Using “Filipina” Not A Dilemma

A blog entry in the very popular Filipino blog, Sassy Lawyer, spoke in defense of Filipino womanhood in general in the midst of an apparent negative connotation worldwide of the local feminine form of a Filipino citizen, the word, Filipina. The defense was quite articulate and decisive, except in its justification of the use of the word, Filipina.

Though claimed that its usage is not validated as right by grammarians, I suppose, of the English language, the other language most Filipinos are most familiar with, the point was made that it should be used with pride and for self-identification of Filipino womanhood. However, the justifying explanation advanced for its continued use made no reference to its etymology. The comments which were aplenty were quite approving of the defense and the use of the world. Still, no adequate explanation as how and why it should be used.

It would appear that we as a people have not been attentive enough with the long tumultuous history of this archipelago, especially those portions when two colonizing powers occupied the islands and imposed not only their languages but more importantly, their ways of life. We cannot discount that we might also be dismissive of these portions of our history as a retaliatory mechanism against the inequities now perceived as realities during those times.

True, the Americans with their English language were the later colonizers, one of whose main and lasting impressions on the country was its educational system delivered and bound together by the English language which it used as the medium of instruction. And thus, great deference and respect are given the language

But the Spaniards with its Spanish not only came earlier but stayed a lot longer, much longer with its almost 400 years of occupation. Needless to state, the collective and lasting impacts of that culture are almost imperceptible and indeterminable, except to say that its myriad of influences on society run so deep as to be part and parcel of Philippine culture.

One easy one to point out is how we got our names, and the methodology of naming our citizens. Most of us inherited not only Spanish first names and surnames, but also the ways of using and assigning those names. Thus, Juan is our masculine form to name a child who is a boy, but Juana if it turns out to be a she. And it goes down the line. Pedro and Petra. Claro and Clara. Amado and Amada. Etc., As a general rule then we learned that the suffix “o” stands for the masculine form while the “a” stands for the feminine form. We also have examples like Gloria, which as I far as I know does not have a masculine counterpart.

The local uses of Filipino and Filipina are then nothing more than extensions of the already ingrained naming conventions that we have dutifully followed in our daily lives. There is no need to find validation and/or justification for them in any other language, except our own.

If we declare we are proud of our ethnic origins, then this is indeed one defining instance we can show that pride.

And BTW, we do not have to change our names when we go live or visit in other countries, do we? I know some do, but we don’t have to.

And if one is observant enough with how the rest of the world assigns names to its citizens, then we realize how confusing and unregulated it already is. American is used either as a noun or an adjective to describe origin; the same is true with Canadian. But Spanish is not necessarily used the same way because the noun is Spaniard, though it is also a noun to refer to the language. The adjective Hispanic is used to denote the broader category that includes most of those Latin American countries which Spain had colonized at one time or another. And Danish is the adjective with Dane as the noun. Same with Swedish and Swede. Chinese and Chinaman. And so on.

For us, it should be Philippine/Filipino and Filipino/Filipina, giving us the extra advantage of having one other noun to call the feminine half of the population.

Of Living and Dying

We are not only a very unique species, but also very interesting, tightly bound together with a strong strand of ironies and paradoxes. Let me delve on one such interesting paradox. It almost always makes for good, emotional, and moving theatre when the life or death of one soldier, or it could be a band of soldiers, is plucked out from anonymity and served to us in a platter of glaring and inspiring detail. I call this our “Saving Private Ryan” moment, since which one of us cannot identify and empathize with the unique circumstances of the man Matt Damon played. 

 When anonymity is replaced with personal details, we are almost always moved emotionally and intellectually and may thus exhibit a myriad of moods and emotions, ranging from respect, love, honor, fear, inspiration, and even to hate. Hate for the powers that be responsible for bringing about the set of circumstances to rain on our perceived hero or heroes. But in another vein, we appear to be anesthetized emotionally when dealing with large anonymous numbers. We cannot seem to fathom our emotional depths when we are confronted with unthinkably large numbers. Private Ryan was one life and we invested our entire emotional cache on his life, conveniently shunting aside the countless thousands who died on the beaches of Normandy alone, who did not have to die but obviously died for a cause they believed in. 

But a single life such as a Private Ryan pushes to the fore the idealism of our profound emotional qualities. We also find ourselves unable to invest emotionally on the countless other young soldiers and civilians who died in wars and conflicts past. 

About 55,000 GIs died in Vietnam and hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese. At least 75 million soldiers and civilians died during WW2. Etc, . Saddam sitting on his cell is responsible for at least a million deaths, from the time he ascended to power, through the Iran-Iraq War, through the first gulf war, through the present war, and down to his jail cell time. Yet we are quite emotionally detached from him and his dastardly deeds, (and others like him) as though he never quite existed or mattered. Yet surprisingly, many vigorously hate the man responsible for taking him out of power. It is arguable if we have invested enough grief for all the hapless thousands who died in the WTC attacks. 

We can hardly remember how many idealistic young men died during the regime of Marcos, though we clearly continue to reminisce to this day of the billions he stole and the single life of a Ninoy Aquino.

 What about Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Several hundred of thousand lives wiped out in seconds. But then we cannot identify with a single Japanese life from those holocausts. The same would be true with what is presently happening in Sudan where genocide is in progress. We may have to wait until one life is highlighted in detail before we can release and give rein to our profound emotions. 

 Why is this so? All those who died in conflict possessed the same life, with the same values and potentials, as any other life of any other color, race, and ethnicity. 

 If one perceives life as having value unto itself then it is most important that everybody lives and not die. But we have been taught that earthly life is not that significant. Christ taught by example about sacrificing a life so a greater good can be attained. Earthly life then has value when it has purpose, not because it is life and has to be lived to its natural end. 

 One of my sons reminisced about another fellow officer who died. He had known him quite well, sometimes doing duty for him. He was of his age, married also with two young kids. He was off-duty and was riding his bike home on a stretch of freeway when a hit-and-run rig ended his life abruptly. I caught a bit of the news about this officer’s funeral. And the comment of one fellow officer caught my attention. The guy said that the deceased lived and died doing what he liked to do, riding his bike. He did not say that he died too young, or that some crazy guy snatched this man’s life away from his family, his work, and his friends. But that this young man lived doing what he liked to do. 

 UPDATE (3/27/2011) Admittedly, it feels good to get confirmation for some self-arrived conclusions, such as this one.

In the 1960s, the economist Thomas Schelling performed research demonstrating that people are more likely to be moved by single victims than by statistics.

MUSINGS OF A SOLITARY PERSON SEARCHING FOR KINDRED SPIRIT

It’s been quite sometime that I’ve found that this mortal coil I’m tied to
has become rather burdensome.
It’s not that suddenly the load has become unbearable;
nor because its multiplying cares have conspired to overwhelm.
It’s not even because of the countless frustrations it has spawned daily.

Why then the wanton indifference,
the lackadaisical and dreary outlook to the unfolding reality that slowly rolls in each day ?
Culled from a veritable storehouse of life experiences, the answer is readily unraveled.
The uncanny realization that earthly life is bereft of meaning,
so fleeting and so vaporous in its content.

Finding that nothing of life induces inspiration to pursue it with at least decent fervor.
No wonder then its trite challenges are met with tepidity and nonchalance.
Finding that the trifling values and pursuits that present-day man has clothed life with,
I look down with derision and disdain.

Harboring no ill will toward man himself
but only at the blatantly hedonistic pursuits that preoccupy his day.
A gnawing yearning for something more meaningful and profound is felt spiritually.
Things that satisfactorily fulfill my very discriminating criteria for goals worthy of pursuit.

Things that relate to the higher and noble nature of man.
Ultimate causes that address what comes after this so inscrutable existence.
And the pangs of impatience obstinately tear at my consciousness,
Making it very difficult to exhibit even feigned interest
and enthusiasm at the very mundane concerns of everyday living.

Despite the gloomy picture painted above,
the quest for meaning is doggedly pursued if only to justify continued existence.
The ultimate purposes are easily articulated with nary an iota of doubt.
To mortify and bring the material body to complete and total subjugation
by the spirit through the strict practice of A S C E T I C I S M.

This determination gives me impetus to continue with life.
It proffers the clarity of vision to see through the hazy veil
that shrouds the real purpose of man here on this earth.

That he is here only as an itinerant traveler,
preordained to begin his real life in the spirit
devoid of the constrictive trappings of the flesh.
Still, while the mind and spirit share a clear and unstinting grasp of my real goals in life,
Keeping in this frame of mind is most of the time difficult
and calamitous lapses are not uncommon,
Making it necessary to incessantly remind myself of the guiding principles
that should rule my daily living.

But life ought to be more than just an excruciating tolerance
and nonchalance of the events that shape it.
It ought to be more than just trying to survive the trip so the goal can be attained.
It is still within one’s capabilities to make life a more positive experience.

One should be able to look forward to each day with child-like anticipation,
in tandem with a driving passion to be an active and catalytic participant in it.
And not just a passive onlooker being bandied about,
satisfied with just trying to salvage the most out of a situation.

If such a possibility should exist,
I ought to dig deep into myself and my innermost resources to find out.
To enable me to look at life in a positive perspective
so that I can approach each day with promise and excitement.

The search might be made more meaningful
if I can find a kindred spirit to share my sentiments and philosophy.
Is it possible to find such a person in this lifetime,
or am I so alienated from the rest ?

In my own peculiar and quaint ways
I pursue the search for kindred soul for I still have to find one.
While everyday, I struggle and grope around trying to maintain the precarious equilibrium
that makes life bearable and livable.
At every turn and every tick of the clock,
confrontational situations stare at me,
Demanding undivided attention
and unyielding to anything less than total commitment.

Most of the time, the battles seem to weigh against me
resulting in a troubling and agonizing sense of frustration.
And as if these were not sufficient for the day’s share of troubles,
the vagaries of my sensual emotions float around the mind seeking fulfillment.

Sensuous desires, definedly moral taboos, buffet the will;
Are the learned moral values of our youth still relevant or what ?
The many familial concerns also add their share of bitter medicine
to an already water-logged soul.

Indeed, life seems not to be getting any better in terms of achieving a yeoman’s share
of those fleeting moments of seeming peace and tranquility
so that my mind can relax and savor the beautiful vistas it surveys
as it glides through the times of my life.

Death seems such a sweet and tempting alternative to extricate oneself from all this living.
but in an inexplicable, almost sadistic, way one can’t help believing
that these trials are cathartic and may indeed make for a more saintly life.

FOR DO NOT ALL THESE BRING OUT IN EACH ONE OF US
THE SAME GODLY DIGNITY THAT PERMEATED CHRIST’S EARTHLY LIFE ?

TRAVAILS OF THE LOVESTRUCK

Where the mesmerizing powers of a pretty face emanate,

one can only surmise.
Although there is no denying its awesome presence
when it draws nigh.

It initiates surging emotions so strong and lasting
they defy containment and restraint.
Lifelong defences one is clothed with seem no match,
easily overpowered and overwhelmed.

Where does one get relief from such a malady?
For truly it is one.
Where does one go to forget and start anew
unfractured by its painful yearnings?

Are not such emotions fathered so they can be fulfilled,
and not seethe with frustration?
How does one’s sensual passions seek gratification?
Unless one resorts to flights of fantasy.

Still, one feels the eerie emptiness and deprivation
of such vicarious incursions to unreality.
For the actual experiences of touch and communion,
these cannot replace.

Devoid of bodily senses,
the soul must of consequence bear the heavier burden.
For so it’s deigned it must pursue its pleasures elsewhere,
this role the body assumes.

The body can be appeased by offering alternatives,
the soul will accept no less.
It cannot be deluded to accede to compromises,
and for thus it must agonize.

To the very end it drags with it the total man,
resulting in an utterly miserable departure.

Say I: Meet Me

These vignettes on friendships that you regularly run into truly are emotionally wrenching and should if one is normal tug at the heart and bring out very strong feelings. But sometimes one wonders if they are as real as they are presented and narrated. 

 Take this particular one on Friendship, for example. The picture: two loving souls in perfect harmony, basking in the bliss that each one exudes. The reality, as I perceive it: True friendship is a very demanding and exacting relationship, unless both participants are already equipped with the same beliefs, temperament, dispositions, awareness, etc; meaning, they mirror each other. 

 Unless true friendship is premised on two “similar” persons uniting together, it requires constant adjustments and reorientation. A constant “tug and pull” of the individual’s need to be this and the other person’s need to be that, the individual’s pining for solitude and friendship’s need for communication, etc . 

 While man is a social and gregarious being, I truly believe that a good part of him requires “aloneness” and true friendship which should hold no boundaries, can most of the time get in the way. If you ask what my take on this is. It is that while these provide good reading, one should remember that in real life, nothing much is that “cut and dried”. Everything in life requires a great deal of time and effort, a lot of confusion and real pain, with each individual contributing his yeoman’s share. With emphasis, on each individual. 

 If through my willful inaction or negligence, or reckless wrongful choices, I make myself poor and indigent; then I impose myself on the concern and goodness of the other. Rightly or wrongly, I make myself a liability, or a burden, to the other. And in the general scheme of things, each individual should carry his own rightful burden. For me then true friendship is not two individuals leaning on each other.

 Maintaining relationships of any kind is not only always serious business but is never easy. It can be close-knit one, like a family relationship, or a loose one like an email group. Still, there is always a degree of difficulty maintaining it for a variety of reasons depending on each individual person. It always requires much patience, adjustment, tolerance, and a host of things stemming from our own individual differences. 

 From my experience, the only and best person I can get along with, with nary a single complaint, is I. Without a doubt I can always rely on this a 100 percent. I need only lock into “myself” to find solace, comfort, and validation of what I believe in. And all’s well.