uncovering the myth

attempting to widen my knowledge on a bit of my people's anthropolgy, i was trying to google relevant items on the web the other day and uncover this essay lurking within the confines of the vast networks of colorful sites and features. written 21 years ago, but still a relevant cultural piece in the digital age.

i don't read as many books as i want to either. i spend most of my free time attempting to get ready to face relevant chores and errands and accomplish sometimes virtually nothing. procrastinating is not a productive behavior. but since i'm trying to undo my incorrigible delaying maneuvers, my groanings need to stop and i have to commence the wearying vexations.

Filipinos are not book lovers

by arlene babst-vokey

Some years ago, a friend of mine observed that in Japan, the bookshop seemed to be the most popular feature of practically every street block. While in the Philippines, instead of bookshop, it was the beauty parlor vying closely with the sari-sari store.

In commiseration, I made the wistful remark that at the turn of the century in London, Virginia Woolf was already making good money doing just book reviews for newspapers and periodicals, and through her highly rarefied novels and short stories, some of which became bestsellers of her lifetime.

Even in those days, a writer as difficult as Woolf had an audience, those who were willing to exchange hard-earned money for her often esoteric experimentation with language and literary forms.

In sad contrast, almost a century after Ms. Woolf was able to support herself with her writing, Filipino writers would starve if he or she depended solely on “literary writing.”

It seems certain now that Filipinos will never become book readers. To paraphrase, George Bernard Shaw, Filipinos will go from being primitives to becoming exhausted as a civilization, without ever having been civilized enough to read books.

Why is this shameful fate of our lot as a nation? There are a few facile reasons that we could cite, we don't mean sheer poverty either, for even among the richest Filipinos, they hardly read books.

A book, whether a novel, a compilation of poetry, or a collection of essays or short stories, is one of the most demanding forms of intellectual engagement available, a one-on-one relationship and challenge. A book must be met in certain solitude so that the sentences and chapters will seep through the readers consciousness of the reader.

The problem is Filipinos hate solitude. Count the number of Filipinos you know who enjoy being alone, and being in a book. For them, it’s absolutely terrifying.

Reading a book requires time and patience; endurance, if need be. It isn’t over in an hour or two like movies or television shows. And Filipinos with our ningas-cogon tendencies, like our entertainment fast and light, have suitably short attention span.

Furthermore, books deal with ideas, worked out mainly through characters and plots. There is always some horrid symbolism lurking somewhere, and the conflict of one system of thought against another. However for most of us, we prefer our conflicts played out among personalities rather than in ideas–it’s much easier that way and more exciting. Ideas can be so dull.

Another factor could be, one reads a book in silence. Solitude na, ideas pa, and then silence? It is too much for average Filipino. It just goes against all cultural traits – the need to move in herds, in exuberance and gaiety, in love songs and dances. Rilke be hung, give Filipino `La Bamba` any day.

A great pity, of course, and dangerous, too, when non-readers like Imelda Marcos (who was never seen reading a book from cover to cover) get positions of power.

How much does Cory Aquino read, does anyone know?

Alas! Perhaps the only Filipino who read assiduously these days are the Marxists with their tones on agrarian reform, Nicaragua on its liberation theology, and the Latin American political novelists. No wonder they’re often ahead in the game.

Still, here’s to the little band of Filipinos who do read, who scrimp and save to buy the expensive pocketbooks of the latest novels from Europe and Latin America, from Japan, from the Philippines. Even rarer than the Filipino reader is the Filipino Writer. But that topic is too sad for words.

-© The Manila Chronicle, 1987

lovely betty

in purely accidental circumstances, i collar news like this on my radar. just as my dad always reminded me, it's better to touch base with the state of the world -- the ailing effects of poverty in the philippines and the hopelessness of our political process-- than be fascinated by the puerile antics of the vacuous slebs.

but the entertainment folios are a light read compared to the heavy toll of the stock market plunge in the front pages. plus it helps me smile a little bit. it hurts to see colleagues parade their bumps and their babies or utter snooty opinions about how a child strengthen the knots in marital unions as if it's not like i didn't try or i'm not trying. but i'm digressing.

this piece is really about betty suarez and her good heart. the character sport a fashion ensemble reviled by the fashionistas. but do clothes really define a person? betty gets the guys (choices, choices) in the series, despite the mismatched coordinates, due to the fact that she is a good natured person and most men dig a sprinkle of nice -- stay-at-home virginal ingenues who don't party like lindsay lohan. but their being nice is sometimes all facade. deep, deep down the claws are longer and much, much sharper. however the betty in the story is really kind-hearted because she is fiction, a figment of imaginations. while a few real deals in narrow bays are more complex, pretending coyness amid the haste and noise. but are actually rory gilmore in light brown complexions, or becky, one of the girls of old town in sin city, disarming on the act, but actually engage in hidden subterfuges.

but there are those gentle souls, who are always helpful, never moody, constantly opinionated and eternally fun chums on the move --- the generous souls in my christmas list. i better start the cards and the tiny presents rolling.

slab dashing

i'm having sleepless nights thinking about my misspellings, dangling modifiers and the amount of time it takes for me to spot them in the blog. when i was younger i had an irksome struggle with prepositions. i still do. nowadays typos breed in my paragraphs, especially in my academic essays, which is not a forte. i abhor those kind of didactic assignments, the ritualistic references and the lack of imagination in every sentence. but that's work, the thing that keeps body and soul together. following the rules on references may be a tedious and exasperating undertaking, but those are the statutes of formal composition. hopefully i'll be more conscientious with my editing. no more rushing and dashing.

to perk up my day, i watch some bloopers and comedy:

ER telly

ER, that famed medical drama, is now on its 15th and final season and the longest-running tv show i've ever kept tracked of. i never thought i could tune in even after doug and carol reconciliation kiss in seattle. i'm hoping against hope to compile every season's dvd's. i need nine more dvd's to round up the collection and another dvd rack for such insane hoarding activity. but reading about pratt's being dispatched to the afterlife by the buscemi ambulance was too painful a way (for a staunch viewer like me) for a laudable character to go. why not sail into the sunset by moving to new york or miami or join the peace corps by feeding the orphans in romania? but the writers and producers thought the audiences love tearful storylines --- dr. green dying of brain tumor, romano's catastrophic encounter with the falling helicopter, michael gallant being blown up in iraq, lucy knight tragic stabbing by a deranged patient.

there was no secret that abby was leaving but at least she's alive and there's a kid and a dishy spouse. but probably it was a flimsy thought to have abby introduce baby joe to carter, showing an ex-boyfriend that there's more to life than being the pathetic dumpee (photos : yahoo tv; nbc).

shredding the bits

on the prowl last night, i was snooping on my closest friends' online turfs. though i'm not the photograph seeking paradigm as i always gravitate towards words and scribbles posted in their pages, i was unlocking the unique chromosomes that made the chosen throng my confidantes. i got stumped. these are usually the kind souls i contact in case of emergency and i felt out of touch from their reality. but in bold letters, most of their profile entries were empty except for work and location. a favorite film or a favorite tv show may not define a person or indicate the wealth and breadth of knowledge. nonetheless it still left me lost and bewildered. what's the drive in an empty pastime configuration? these are not merely second degree friends, these are basically my clique, my posse, my kindred spirits. what are our cumulative quirks? perhaps not a lot, or nothing at all. however i may not discuss the frenzied bits of popular culture with the throng --- my fascination with history, the sounds of metallica, the role of the clinton democrats in the credit crunch, the crisis in mindanao, but they are always steadfast in their fulcrum of support. a text here and there, is huge. an e-mail is fantastic and a phone call is great, and talking about common acquaintances is an uplifting repartee.

electoral pickings

i used to be a fan of politics and elections. well, not anymore. it's not only because hillary capitulated big time or obama is the eloquent one loved by so many in hollywood. it's mostly because i've been shattered by my losing prospects. once i joined the bacolod campaign tour of the incumbent congressman early in the decade. he was good in his job in the three years he served but lost the key reelection battle owing to the mass appeal of his opponent. he was simply not as good in karaoke.

i wasn't able to vote for gloria. definitely the embassy being too far was not a proper excuse. look what gloria had done, granting executive clemency for a member of the elite who commited a random act of pure evil. that in addition to what my opinionated high school classmate enumerated in his friendster bulletin. well, the diminutive lady won the election and that was the will of the people.

i once followed the selection process for the pusa (president of usa), an election i'll never have to vote for ever but has massive repercussions to the rest of the world. but now i've lost interest.
bush lost the popular vote in 2000 but the republican justices outnumbered the democrats in the supreme court, thus allowing him to win 25 of florida's electoral votes and collaring the highest echelon of power and the launch of some unabashed failures and disasters. bush got elected again four years ago after surviving a scare in ohio. that despite obama's audacity of hope speech during the democratic convention. bush could strew his legacy in a book just like what clinton did or what blair is doing, who is now in the process of publishing his memoirs . good or bad, bush was a pusa.

i've been eluding the news channels for close to 18 months. drawing into my disciplined facade in blocking CNN, falling off the wagon was never even attempted. i haven't even heard the voice of sarah palin and even if i try without websurfing, i can't name obama's running mate. it's a fact that obama's is profused with wit. while mccain is republican. whoever wins, hopefully will not only have to perform better than bush but needs to create magic for world peace, the standout answer in every miss congeniality pageant.

good spirits

it's quite an easy task to ignore the prevailing moans and groans of the chattering class. when much less is shared, much less is being discussed in the chatrooms, landlines, mobiles and tea rooms. an interested folk is never too far away to offer unsolicited truisms about thy neighbor. but blogging about this song by muse furnishes a good vibe to the soul. life may not always be devoid of emotional crashes and disappointments. but our sentimental lot provides a colorful template to the title of this track. from the devon band's second album, the origin of symmetry.

blogging the jibes

my friendster blog was giving me the creeps with the redesign of the lay-outs. i have to edit each and every entry. trying rigidly to construct time when one is about to go to work is a bit disquieting. but the editing could wait. i've started the work on a few of the posts. i'm not done yet. the blog site is still a work in progress and there are elements that are missing. but it was fun going over my jibes the last couple of years. i'm no longer pricky. gone are the pestilent entities of the working life. i can breathe easier with normal saturations. thoughts such as skydiving as my facebook friend agnes was carrying out in france or traipsing in exotic ventures as one of the most likable chap irvin was exploring in turkey didn't leave a tinge of envy. writing a blog isn't merely an escape to bash immediate acquaintances. it has been a great respite from the tension of errands in the cramped career spaces. though my ardent yearning is to read more succulent articles from my talented friends.

shocking train read

When somebody you know die in an apparent suicide on the way home from work after a night shift, there’s nothing but shock.

Before the korean wave in RP post-2002, i was clicking the remote for arirang tv, the english-speaking korean cable channel. i came across a soap one day and although the leading men were not robert sean leonard cute or not as dashing as keanu reeves or gabby concepcion, the characters seem to have tons of bottled angsts. regular tv then drove me to cliched ennui and this was pre-network war, before mulawin ruled the ratings in the national capital region and leave me with nothing but a bitter taste each time i read the comments sections of the local entertainment spread. i began watching korean soaps and movies in arirang. it was subtitled and i didn't mind reading the translations. the tale of two young friends with the same name sook hee blazed the trail of the habit, followed by fragrance of love to that weekly comedy about flight attendants i could no longer recall the title, to days of delight. when shim eun hwa of sook hee disappeared from the korean showbiz radar, i then tagged only three actresseses' work when time premitted-- choi jin shil, lee tae ran and kim hye su.

Choi Jin-shil of fragrance of love, was also a top movie star, with her tearjerker, the letter, a top box office draw shown also in arirang. but i especially enjoyed her perky comedies like ghost mama. there were her other soaps, memories (i couldn't figure the obvious ending) and roses and bean sprouts which i was able to catch a few episodes during a holiday in '03. she tied the knot with a baseball star, had two kids, made the headlines as a battered wife and got divorced in 2004. i google her from time to time and grasp the insecurity in her interviews. random conversations with a korean colleague two years ago made me discern the friable temperament of older stars. the term laos of my native vernacular never fails to spew its venom. i even caught a glimpse of choi jin shil in philippine network tv for my rosy life, for which she won an award, in my gloomy 2007 homecomings. tagalog dubs, i reckon, for korean dramas is somewhat uninspired. so with a startling reaction, i got to read this news in the tube. degrading comments will always hound our lives, it's always best to keep a blind eye. such fragile disposition shouldn't be the denouement in the saga of woes.

You’ll surely be missed.