Coprolalia

(updated 9 January 2008)

Are there any Tagalog expletives? Im talking about the words you utter when, say, you hit your thumb with a hammer, or when traveling in your car at 120 kph and finding yourself about to crash into a tree. Or the kind you use as punctuation, or as a filler, as in "Fuck, yeah" or "Hell, no."

We do have words for those occasions but theyre not pure Tagalog; putang ina, anak ng puta, tang ina (whore-mother or spawn of a whore) for instance, but theyre based on the Spanish puta. Our pucha, naknampucha, anaknampatola, anaknantokwa, etc., are all euphemisms derived from anak ng puta. I remember growing up hearing puki ng ina, or puking ina (mother's vagina), and theyre pure Tagalog, but I figured they were derived from putang ina as well. If they werent, then they have fallen into disuse, at least from where I am. [In fact, there is evidence that it is a Tagalog expletive that predates putang ina since there are expletives in other Filipino languages that mean the same thing and sound different from puta. The Ilokano ukininam, for instance.] What did the Tagalogs use before the Spanish gave us puta? Im sure they had something. Expletives come from a different part of the brain than everyday spoken language, and since I assume Tagalogs also have this part of the brain (the limbic system), I assume our ancestors also let out a blue streak when, say, their fishing nets snagged a rock and all the fishes they caught got away. Our ancestors also had those times when they knew they were fucked, and Im sure they didnt say Ay, gumamela! Alas, our authentic Tagalog expletives are gone forever. The only one that survived is the wimpy and tame walanghiya (shameless) used as a filler (not an expletive per se). Walanghiya is used like 'God damn!' when impressed by something, for instance. Walanghiya, ang galing!

The Visayans were more successful in preserving theirs. They continue to use yawa, or hindot as their substitute for hell (devil) and fuck. Ditto for the aforementioned Ilokanos. Ukininam is vulgar--a profaning of our mother's most secret place--and it's easy to say, which makes it perfect as an expletive. Perhaps the Tagalog word for fuck, kantot, doesnt lend itself well to being used as an expletive. It doesnt flow as easily as fuck, or hindot. Remember, Im talking about expletives and not those curse words that are actually directed at someone. Fuck is different from 'Fuck you' which has a lot of hostility. In that department, the directed curse word, Tagalogs can hold their own.

I dont think we have an equivalent in any Filipino language of the expletive shit, but we recognized that we needed one. So much so that we adopted shit, much the same way that we adopted puta from Spanish, but changed its pronunciation a bit, pronouncing it as shet. I dont know about you, but that small change in pronunciation emasculated it. Tae would have been perfect, and I suspect it was used as an expletive before the Conquistadores, the Inquisition still fresh in their minds and swords, gave the natives a new religion where words had power, and oaths meant something. Understandable, since in this new religion they brought, the Word is central to the faith. As a result, as the Tagalogs became the Vatican's most loyal subjects, Tagalog suffered the loss of their expletives since the Spaniards decided Luzon, especially Manila, would be their capital. We had to make do with hybrids to satisfy a primitive impulse. Anak ng puta!

P.S. It just occurred to me that a Tagalog expletive did indeed survive. And that's puki (vagina). But as far as I can tell, it's only used by women. Somehow, I dont see that fisherman ancestor who snagged his fishing net on a rock saying, "Ay, puki!"

Update (08 January 2008): I just thought of another Tagalog expletive: buwisit (jinx). How could I have missed this one? It was a favorite of my father's, just second to putang ina. Is this all the Tagalogs really had? Walanghiya and buwisit? Somehow I dont believe they were that prudish. I wish some professor at the U.P. (Happy centennial, oblates!) would do some research on pre-Hispanic profanity in the Philippine islands.

If I needed any proof that expletives and profanity come from a different part of the brain than everyday language, all I have to do is recall my experience with my father. He was in a car accident when I was nine and was in a coma for a month. At one point, we thought he wouldnt make it when all his vital signs crashed. A priest had to give him the last rites. Anyway, he survived that night and eventually got out of his coma, but with the entire left side of his body paralyzed and his speech hopelessly slurred... except for when he cursed.

Dad: Brrsw drwdweebld.
Me: Huh?
Dad: Brrsw drwdweebld.
Me: I dont understand. Can you repeat that?
Dad: Brrsw drwdWEEBLD!
Me: I really have no idea what you want.
Dad: BRRSW DRWDWEEBLD!!. Poo-ooo-ootang INA!

Rest in peace, dad.

Update (09 January 2008): Buwisit might not be Tagalog after all. It could be Chinese (Fujian). Another Tagalog expletive is lintik (lightning).

Bicol also has its version of puki ng ina, which is buray ni apo (grandmother's vagina), and this lends credence to the theory that puki ng ina is an expletive that predates putang ina. Notice that there are no expletives using the male genitalia here. That is probably because there is nothing sacred about the male genitalia, at least in the Philippine setting, and its impact on being profaned verbally is minimal. In other cultures, they do use the male genitalia as expletive; the British bollocks for example, or the American nuts. Both these cultures have phallic monuments copied from ancient Egypt -- Washington monument, for example -- which means they inherited a culture where the male genitalia is sacred, therefore fair game for expletives. (Which reminds me... Howie Severino once had a documentary on the Lukayo, a religious ritual somewhere in Laguna where the women paraded wooden penises. Perhaps if one were to do research on pre-Hispanic expletives and profanity, this would be a good place to start.) We inherited a European culture from the Spaniards, that's why classical monuments here are phallic as well, such as the Rizal and Bonifacio monuments. But we were never a patriarchal society before the coming of Islam, then Christianity, which probably explains why we dont use bayag as an expletive.

Two-oh-oh-eight

A happy new year to all of us working stiffs.

One more year to feed the machine til it spits us out. But we dont mind. We know what all this toil is for.




Some people say a man is made outta mud
A poor man's made outta muscle and blood
Muscle and blood and skin and bones
A mind that's a-weak and a back that's strong

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store

I was born one mornin' when the sun didn't shine
I picked up my shovel and I walked to the mine
I loaded sixteen tons of number nine coal
And the straw boss said "Well, a-bless my soul"

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store

I was born one mornin', it was drizzlin' rain
Fightin' and trouble are my middle name
I was raised in the canebrake by an ol' mama lion
Cain't no-a high-toned woman make me walk the line

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store

If you see me comin', better step aside
A lotta men didn't, a lotta men died
One fist of iron, the other of steel
If the right one don't a-get you
Then the left one will

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store

(lyrics Sixteen Tons, attributed to Merle Travis)

Nomen est omen

The generation of Pinoys born in the last ten years have got to have the most original names of all generations of Filipinos ever since the Spanish came and gave us their names. I realized this one morning when watching Spongebob Squarepants. In the middle of the show, they have a feature called Spongebob's Birthday Bop where our favorite poriferan greets children celebrating their birthdays by posting their names on the screen, and I swear these are some of the most original names and combinations of names I have ever come across. A sample list (I have omitted the family names):

Drix Arnage
Christmay Joy
Atlana
Reham
Jherlyza
Lanz Camanse
Liv Clergy
Clyssaryll Nicolas
Hans Kirzen
Jurgen Riev
Yna Ginelle
Keneizah Elize
Mark Dharel
Zextlher Cian
Girome Daneniel
Napp Danelle and Napp Donelle (twins, I gather)

Vivienne Joyce, Elisha Carlisle, Mikaelle Dominique, Sharmaine Peachy, Yves Laurence, Emiliana Mishka, Micaelah May, Rie Miho, Justene, Grant Frederick, Aldous John Reynold, Liam Alwin, Samira Yani, Alyzza Trixia, Tsini, Juneau, John Bradley, Philline Candace, Yzavella Gwen, Chenly Anne, Phoemella Yvonne, Czerina Jo, Ethan James, Jayden, Ervin, Eryl, Jason Brent, Eihdren Joshua, Resplandor.

The names of people in my generation were the traditional Spanish or American names. In school it's more likely we had classmates with names like Pablo or Edgardo, or Stephen, or Paul, or Andrew. In fact probably the only unique name in the class was Carnilo, and even that sounded traditional. But today's parents--whoo! There seems to be a trend towards over-the-top names. It's as if parents want their kids to stand out, that by bequeathing them with names whose provenance is their own creativity, they somehow bestow upon their offspring some sense of being special. At least they hope so.

Kids' names today are vaguely American, vaguely French, vaguely British, Jewish, Arabic, exotic... and totally Pinoy, a lot of them with unnecessarily doubled letters, the preponderance of the letter Y as a vowel, the affinity for high scoring Scrabble letters like X, Z, K (Zexthler scores a 27; so does Alyzza), and the ubiquitous overworking of poor old letter H. Creative spelling also abounds, as in the reworking of the traditional Chloe into Chlouey, or Lebron James into Levron James (probably because Lebron gets an 8 in Scrabble, while Levron gets a 9).

A recent study shows that names may indeed influence a child's destiny. This was the view of the ancients as well. One wonders what sort of destiny their parents had in mind when they named them. The Chinese Filipinos in my generation gave their children stately names--Washington, Jefferson, Winston--no doubt because they wanted their children to excel. And there is something oddly mellifluous about the rhythm of a monosyllabic Chinese family name and a western 'regal' first name in combo. Plus they also have their Chinese names.

Our Chinese colleagues (Chinese Chinese) also get to give themselves Western names in addition to the Chinese names given them at birth. They do this in college if Im not mistaken, to prepare themselves for the world at large although I never understood the reason for this. Why can't they just use their Chinese names? Some opt for the usual, like Michelle, or James, or Peter, or Eric, and some can get creative: Amyly, Shmily. Some can get downright poetic: Friends, Golden, Four Fires, Dragon, Seaboy. One, for some reason, chose the name Oven. But like I sain, they chose these names for themselves. Our kids have names chosen for them. I wonder what it would be like growing up burdened with a name like Bien Alexandraye. I would be quite a name to live up to. But then again, if you have classmates named Charlz Francoise, Natasha Christelle, Vryle Zhane, or Semn Emmanuel, I suppose you'd blend right in and won't feel any pressure at all.

Im sure the Pinoy parents have their kids' best interests at heart when they named them such. They probably have dreams for them and their future and chose their names carefully with much pondering and discussion. Perhaps I am out of touch, but from where I sit, the only destiny I see with names like those are in show business or maybe in sales. Somehow I don't see myself voting for a President Denizel Jherein D. Calubaquib.

The mighty ducks

 

If youre in the area, you might want to check out the newly renovated Washington SyCip park (formerly Legazpi Park) in Legazpi Village. It has ducks running loose, delighting visitors, adults and children alike, for whom ducks running free are a novelty. I love ducks. I used to have a pet duck when I was a kid (Mallard, not the Beijing variety shown in the picture) and it followed me around wherever I went, having imprinted itself with me when it was still a duckling. I used to have two of them but one got squished when the ducklings followed me into a room that had a door that closed by itself. The other one went on to become an adult duck. One day my lola, who was a fantastic cook, said, "Ang laki na ng itik mo. Lutuin na natin." I said ok. She was yummy.

For the photo above, I crouched on the cobbled pathway and waited for the ducks to cross to the other side. They quickly got bored of the other side and I knew they were going to go back where they came from and I waited for them to go the other way, but my ancient Olympus XA2, like its owner, is showing signs of age and the shutter refused to fire and I missed them except for that one duck I caught in the photo below.

This is the first time I shot with Neopan black & white film. Neopan is great, with blacks really black. Ive decided to use black & white film exclusively with the XA2, and shoot color snaps with my digital camera.

 

A skewering

From the comments section of Jessica Zafra's blog is this link from the Atlantic Monthly, 2001, of critic B.R. Myers's article, A Reader's Manifesto, in which he...barbecues...what is today considered 'literary prose'.

Everything written in self-conscious, writerly prose, on the other
hand, is now considered to be "literary fiction"—not necessarily good
literary fiction, mind you, but always worthier of respectful attention
than even the best-written thriller or romance. It is these works that
receive full-page critiques, often one in the Sunday book-review
section and another in the same newspaper during the week. It is these
works, and these works only, that make the annual short lists of award
committees. The "literary" writer need not be an intellectual one.
Jeering at status-conscious consumers, bandying about words like
"ontological" and "nominalism," chanting Red River hokum as if
it were from a lost book of the Old Testament: this is what passes for
profundity in novels these days. Even the most obvious triteness is
acceptable, provided it comes with a postmodern wink.

I suppose it is the unfair treatment of 'genre' fiction that has spurred Filipino writers like Dean Alfar to try to 'elevate' science fiction, magical realism, crime, horror, etc. to the level of the 'literary'. My opinion has always been that these so-called genres are in no need of elevation, that they should stand quite proudly on their own, that they dont need to prove themselves to the snobs. And if Myers's article is correct, the snobs arent wearing any clothes except for a pair of soiled knickers. Read the whole thing. It's quite entertainingly snarky.

Ive always been wary of the 'literary' style. I blogged once that when trying to write a story, and it begins to sound literary in any way, if there is a hint of the poetic in it, or--heaven forbid--art, I kill the sentence. Perhaps I should leave those sentences alone, but it's just not in me. I once wrote in a comment to Resty Odon's blog that if ever--IF ever--I get lucky enough to get published, I would like the readers to think, "What a great story" instead of "What a great writer." The literary style is just too self-absorbed, too "Look at me! Look at me!" for my taste. I just want to disappear as an author.

In blogging about reading Salman Rushdie's Shalimar the Clown I once wrote:

I picked up Shalimar the Clown. And it was everything I expected:
Rushdie at the top of his game. His words flow like liquid poetry. The
narrative just takes you along paths of Rushdie's choosing. He's
erudite, he's funny. Usually, I just go along for the ride, but this
time something was amiss. The rhythm was growing repetitive. It wasnt a
Bollywood musical number anymore. It was a drone. I was drowning in a
sea of metaphors. It was an explosion of figures of speech. Im fine
with figures of speech. In fact I used a couple in this very paragraph.
But to be deluged in it, to be overwhelmed with poetic narrative gone
berserk... I went, For the love of God, Salman. Will you just get on
with telling me what happened?

...and I blamed myself, that something was somehow wrong with me for not liking it, instead of blaming Mr. Rushdie for sucking. Such is the power of the literary. If you dont get it, youre a Philistine unworthy of even handling a second hand copy of the work in Booksale. In the article, Myers recounts that even Oprah isnt immune.

At the 1999 National Book Awards ceremony Oprah Winfrey told of calling
Toni Morrison to say that she had had to puzzle over many of the
latter's sentences. According to Oprah, Morrison's reply was "That, my
dear, is called reading." Sorry, my dear Toni, but it's actually called
bad writing. Great prose isn't always easy, but it's always lucid; no
one of Oprah's intelligence ever had to wonder what Joseph Conrad was
trying to say in a particular sentence. This didn't stop the talk-show host
from quoting her friend's words with approval.

Blek! I daresay no one of my intelligence should ever have to say, "Would you please get on with your damn story?"

(By the way, Banzai Cat did send me a copy of his winning entry to Fully Book's Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards 2 and I found it absolutely delightful. If youre good, Grifter, youll get the book as a Christmas gift next year.)

Im gon' deck the halls with your &^%$#! ass!!

(Rant warning.)

Update 10 December. The Pope says the same thing. High five, Benny!

Christmas is starting to piss me off. Enough of the countdowns already. TV and radio are trying to beat out some enthusiasm for the holidays, but it's just not working. People only get even more depressed and stressed. And those tacky Christmas songs? For the love of... I even heard some local artist singing carols bossa-nova style. The last straw was when I heard that stupid Papaya song interspersed with Christmas greetings. It's enough to make me want to shoot someone.

If there would be a referendum on whether we should abolish the Christmas holidays, I would vote Yes. Twice. Maybe not the holiday part, but the Christmas part. Call it an end-of-year treat for workers or some other. Secularize it. That's what the constitution mandates anyway; separation of Church and State. I feel the hoopla is just insulting to Christians who believe theyre celebrating their Lord's birthday that it's turned into one big marketing event. Companies are even mandated by law to equip their workers with enough cash to consume various frivolous items via the bonus and thirteenth-month pay. Other national holidays of a religious nature such as Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Eid al-Fitr, and All Saints' Day arent abused like this and are treated with the proper reverence. (Although the Holy Week holidays are starting to lose their meaning, too, becoming just opportunities to go partying at the beach or facsimiles of the beach in some tacky establishment that serves alcohol. We could secularize it too. Call it Worker's Summer Week Off.)

And what could be tackier than plastic Christmas trees in this tropical country? I even saw one that spews polystyrene snow! It didnt even have a warning label for households with children. What does that have to do with Jesus' birthday? I could let the fact that he probably wasnt even born in December slide but Christmas trees? It's a druidic symbol for crying out loud. Deck the Halls is a druidic song about the Saturnalia where they burn a log to help the Sun god along as its days wane. And besides, 'Don we now our gay apparel' has a totally different meaning now in the 21st century. And that Carol of the Bells song reminds me so much of the theme music from The Exorcist. I bet that's not a coincidence.

I say Enough!

People power? Not today

(Updated with pictures 30 November. Click on picture to enlarge.)

I know in a previous post I extolled the virtues of the leisurely pace a film camera affords you, but not this time. Not when there's breaking news.

I was peacefully minding my own business in my cubicle when news broke out that Senator Antonio Trillanes, et al. have taken over the Manila Peninsula Hotel in Makati. (Initial reaction: Why, Trillanes, why? Youve tried this before. It didnt work. What makes you think it'll work this time? We're supposed to do this together. Together with us, the people. And they have spoken. They dont want this.) I took my puny little point-and-shoot XA2 film camera and made my way over there.

I had one roll of 24 shots and I went through them just like that. I debated going back to the store and getting another one, but what if something happens? I was in the midst of all those soldiers, police SWAT teams, media people, snapping away. Of course the thought that they'd start shooting anytime occurred to me. I sized up the GMA 7 van if I could take cover under it. (I could.) Then the order came.




Waiting...waiting...


Hardware

The soldiers started to move. And dagnabbit I was out of film. I just stayed put at the intersection of Ayala and Makati Avenue, when shots rang out. Everybody scampered for safety. Pop...pop...pop! I made my way back to the GMA 7 van and crouched behind it.


The Manila Pen. (You can see the GMA van where I took cover.)


Another view of the intersection.


While shots continued to ring out, and soldiers took cover where I was, I made my way back to another van and crouched behind that. Crouching beside me was a Net-25 field reporter reporting away, saying that he and another reporter got separated during the shooting. Standing over us were two plainclothes policemen, handguns drawn, trying to determine where the shots were coming from. Apparently they were clueless. The shots were coming from snipers in the building across Shangri-La hotel beside the PLDT building on Makati avenue. It was coming from their team. I could see puffs of smoke on the Manila Pen as the bullets hit. One grizzled reporter said the snipers were marking enemy positions with bullets, and I might add, scaring away 'usiseros' such as myself. They succeeded as the usi crowd disappeared. Shots continued intermittently. Then came a lull. I could see Marines trying to find away into the Manila Peninsula, retreating, regrouping, then trying again.

Last minute checking of gear

The assault minutes away...


...as a close-to-empty Ayala looks on. No People Power today, folks.

I took that opportunity to go back to that photo lab on the walkway between Landmark and Greenbelt to have the film developed and to get another roll of film. When I got there, the Ayala malls were closed. So no film. It was about this time when a monster armored vehicle rumbled by towards the hotel. This was serious hardware.

So filmless, light failing, I decided to just head on back.

Update 5:46. It's over. General Pagbilao declares the operation "a success". Senator Trillanes has been neutralized. He is alive and well, thank God. No casualties.

Impressions on a crisis: One block away from the action, in the mall area, it was as if nothing momentous was happening. It gives the impression that Makati is composed of self-contained cells, operating independently. What's happening in one cell not affecting the others. To the mall crowd, and the office crowd, it was just another humdrum day, and they went about their business.

Another glaring observation was, how the hell was I able to get that close to the Manila Pen? The police I suppose did not take crowd control too seriously. Of course as I got closer to the Manila Pen, the crowd thinned out, but that was no thanks to the police. The crowds stayed a safe distance away except for a few intrepid souls. When the order to storm the hotel came, the generals warned the media to stay away. The generals! The rank-and-file formed a cordon around the area but we were able to cross it, and a general bawled them out. Apparently the police were 'scared' of the media and let them in, me included. The general yelled, "Dont be afraid of them! You are doing your job!" That's the only time the cops herded the crowd away. But of course the media people didnt move. It took the generals yelling at them for them to reluctantly move.

The media people felt invincible. As the soldiers rushed past them, they stayed put, not heeding that rebels in the Manila Pen might open fire on the Marines moving into position, or maybe they had faith that the rebels wouldnt open fire into a crowd of civilians. I suppose they gave each other courage, or the fear of being out-scooped was greater than the fear of being shot. Overheard a young reporter beside me on her phone: "Hello, 'dy. Opo. Malayo kami. [We werent that far away -- Jeg.] Tsaka hindi ako nag-iisa. May mga kasama ako dito." Cellphones. Arent they great?