another country that I wish I knew Cebuano as well as I know English. In all honesty I think something has been stripped from me. It is difficult for me to explain this to my friends from elementary school, because as far as I can tell we have carried over those attitudes.
Of course there's the desire to go back to Cebu, live there for some time, no that it would make me any more "authentic", but just enough to get a feel for the stories of the place. It is still, after all, home.=)
Frances
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