singularmusings

‘Di kita hihingan ng isang bagay na ‘di mo kayang ibigay.

Sigurado ako sa’yo, ngunit minsan, kumakawala pa rin ang isip ko sa paghanap ng mga bagay na maaaring mali ako ng intindi. Hindi ko hinahayaang ako’y matapilok dahil lamang sa paglingap, ngunit totoo rin na hindi ako sigurado kung tugma nga ba ang sinasabi mo at nararamdaman mo. Kaya ko lang maging sigurado pagdating sa sarili kong damdamin, isipan at gawa, dahil ang mga ito lang naman talaga ang hawak ko.

Iniintindi kita, at sa tingin ko’y naiintindihan ko, kaya buong buo pa rin ang loob ko sa’yo. Tama sila, ang tunay na pag-ibig ay hindi nangangailangan ng kasiguraduhan galing sa kabilang banda na may maibabalik sa kanya. Ako ay nagmamahal at iyon lang ay sapat na.

Ngunit kung may bahagi ng kasiguraduhan na kayang isagot ng minamahal, bakit naman hindi papakawalan ang tanong? Hindi kita hihingan ng isang bagay na ‘di mo kayang ibigay. Ngunit kung ibig mong magbahagi sa akin ng kasiguraduhan, at mapapanindigan mo ito, ay maluwalhati kong tatanggapin.

For a little over a year now, I have been continually preoccupied with the idea of reflections. I have always been a fan of parallels, but parallels are not sensitive to linear progression in terms of time. Reflections, on the other hand, are.

It is the rainy season here, but the rains do not come very frequently. Not yet, at least. But when they do, the city smells different. Whatever it is hiding in the cobwebbed corners of its heart are dragged out into the mud and the trash-filled sludge as dark clouds come to cover the city.

Sometimes, I am mystified by the pockets of beauty that come at the margins. I am always caught off guard. A stranger’s genuine smile. A dog’s innocent trot. A random helping hand.

This city that we call ours--what is it made out of? We, the people who call this city our own--what are we made out of? Brillante Mendoza will tell you that it is the place that affects people, changes them. I would agree that places do have their own personalities, and that they are dynamic and active structures that are sometimes overlooked.

But what about being placed? Situatedness. I am here. Raindrops come pattering against the concrete, against the hoods of cars rushing, against the shoulders of individuals hunched but rapidly walking. These stones that we have all trodden on: debilitating presence.

According to Pierre Bourdieu, language is symbolic power, for power can be culturally and symbolically created through unconscious modes of cultural domination manifest in the everyday social habits perpetuated in conscious subjects (“Language and Symbolic”). 

The poem begins with the speaker saying “I have learned your speech, / Fair stranger” (1-2). Colonization comes such that the colonizers impose their language on the colonized, and in the process, we are made to learn it as if it is the superior language.

The poem proceeds with verbs rigid with tension: “For you / I have oiled my hair / and coiled it tight” (emphasis supplied: 2-4). This is followed by other verbs such as “covered” (8), “hidden” (9), and “surrendered” (10), with the word “tight” (4) found just at the edge of the line breaks, as if speaking itself is a struggle, telling us that the admission of this containment is difficult. The speaker states that this is “for you” (2), as if the native in the poem is made to be in an inferior position, a position which the West placed her in. The West has driven the native into docility, submissiveness, and subservience, only to be used as a means to an end.

And what is suggested to be hidden, to be surrendered? The poem tells us that the answer to the former is her “breasts” (9), and to the latter her “inheritance” (11), illustrating how the West took side-by-side with our language, our very identity and past as well. As Fanon explained, the culture of the colonized is repressed by the colonizer. The native has had her culture passed on to her from many generations of ancestors who have previously lived in her land. The native’s land was supposed to be under the native’s rules, and yet, the speaker is made to “[surrender] / the beads / I have worn since girlhood” (10-2).

Even the name of the colonized is replaced—she is renamed, like a newly discovered specimen from nature, an object to be observed, studied, manipulated, controlled. Only those who own you can name you. The fourth stanza tells us how she is renamed as “Christina” (21) and how she is given a new identity. The stanza’s matter-of-fact tone only highlights the cruelty of a people being owned, being treated as an ownership, by another. She is told she “can make lace / Fine enough to lay upon the altar / Of a cathedral in Europe” (22-4). And yet she tells us that ironically, “this is a place / That I will never see” (25-6). The speaker asks what the point is of learning all the ways of the colonizer when this is not her culture, when she is not European, not American.

She reveals that she ends up being in the service sector, cooking for tourists, highlighting how she is made to serve the Westerner. The service sector is also a common destination in terms of employment distribution for the postcolonial Filipino, especially those who come from the lower and lower-middle classes.

The Third World is labeled as a site of poverty, instability, and disorder; and yet, that is not completely true. This ignores our history of colonial penetration. For sure, the First World has these problems as well, but these problems are not articulated such that they threaten the legitimacy of the society itself.

And so, instead, what is worth giving our attention to is despite all these problems, how does the Filipino react?

We are gathering the fragments of our past to make sense of our present, to move on towards our future. Towards the end of The Secret Language, the persona tells us that she daydreams when she looks “past the window, / Imagining father’s and grandfather’s cattle” (31-2). She looks somewhere else, she looks away from the now and gazes back at the past with nostalgia. She laments that “these / Are ghosts” (34-5), telling us that this past is dead.

And yet, something of the past lives on—in the cloak of solitude afforded to her by the night, the speaker lies “uncorseted” (28), free from binding, on her iron bed, “Composing my lost beads / Over my chest, dreaming back / Each flecked and opalescent / Color, crooning the names, / Along with mine: / Binaay, Binaay” (40-5). It is in these dreams she has at night that she is able to relive the past, to make the past alive again. In these dreams, she weaves back the past in order to make it new again, to make it hers again. She claims the ancient names again for these are truly hers. She may have been disconnected from her past, but it persists in her dreams, lives on in secrecy. At night, the persona speaks again in her own voice; she speaks again her native tongue.

A,

I’ve been bothered every now and then after you told me I had a long way to go in relation to my reading the comments section of Youtube. Well, now that I phrase it like this, it feels like I’m making a big deal out of something so small, but I think it informs other aspects of your opinion about me, and so I think it’s imperative that I correct it.

Ironically, I don’t even know if I’m ever going to let you read this. You know that I usually just leave your opinions alone, but I have been feeling frustrated whenever I think about that exchange, and so I felt compelled to at least write this blog post:

(1) I try to learn anywhere I can.

You thought it was ridiculous that I’m learning from sources that are not primarily educational in nature, like television shows. I think I’m smart enough to determine whether what I’m reading or watching is just plain stupid or if it actually holds any weight. I linked you to something before when we were arguing about refugees. You immediately rejected the link probably without even reading it (emphasis: without even reading it) because you said it was a .org.

Political science involves a lot of speculation—there’s no way to prove anyone’s motive and rationale in their actions; it’s frequently a game of prediction. Even retrograde analyses of political issues cannot be a hundred percent accurate; there are too many ways to look at things when it comes to human activities and proceedings, and I’m sure you know this already.

So at that time when we were arguing about refugees, I wanted to acknowledge that we are both correct, our opinions are both valid ones and they both make sense. In a way, they are both truths to us. But that’s the thing, I’m very constructivist so I tend to imagine the world as layer upon layer upon layer of truths that do not necessarily have to agree with each other. This doesn’t mean that there are stupid statements; there are, and by stupid I mean ignorant. But even being well-informed doesn’t coagulate the facts of the world into one single Truth.

I am digressing. But anyway, my point is that: I think I can discern for myself what makes sense and what does not make sense. Removing myself from opportunities to learn in unconventional places is only a loss for me; there is always a chance to learn anywhere if one has an open mind. And so I watch television series, I watch films, I read books, with the intent to pick up whatever I can pick up—whether these be metaphysical truths, political truths or empirical truths.

I have mentioned before how I learned about American domestic politics in House of Cards. Well, I’m sorry if my degree did not have any specific courses for American domestic politics because it’s so relevant to us. I’m not even interested in it before I started watching House of Cards. Maybe not everything I’m picking up from the series is reliable, perhaps they exaggerate certain things here and there. But I know for sure that all the politicking that I saw, (that I was shocked with,) is real. If it does not apply in the US of the now, then it must have been applicable at some other point in time, or in some other place. Of course, House of Cards is merely a work of fiction. But the learning I’m talking about is not on the details, but on the bigger picture. For sure, I know that it’s a truth—personality politics is a truth.

Additionally, I wouldn’t be following the US elections this year if not for House of Cards frankly, because like I said, I wasn’t interested in American domestic politics before I watched House of Cards. See how the imagined crosses over into the real at some point?

(2) The fictional is not necessarily divorced from the educational.

Imagination is what tickles my mind. My full comprehension of something comes when I see it actually applied. And it’s frequently easier to digest concepts in the realm of fiction because then, the variables are controlled unlike in the real world, where everything that man touches imbibes a sense of erraticism.

So I love it when I watch anime and I see, say, Michel Foucault’s Panopticism crossing over with J.S. Mill’s utilitarianism in Psycho-Pass. Not only does it show me how it might play out in an actual society, it actually encourages me to think how that is going to work, how the repercussions will look like on the people involved. And this is precisely what fascinates me still about manga and animated series and films; it does not matter if the medium is for children, if it’s communicating something intelligent, or something human, just something worth listening to (and if I can actually sense that—meaning if I can actually determine that because it is not out of my league yet), then I will read/watch it.

Fiction is a vehicle for education, not just for explaining concepts but also for recounting facts. I only learned that the US does caucuses in nominating their Republican and Democrat candidates through House of Cards.

You told me yourself that you think I’m smart. I like watching intelligent shows and films. I know for a fact that something is intelligent if it tries to be as real as possible, if it tries to stay as loyal to the truth that it is trying to communicate as it can within the limits of the frame or of the page. I disagree that something should be devalued merely on the grounds of the way that it is communicated.

In fact, to extend the discussion, even mainstream films, music and books have a value of themselves. There is a reason why masses of people find themselves relating to the mainstream—they may not be doing more in terms of technicality and content, but these are reflections of the climate of the generation that they belong to, hence, still communicating truths that are not only valid but also relevant.

(3) There is value in looking out for the ideological climate of the generation.

The comments section of websites is another measurement of the ideological climate of the generation. Whether they be filled with bigots or liberals, and whether these people are speaking of facts or not, if they are taking the effort and time to argue their point, that must mean that the “facts” they speak of are true for these people. What a bigot argues with might come off as a stupid thing to a liberal, but the important fact is that there are people who actually do subscribe to such ideas. What percentage of the population is as educated as you and I are?

I obviously am not reading the comments section in order to learn from the comments themselves. I get a pulse of what kinds of people are suggestively digesting this article or this video or this post through the comments section. That might not be valuable information to anyone in a personal manner, but such observations do have weight in a more zoomed-out view of society. I do not participate in the comments, but I do read them. Opinions might be just baseless statements in an empirical perspective, but they do have value sociologically because there are such things as groupthink, societal pressure and societal norms.

Perhaps, in this sense I am a guilty voyeur of society. I like to watch society so much, whether it be through its actual faces or through its reflections. But I will disagree with you on your assertion that what I am doing has no worth, and is merely a waste of time. You have your own passions, I have mine. :) I am interested in narratives and in articulations of narratives. I am interested in the real and the human.

TL;DR: I can read and watch whatever I want to; I can learn from anywhere I want to. :)) It is not even necessary to be able to explain myself why I make the choices I do make in relation to this, but I can. We probably just imagine the world differently, but I have one word to make you understand why we do differ in this manner: Constructivism.

Well, the answer is really simple: romantic comedies are far too formulaic for my taste. Yes, Hollywood as well as the rest of mainstream cinema are formulaic as well, but when you do the same thing with something as human and erroneous and beautiful and difficult to describe as romance, even love, that just leaves a very bad taste in your mouth. It’s not that I have anything against formulas, it’s just that formulas are for the objective, and there is a reason why its root word is “object.”

I wanted to be one of Jerome’s things. I wanted to be picked up, and put down, again and again. I wanted to be treated by his hands according to some sophisticated principle that I didn’t understand.

His strong hands.

Yes but now, it was no longer just about his hands. It was as if everything about him was different, which of course, it wasn’t, and I knew that in my head. And I scolded myself for seeing him in this new light.

Love is blind. No, no no. It’s worse.

Love distorts things. Or even worse, love is something you’ve never asked for. The erotic was something I asked for, or even demanded of men. But this idiotic love... I felt humiliated by it... And all the dishonesty that follows.

The erotic is about saying yes. Love appeals to the lowest instincts, wrapped up in lies. How do you say yes when you mean no and vice versa? I’m ashamed of what I became, but it was beyond my control.”

In terms of personality, I’m a little bit of an all-or-nothing kind of person.

I am generally disinterested in strangers which is probably why I’m more comfortable in my inner world than in my environment.

This is also probably the reason why I have low social skills. Of course, part of this is that I’ve taught myself how to not pass judgments a long time ago (although I haven’t perfected it yet) which means that I do not let social norms get in the way of getting to know a person, which means that my impression of a person is a blanker slate than usual and that I’ll take everything that you say literally.

In a way, it is kind of another preemptive defense mechanism of mine. Perhaps part of the reason why I have low social skills is because I do not want to. I just do not want to put myself out there, right in the open, vulnerable and naively waiting with open arms. Because I cannot fake it. I cannot fake being friendly. Either I am friendly to you or I am not.

But when you’ve got me interested in you, and you’ve given me a certain degree of security, then I’ll give my everything. I’ll lay out my soul for you, whether you want it or not. And I won’t mind it if you don’t want it; I’ll do it anyway. Because that’s just how I am: either I have my walls up with you, or I don’t. No middle ground here.

My foremost mode of communication is the story. That is how I make other people understand me, and that is how I understand other people.

But apparently, I also think in terms of the story. I’ve long since noticed that I think quite frequently of imaginary conversations with people I know, even myself. But then, I realized that it seems that that is the only way that I think. I think in terms of conversations with other people, as if I’m telling the story or the idea or the thought to whoever it is that I imagine I’m conversing with.

(Lately, I’m finding myself conversing with you imaginarily more and more.)

I think people who have a natural skill for empathy—that is, understanding how other people think and feel through one’s ability to put oneself in other people’s shoes in certain situations—are ironically put in a more disadvantageous position in human relationships  because of their very nature of being empathic.

They are sensitive towards other people, but in being so, the other person is lulled into a sense of comfort. The other is understood well by the empathic person, and so he/she has the tendency to forget to reciprocate since he/she is rarely reminded of the fact that we do not all have the same way of thinking of and going about things.

“Ang kunwari, pwede bang maging totoo?”

No one wants their life thrown into chaos. That is why a lot of people keep that threat under control, and are somehow capable of sustaining a house or a structure that is already rotten. They are the engineers of the superseded.

Other people think exactly the opposite: they surrender themselves without a second thought, hoping to find in passion the solutions to all their problems. They make the other person responsible for their happiness and blame them for their possible unhappiness. They are either euphoric because something marvelous has happened or depressed because something unexpected has just ruined everything.”

You give me words that are brevity in itself. I would probably receive it as fake were it to come from other people, the same way they say “lol” even when they’re not really laughing out loud.

But somehow, I am receiving it as you accepting my naked honesty not with outstretched hands nor with strained and closed arms, but with the simplicity of two persons interacting within the space of a single moment, as they are and not as they have been nor as they should be.

Because that’s the thing about interactions; they don’t have to involve dramatic or unique or extraordinary experiences for the interaction itself to be memorable. Simple interactions can bear fruit to complicated emotions. Interactions need not be inherently special for them to be special to the people involved.

Esther Perel said in her TED talk that part of what makes having an affair so seductive to other people is that it “keeps you wanting something you can’t have.”

This explanation is not exactly a novel idea—we’ve all heard about it. But this time, when I heard Perel say it, it made me pause for a moment. What seemed obvious to me for so long, I suddenly found baffling this time.

I couldn’t understand this particular rationalization of this phenomenon called the affair anymore. How can your unofficial lover be something you want because you cannot have him/her, when your husband/wife is also someone that you ever cannot have? The point is, we cannot ever have anyone; going into a relationship with someone and committing yourself to that person and to that relationship does not equate to being that person’s property. So if you’ve never had your husband/wife in the first place, why would you have to look for somebody else to have?

I realized what the problem is here. You get so used to all the politicking, it becomes natural to you, like second skin. You soak yourself in it in your working hours, and it clings to you even after you come home. You do not merely politicize your relationships in the workplace, you begin to politicize every other aspect of your life, so you’re left with interactions rife with mean thoughts and double-edged words, relationships filled with fakery and suspicion.