The Next Darna?

With all these talk in school about Manny Pacquiao's face plastered all over the net, I just got to try my hand at photoshop.

Here's one with a wacky photo from Anne Curtis.

Now, let's see how she becomes the next Darna...




Byte me!

Teacher's Hymn?

I got this message yesterday from my wife. And she got this from a friend.

To tell the truth, it sounds weird but true.

And if you happen to know Manny Villar's jingle, sing this with glee to feel what WE feel.

But not all the time, of course. That will just contradict our honored vow.



"Teacher Hymn" (Sung in the tune of Manny Villar)

Nasubukan mo na bang magturo ng walang pisara?
Nag-classroom sa butas at sira-sirang silya?
Yan ang tanong namin.
Kaya mo ba itong sikmurain?

Naisip mo na ba ba't nagteacher ka pa?
Todo effort tayo ba't walang pagbabago?
Mas mabuti pa kung nag abroad na lang tayo.

CHORUS:

Teacher ang tunay na mahirap.
Teacher ang tunay na puro may pasakit!
Teacher lang ang may kakayahan na magtiis sa ganitong kalagayan.

Ang teacher lamang ang tunay na lugmok sa kahirapan!
Byte me!

"Love is a Fallacy" by Max Shulman

Okay, finally..... Here's the copy of that long promised short story that's to be discussed in English tomorrow. I do apologize for the delay and all. No excuses. Just sorry.

I will understand if not many, if not any, of you happen to read this tonight or tomorrow early morning.

We can discuss the fallacies but with difficulty in appreciating it. One just cannot fathom the lesson and appreciate it without reading the short story. Trust me.

Oh well. It is my fault anyway.

Well, here it is...



Love is a Fallacy
Max Shulman

Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious, acute and astute – I was all of these. My brain was as powerful as a dynamo, as precise as a chemist’s scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And – think of it! – I was only eighteen.

It is not often that one so young has such giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough fellow, you understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes along, to surrender yourself to idiocy just because everybody else is doing it – this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.

“Raccoon,” he mumbled thickly.

“Raccoon?” I said, pausing my flight.

“I want a raccoon coat,” he wailed.

I perceived that his trouble was not physical, but mental. “Why do you want a raccoon coat?”

“I should have known it,” he cried, pounding his temples. “I should have known they’d come back when the Charleston came back. Like a fool I spent all my money for textbooks, and now I can’t get a raccoon coat.”

“Can you mean,” I said incredulously, “that people are actually wearing raccoon coats again?”

“All the Big Men on Campus are wearing them. Where’ve you been?”

“In the library,” I said, naming a place not frequented by Big Men on Campus.

He leaped from the bed and pace the room, “I’ve got to have a raccoon coat,” he said passionately. “I’ve got to!”

“Petey, why? Look at it rationally. Raccoon coats are unsanitary. They shed. They smell bad. They weigh too much. They’re unsightly. They –״

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted impatiently. “It’s the thing to do. Don’t you want to be in the swim?”

“No,” I said truthfully.

“Well, I do,” he declared. “I’d give anything for a raccoon coat. Anything!”

My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear. “Anything?” I asked, looking at him narrowly.

“Anything,” lie affirmed in ringing tones.

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to get my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had one in his undergraduate days; it lay now in a trunk in the attic back home. It also happened that Petey had something I wanted. He didn’t have it exactly, but at least he had first rights on it. I refer to his girl, Polly Epsy.

I had long coveted Polly Epsy. Let me emphasize that my desire for this young woman was not emotional in nature. She was, to be sure, a girl who excited the emotions, but I was not one to let my heart rule my head. I wanted Polly for a shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral reason.

I was a freshman I law school. In a few years I would be out in practice. I was well aware of the importance of the right kind of wife in the furthering a lawyer’s career. The successful lawyers I had observed were, almost without exception, married to beautiful, gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these specifications perfectly.

Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions, but I felt sure that time would supply the lack. She already had the makings.

Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise that clearly indicated the best of breeding. At table her manners were exquisite. I had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner eating the specialty of the house – a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy, chopped nuts, and a dipper of sauerkraut – without even getting her fingers moist.

Intelligent she was not. In fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would smarten up. At any rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than make an ugly smart girl beautiful.

“Petey,” I said, “are you in love with Polly Epsy?”

“I think she’s a keen kid,” he replied, “but I don’t know if you’d call it… love. Why?”

“Don’t you,” I asked, “have any kind of formal arrangement with her? I mean are you going steady or anything like that?”

“No. We see each other quite a bit, but we both have other dates. Why?”

“Is there,” I asked, “any other man for whom she has a particular fondness?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

I nodded with satisfaction. “In other words, if you were out of the picture, the field would be open. Is that right?”

“I guess so. What are you getting at?”

“Nothing, nothing,” I said innocently, and took my suitcase out of the closet.

“Where are you going?” asked Petey.

“Home for the weekend.” I threw a few things into the bag.

“Listen,” he said, clutching my arm eagerly, “while you’re home, you couldn’t get some money from your old man, could you, and lend it to me so I can buy a raccoon coat?”

“I may do better than that,” I said with a mysterious wink and closed my bag and left.

“Look,” I said to Petey when I got back Monday morning. I threw open the suitcase and revealed the huge, garny object that my father had worn in his Stutz Bearcat in 1925.

“Holy Toledo!” said Petey reverently. He plunged his hands into the raccoon coat and then his face. “Holy Toledo!” he repeated fifteen or twenty times.

“Would you like it?” I asked.

“Oh, yes!” he cried, clutching the greasy pelt to him. Then a canny look came to his eyes. “What do you want for it?”

“Your girl,” I said, mincing no words.

“Polly?” he said in a horrified whisper. “You want Polly?”

“That’s right.”

He flung the coat from him. “Never,” he said stoutly.

I shrugged, “Okay. If you don’t want to be in the swim, I guess it’s your business.”

I sat down in a chair and pretended to read a book, but out of the corner of my eye I kept watching Petey. He was a torn man. First he looked at the coat with the expression of a waif at a bakery window. Then he turned away set his jaw resolutely. Then he looked back at the coat, with even more longing in his face.

Then he turned away, but with not so much resolution this time. Back and forth his head swiveled, desire waxing, resolution waning. Finally he didn’t turn away at all; he just stood and stared with mad lust at the coat.

“It isn’t as though I was in love with Polly,” he said thickly, “Or going steady or anything like that.”

“That’s right,” I murmured.

“What’s Polly to me, or me to Polly?”

“Not a thing,” said I.

“It’s just been a casual kick – just a few laughs, that’s all.”

“Try on the coat,” said I.

He complied. The coat bunched high over his ears and dropped all the way down to his shoe tops. He looked like a mound of dead raccoon. “Fits fine,” he said happily.

I rose from my chair, “Is it a deal?” I asked, extending my hand.

He swallowed. “It’s a deal,” he said and shook my hand.

I had my first date with Polly the following evening. This was in the nature of a survey; I waited to find out just how much work I had to do to get her mind up to the standard I required. I took her first to dinner. “Gee, that was a delish dinner,” she said as we left the restaurant. Then I took her to a movie. “Gee, that was a marvy movie,” she said as we left the theater. And then I took her home. “Gee, I had a sensaysh time,” she said as she bade me good night.

I went back to my room with a heavy heart. I had gravely underestimated the size of my task. This girl’s lack of information was terrifying. Nor would it be enough merely to supply her with information. First she had to be taught to think. This loomed as a project of no small dimensions, and at first I was tempted to give her back to Petey. But then I got to thinking about her abundant physical charms and about the way she entered a room and the way she handled a knife and fork, and I decided to make an effort.

I went about it, as in all things, systematically. I gave her a course in logic. It happened that I as a law student was taking a course in logic myself, so I had all the facts at my fingertips. “Polly,” I said to her when I picked her up on our next date, “tonight we are going over to the Knoll and talk.”

“Oh, tariff,” she replied. One thing I will say for this girl: you would go far to find another so agreeable.

We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat down under an old oak, and she looked at me expectantly. “What are we going to talk about?” she asked.

“Logic.”

She thought this over for a minute and decided she liked it, “Magnif,” she said.

“Logic,” I said, clearing my throat, “is the science of thinking. Before we can think correctly, we must first learn to recognize the common fallacies of logic. These we will take up tonight,”

“Wow-dow!” she cried, clapping her hands delightedly. I winced, but went bravly on. “First let us examine the fallacy called Dicto Simpliciter.”

“By all means,” she urged, batting her eyelashes eagerly.

“Dicto Simpliciter means an argument based on an unqualified generalization. For example: Exercise is good. Therefore everybody should exercise.”

“I agree,” said Polly earnestly. “I mean exercise is wonderful. I mean it builds the body and everything.”

“Polly,” I said gently, “the argument is a fallacy. Exercise is good is an unqualified generalization. For instance, if you have a heart disease, exercise is bad, not good. Many people are ordered by their doctors not to exercise. You must qualify the generalization. You must say exercise is usually good, or exercise is good for most people. Otherwise you have committed a Dicto Simpliciter. Do you see?”

“No,” she confessed. “But this is marvy. Do more! Do more!”

“It will be better if you stop tugging at my sleeve,” I told her, and when she desisted, I continued. “Next we take up a fallacy called Hasty Generalization. Listen carefully: You can’t speak French. I can’t speak French. Petey Bellows can’ speak French. I must therefore conclude that nobody at the University of Minnesota can speak French.”

“Really?” said Polly, amazed, “Nobody?”

I hid my exasperation. “Polly, it’s a fallacy. The generalization is reached too hastily. There are too few instances to support such a conclusion.”
“Kow any more fallacies?” she asked breathlessly. “This is more fun than dancing even.”

I fought off a wave of despair. I was getting nowhere with this girl, absolutely nowhere. Still, I am nothing if not persistent. I continued, “Next comes Post Hoc. Listen to this: Let’s not take Bill on our picnic. Everytime we take him out with us, it rains.”

“I know somebody just like that,” she exclaimed. “A girl back home – Eula Becker, her name is. It never fails. Every single time we take here on a picnic.”

“Polly,” I said sharply, “it’s a fallacy. Eula Becker doesn’t cause the rain. She has no connection with the rain. You are guilty of Post Hoc if you blame Eula Becker.”

“I’ll never do it again,” she promised contritely. “Are you mad at me?”

I sighed, “No, Polly. I am not mad.”

“Then tell me some more fallacies.”

“All right. Let’s try Contradictory Permises.”

“Yes, let’s,” she chirped, blinking her eyes happily.

I frowned, but plunged ahead. “Here’s an example of Contradictory Premises: If God can do anything, can He make a stone so heavy that He won’t be able to lift it?”

“Of course,” she replied promptly.

“But if He can do anything. He can lift the stone,” I pointed out.

“Yeah…” she said thoughtfully. “Well then I guess He can’t make the stone.”

“But He can do anything,” I reminded her.

She scratched her pretty, empty head, “I’m all confused,” she admitted.

“Of course you are. Because when the premises of an argument contradict each other, there can be no argument. If there is an irresistible force, there can be no immovable object. If there is an immovable object, there can be no irresistible force. Get it?”

“Tell me some more of this keen stuff,” she said eagerly.

I consulted my watch, “I think we better call it a night. I’ll take you home now, and you go over all the things you’ve learned. We’ll have another session tomorrow night.”
I deposited her at the girl dormitory, where she assured me that she had a perfectly terrif evening, and I went glumly to my room. Petey lay snoring in his bed, the raccoon coat huddled like a great hairy beast at his feet. For a moment I considered waking him and telling him that he could have his girl back. It seemed clear that my project was doomed to failure. The girl simply had a logic-proof head.

But then I reconsidered. I had wasted one evening. I might as well waste another. Who knows? Maybe somewhere in the extinct crater of her mind a few embers still smoldered. Maybe somehow I could fan them into flame. Admittedly it was not a prospect fraught with hope, but decided to give it one more try.

Seated under the oak the next evening I said, “Our first fallacy tonight is called Ad Misericordiam.”

She quivered with delight.

“Listen closely,” I said, “A man applies for a job. When the boss asks him what his qualification are, he replies that he has a wife and six children at home, the wife is a helpless cripple, the children have nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no shoes on their feet, there are no bed in the house, no coal in the collar, and winter is coming.”

A tear rolled down each of Polly’s pink cheeks. “Oh, this is awful, awful,” she sobbed.

“Yes, it’s awful,” I agreed, “But it’s no argument. The man never answered the boss’s question about his qualifications. Instead he appealed to the boss’s sympathy. He committed the fallacy of Ad Misericordian. Do you understand?”

“Have you got a handkerchief?” she blubbered.

I handed her a handkerchief and tried to keep from screaming while she wiped her eyes. “Next,” I said in a carefully controlled tone, “we will discuss False Analogy. Here is an example: Students should be allowed to look at their textbooks during examination. After all, surgeons have X-rays to guide them during an operation, lawyers have briefs to guide them during a trial, carpenters have blueprints to guide them when they are building a house. Why, then, shouldn’t students be allowed to look at their textbooks during an examination?”

“There now,” she said enthusiastically, “is the most marvy idea I’ve heard in years.”

“Polly,” I said testily, “the argument is all wrong. Doctors, lawyers, and carpenters aren’t taking a test to see how much they have learned, but students are. The situations are altogether different, and you can’t make an analogy between them.”

“I still think it’s a good idea,” said Polly.
“Nuts,” I muttered. Doggedly I pressed on. “Next we’ll try Hypothesis Contrary to Fact.”
“Sounds yummy,” was Polly’s reaction.

“Listen: If Madame Curie had not happened to leave a photographic plate in a drawer with a chunk of pitchblende, the world today would not know about radium.”

“True, true,” said Polly, nodding her head. “Did you see the movie? Oh, it just knocked me out. That Walter Pidgeon is so dreamy. I mean he fractures me.”

“If you can forget Mr. Pidgeon for a moment,” I said coldly, “I would like to point out that the statement is a fallacy. Maybe Madame Curie would have discovered radium at some late date. Maybe somebody else would have discovered it. Maybe any number of things would have happened. You can’t start with hypothesis that is not true then draw any supportable conclusions from it.”

“They ought to put Walter Pidgeon in more pictures,” said Polly, “I hardly ever see him anymore.”

One more chance, I decided. But just one more. There is a limit to what flesh and blood can bear. “The next fallacy is called Poisoning the Well.”

“How cute!” she gurgled.

“Two men having a debate. The first one gets up and says, ‘My opponent is a notorious liar. You can’t believe a word that he is going to say.’ Now, Polly, think. Think hard. What’s wrong?”

I watched her closely as she knit her creamy brow in concentration. Suddenly a glimmer of intelligence – the first I hade seen – came into her eyes. “It’s not fair,” she said with indignation. “It’s not a bit fair. What chance has the second man got if the first man calls him a liar before he even begins talking?”

“Right!” I cried exultantly. “One hundred percent right. It’s not fair. The first man has poisoned the well before anybody could drink from it. He has hamstrung his opponent before he could even start… Polly, I’m proud of you.”

“Pshaw,” she murmured, blushing with pleasure.

“You see, my dear, these things aren’t so hard. All you have to do is concentrate. Think-examine-evaluate. Come now, let’s review everything we have learned.”

“Fire away,” she said with an airy wave of her hand.

Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin, I began a long. Patient review of all I had told her. Over and over again I cited instances, pointed out flaws, kept hammering away without letup. It was like digging a tunnel. At first everything was work, sweat, and darkness. I had no idea when I would reach the light, or even if I would. But I persisted. I pounded and clawed and scraped, and finally I was rewarded, I saw a chink of light. And then the chink got bigger and the sun came pouring in and all was bright.

Five grueling nights this took, but it was worth it. I had made a logician out of Polly; I had taught her to think. My job was done. She was worthy of me at last. She was a fit wife for me, a proper hostess for my many mansions, a suitable mother for my well-heeled children.

It must not be thought that I was without love for this girl. Quite the contrary. Just as Pygmalion loved the perfect woman he had fashioned, so I loved mine. I decided to acquaint her with my feelings at our very next meetings. The time had come to change our relationship from academic to romantic.

“Polly,” I said when next we sad beneath our oak, “tonight we will not discuss the fallacies.”

“Aw, gee,” she said, disappointed.

“My dear,” I said, favoring her with a smile, “we have now spent five evenings together. We have gotten along splendidly. It is clear that we are well matched.”

“Hasty Generalization,” said Polly. “How can you say that we are well matched on the basis of only five dates?”

I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons well. “My dear,” I said, patting her hand with a tolerant manner, “five dates is plenty. After all, you don’t have to eat a whole cake to know that it’s good.”

“False Analogy,” said Polly promptly. “I’m not a cake. I’m a girl.”

I chuckled with somewhat less amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons perhaps too well. I decided to change tactics. Obviously the best approach was a simple, strong, direct, declaration of love. I paused for a moment while my massive brain chose the proper words. Then I began:

“Polly, I love you. You are the whole world to me, and the moon and the stars and the constellation of outer space. Please, my darling, say that you will go steady with me, for if you will not, life will be meaningless. I will anguish, I will refuse my meals. I will wander the face of the earth, a shambling, hollow-eyed hulk.” There, I thought, folding my arms, that ought to do it.

“Ad Misericordian,” said Polly.

I ground my teeth, I was not Pygmalion, I was Frankenstein, and my monster had me by the throat. Frantically, I fought back the tide of panic surging through me. At all costs I had to keep cool.

“Well, Polly,” I said, forcing a smile, “you certainly have learned your fallacies.”

“You’re darn right,” she said with a vigorous mood.

“And who taught them to you, Polly?”

“You did.”

“That’s right. So you do owe me something, don’t you, my dear? If I hadn’t come along you never would have learned about fallacies.”

“Hypothesis Contrary to Fact,” she said instantly.

I dashed perspiration from my brow, “Polly,” I croaked, “You mustn’t take all these things so literally. I mean, this is just classroom stuff. You know that the things you learn in school don’t have anything to do with life.”

“Dicto Simpliciter,” she said, wagging her finger at me playfully.

That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull. “Will you or will you not go steady with me?”

“I will not,” she replied.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Because this afternoon I promised Petey Bellows that I would go steady with him.”

I reeled back, overcome with the infamy of it. After he promised, after he made the deal, after he shook my hand!

“The rat!” I shrieked, kicking up great chunks of turf, “You can’t go steady with him, Polly. He’s a liar. He’s a cheat. He’s a rat.”

“Poisoning the Well,” said Polly, “and stop shouting. I think shouting must be a fallacy too.”

With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice, “All right,” I said. “You’re a logician. Let’s look at this thing logically. How could you choose Petey Bellows over me? Look at me –a brilliant student, a tremendous intellectual, a man with an assured future. Look at Petey – a knot-bead, a jitterbug, a guy who’ll never know where his next meal is coming from. Can you give me one logical reason why you should go steady with Petey Bellows?”

“I certainly can,” declared Polly. “He’s got a raccoon coat.”

End…

Byte me!

The Filipino Short Story

Well, I did apologize for being late a while ago in class. But as you have learned I simply must be late. And I say again that I am currently nursing my kids back to full health due to a slight case of pneumonia. And as you are all aware, this is no ordinary cough.

Anyway they'll be fine. Kids these days are sort of mutants, with all that multivitamins and stuff scientists put in their food products. They're slowly becoming... better than us. That's what I am to believe.

Right, so about the last discussion... We... I mean... I (since it appears I am the only one enthusiastic about the subject) was just discussing about how the Americans have influenced our everyday life just by teaching us English. Well, for those who are curious, let me tell you all about it.


The thing is, learning a new language has an overall effect on people. For one thing, a teacher cannot teach a new language without including cultural expressions unique to the language. This is exactly what happened to the Filipino when the Americans came in 1898. Much of the English expressions we have today are actually foreign expressions entirely. They may say what we feel, but not exactly what we mean. It's the same with Filipino Literature in English. The very concepts the Filipinos try to express in their literature are still a bit foreign.

From what we can sumrise, there were three major phases that the Filipinos had gone through to attain the level of English literacy we have today. And they are as follows:

PERIOD OF RE-ORIENTATION
(1998-1910)
While the last remants of resistance were fanning down, most Filipinos were too eager to embrace their new colonizers. This accounts for two reasons. One, because the Spaniards have long oppressed the ordinary "Indio," even their so-called tradition are considered colonialist. The Americans, on the other hand, were not entirerly forceful of their rise to power. In fact, they envisioned themselves as our "Big Brother" who would guide the Filipinos until the latter can be able to govern themselves. Two, the Americans have given what most Filipinos crave for, education.

The second reason has beneficial and equally devastating effect on the present state of the Filipino.

Beneficial for it has given Filipinos the opportunity to expound in many careers such as engineers, architects, accountants, and even the ever-flourishing profession of journalism. Moreover, they became aware of the concepts of democracy and free-choice.

The devastating effect of education from the Americans is on cultural influence. Much so that Filipinos look at their culture as artifacts, spectacles for special ocassions, and not as truly a severe and reverent part of their life. The result is the dying of many Filipino traditions, supplanted by Western culture.

So, as the USS Thomas came to shore, bearing with her a number of volunteer soldiers as teachers for the first-ever public school system, they gave the Filipino more than just education. They gave him a new identity to choose from.

The main root of this can be traced back to the learning of the English
language. As I have said, whenever one learns a new language, learning its culture is not far behind.


And so, in the 1900's, as English became
the medium of intruction in public schools, many had tried to use the language in their everyday communication.

The late Tony Velazques, the creator of the now classic comic strip hero Kenkoy, had much to say on its effect. Throughout Kenkoy's existence, Velazques critiqued some Filipinos who acted like "Little Brown Americans," brandishing the latest fashion and trend the Americans brought with them, including the use of American expressions like "By golly, wow" and "Never worry." This they did while learning that "A is for Apple," that "the concept of Christmas must be about Christmas trees, Santa Claus and white snow," that the names of kids must be "Dick and Jane and their dog is Spot."

Of course, the more serious ones to use English are the writers who took turns in using it as part of their tongue. It is them, actually, who took most of the impact the Americans made upon the Filipino. The writers found it hard to adjust to a newfound freedom from oppression of thought and speech. To a few, the sensation came as a shock, to others, they became doubtful of how long it would last. And then to some, it is a sudden blessing.

These writers have also adjusted to the difference of English as a language from their own vernacular tongue, resulting to stilted writing, imperfect english, and awkward use of American expressions.

In this early stage, not much literature were in fact written, save for a few that resembled Western literary classics.

Then, in 1908, the University of the Philippines was founded.

PERIOD OF IMMITATION
(1910-1924)

The foundation of UP became the stepping stone for some writers to fully appreciate the new language.

In 1919, the first UP College Folio was published, containing the first Filipino writers in English. They can also be called the pioneers of the Filipino short story in English. The only criticism that can be said of these group is that they imitated American and British models, ranging from theme down to the very plot. Of course, one cannot blame this tendency since the adjustment to the new language means an adjustment to literary as well as cultural standards set up by the Western Classics.
Moreover, as reflected by the period of Re-orientation, the writings are still artificial (in our colloquial tongue "pilit"), bears an unnatural style (due to the patterned formula of the West), lacked vitality (because of its artificialness), and lacks spontaneity (since Filipinos are still much preoccupied in perfecting more their grammar than on the art itself).

This became different when Filipinos finally had a feel of the language in the later part of the American reformation.

PERIOD OF SELF-DISCOVERY AND GROWTH
(1925-1941)

By this time, Filipinos have by then acquired mastery over the English language. They can now freely express themselves as well as use them in intellectual debates.

But due to the heavy influence of the past colonizers, the short stories written still left traces of old Spanish style of writing, namely they are florid, exaggerated, bombastic, and quite often didactic.

The Implication of culture in English

So these are the three periods in the flourishing of the English language in the Philippines. Today, English has become the Filipino's second language, if not the suplement (or spice) to the Tagalog. And the introduction of English had also paved way for many Filipinos to read and discover for themselves what it is to be like Sherlock Holmes, Romeo and Juliet, Jean Valjean, Harry Potter, Edward Cullen, and all other Western icons. The understanding of English became the means for names like Elvis Presley to become household names. And the understanding of English had set a new standard on critiquing Tagalog literature as low brow and for the "pang-masa." Well, it's up to you now to react. But this is what is happening.

Now let's proceed to the discussion of the short story.

THE FILIPINO SHORT STORY

Quite arguably, fiction in itself is Western. The first ever fiction can be traced back in the 17th century and the art of writing short stories was perfected only during the 19th century through the efforts of the late Edgar Allan Poe, who can be said to be the father of the modern short story.Since then, the writing of short stories flourished throughout America with the help of a number of other writers such as Samuel Clemens (more famously known in his pen name Mark Twain), and H.P. Lovecraft (Who wrote in gothic horror and eventually influenced a lot of later generation of horror writers).

If the short story is a product of the West, how can one determine for sure if a short story is truly Filipino in nature?

This is a great theoretical challenge. One that is most often debated not exactly by scholars, but by ordinary folks. Both in character and tone, Filipino fiction is distinctive. As it is said, most Filipino writers are bombastic, or have used a forceful tone and voice in their writing. Another thing is that most Filipino short stories talk more about social status and social relationships. Whether it be about the rich or the poor, the mere thought of being poor, or just plainly about social isolation, Filipinos quite often trouble themselves with self-esteem. To fully appreciate any individual view of these short story writers, we must first understand the way we read stories.

Prose is very much different from poetry. While poetry has rhythm and rhyme, prose on the other hand is straighforward and bears no ryhthmic style whatsoever. What it follows, however are logical patterns in wriitng, in terms of argument, retelling of a narrative, or steps in a process.

In fiction, the logical pattern is called a plot structure. The plot structure goes like this:

A. Initial incident - a significant situation happens that opens up the story, usually a problem is about to be handed to a hero, or perhaps he is already faced with a problem.

B. Rising Action - so while the hero handles a problem, he encounters certain difficulties in solving it.

C. Climax - at the peak of action, the hero manages to find a solution to his problem.

D. Deneument - also known as the downlfall action, the story manages to unwind itself. Maybe there will be a reversal of fortune: the good is rewarded, the bad is punished.

E. Ending - eventually, everything falls down to a conclusion, leaving the reader a sensation of justice, if not a sensation of a revelation in life.

All novels have a series of climaxes. These are called an anticlimax. Since a novel is quite long, these anticlimax serve as a number of significant encounters the hero faces.

The short story only has one major climax: the point of illunmination. The point of illumination is very much important for it speaks about the major change in the fortune of the hero. Also, it speaks of a major revelation that will definitely change the hero's point of view.

Knowing the point of illumination in a story can help us determine what the whole story is really all about. Now, how do we interpret what we see?

Well, in literary criticism, we often use five approaches: moral, cultural, historical, archetypal, and psychological.

To fully utilize all these is to follow it by steps.

A. Moral - the first step is to make your own lesson about what you have read. Moral teaches us a kind of value, the lesson tells us of what to make of that value. So if the moral is "Don't do to others what you don't want others do to you," the lesson will be about "Because others will do exactly the same to you." To put it simply, lessons help explain the reason for the given value.

So how do you find the moral value? How do you explain it through the lesson? Look up on the other steps.

So once you already have the moral value, try to figure out what are the elements in the short story that contributes to it. You will need a piece of paper to list these down on each category.

B. Cultural - Every culture has its own set of values, depending on the country's social structure. So what you must do is to find out first where the short story came from. What culture does it try to portray? What brings this culture forth, in terms of actions, location, costumes, etc.?

C. Historical - Not only is culture important, you must also look at the short story's history. When was it written is important since each generation has its own set of values, too.

D. Archetypal - Symbols are a big part of literature. Look at the symbols that contribute to the story and find its representation and meaning. All symbols within a story contribute to the meaning of the moral set by the author. Say dove for peace, a heart for love.

E. Psychological - in the last phase, think of how the actions of each character are fuelled by their motivations. Why do you think they did what they did? Find this out, you find all the other literary approaches in play. Which of course brings us back to the first approach, moral.

Once everything is laid out on your paper. Make a connection as to how you can explain the moral value. Give the lesson, and then react to the entire story in relation to issues such as social, political, spiritual, sexual, or even your own personal issue.

I hope this brief discussion compensates for my lateness and, God hope not, absences. Well, I still have to attend to my kids.

Time for their medication.
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Remember Ninoy, not Noynoy

Ninoy Aquino's Arrival Speech
This is the speech that Benigno Aquino had prepared to give on his return to the Philippines from exile. He was assassinated at the airport that now bears his name.

Arrival Speech of Ninoy Aquino

I have returned on my free will to join the ranks of those struggling to restore our rights and freedoms through non-violence.

I seek no confrontation. I only pray and will strive for a genuine national reconciliation founded on justice.

I am prepared for the worst, and have decided against the advice of my mother, my spiritual adviser, many of my tested friends and a few of my most valued political mentors.

A death sentence awaits me. Two more subversion charges, both calling for death penalties, have been filed since I left three years ago and are now pending with the courts.

Three years ago when I left for an emergency heart bypass operation, I hoped and prayed that the rights and freedoms of our people would soon be restored, that living conditions would improve and that blood-letting would stop.

I could have opted to seek political asylum in America, but I feel it is my duty, as it is the duty of every Filipino, to suffer with his people especially in time of crisis. I never sought not have I been given any assurances, or promise of leniency by the regime. I return voluntarily armed only with a clear conscience and fortified in the faith that in the end, justice will emerge triumphant. According to Gandhi, the willing sacrifice of the innocent is the most powerful answer to insolent tyranny that has yet been conceived by God and man.

Rather than move forward we have moved backward. The killings have increased, the economy has taken a turn for the worse and the human rights situation has deteriorated.

During the martial law period, the Supreme Court heard petitions for habeas corpus. It is most ironic after martial law has allegedly been lifted, that the Supreme Court last April ruled it can longer entertain petitions for habeas corpus for person detained under the Presidential Commitment Order, which covers all so-called national security cases and which under present circumstances can cover almost anything.

The country is far advanced in her times of trouble. Economic, social and political problems bedevil the Filipino. These problems may be surmounted if we are united. But we can be united only if all the rights and freedoms enjoyed before September 21, 1972 are fully restored.

The Filipino asked for nothing more, but will surely accept nothing less, than all the rights and freedoms guaranteed by the 1935 constitution – the most sacred legacies from the founding fathers.

Yes, the Filipino is patient, but there is a limit to his patience. Must we wait until that patience snaps?

The nationwide rebellion is escalating and threatens to explode into a bloody revolution. There is a growing cadre of young Filipinos who have finally come to realize that freedom is never granted, it is taken. Must we relive the agonies and the blood-letting of the past that brought forth our republic or can we sit down as brothers and sisters and discuss our differences with reason and goodwill?

I have often wondered how many disputes could have been settled easily had the disputants only dared to define their terms.

So as to leave no room for misunderstanding, I shall define my terms:

Six years ago, I was sentenced to die before a firing squad by a military tribunal whose jurisdiction I steadfastly refused to recognize. It is now time for the regime to decide. Order my immediate execution or set me free.

I was sentenced to die for allegedly being the leading communist leader. I am not a communist, never was and never will be.

National reconciliation and unity can be achieved, but only with justice, including justice for our Muslim and Ifugao brothers. There can be no deal with a dictator. No compromise with dictatorship.

In a revolution there can really be no victors, only victims. We do not have to destroy in order to build.

Subversion stems from economic, social, and political causes and will not be solved by purely military solution: It can be curbed not with ever increasing repression but with a more equitable distribution of wealth, more democracy and more freedom.

For the economy to get going once again, the working man must be given his just and rightful share or his labor, and to the owners and managers must be restored the hope where there is so must uncertainty if not despair.

On one of the long corridors of Harvard University are carved in granite the words of Archibald Macleish: ‘How shall freedom be defended? By arms when it is attacked by arms; by truth when it is attacked by lies; by democratic faith when it is attacked by authoritarian dogma. Always and in the final act, by determination and faith.’

I return from exile and an uncertain future with only determination and faith to offer – faith in our people and faith in God.
(1983)

1. What was Benigno Aquino’s plan upon his return?
2. According to him, what is the current state of the country?
3. Explain his stand on the thought of revolution?
4. What do you think is going through his mind when he said, “It is now time for the regime to decide. Order my immediate execution or set me free.”?

Byte me!

Array ko Spits

"Okay, class! Remember! When you graduate College, be sure to enroll next in elementary! Look at me, after my presidency, I will run for Congress. After that, Mayor. Next, Baranggay Tanod! So are you with me? Okay, let us review my very first speech!"


INAUGURATION SPEECH OF PRESIDENT GLORIA MACAPAGAL-ARROYO
JANUARY 20, 2001

In all humility, I accept the Presidency of the Republic.

I do so with both trepidation and a sense of awe.

Trepidation, because it is now, as the Good Book says, a time to heal and a time to build. The task is formidable, so I pray that we will all be one -- one in our priorities, one in our values and commitments, and one because of Edsa 2001.

A sense of awe, because the Filipino has done it again on the hallowed ground of Edsa.

People Power and the oneness of will and vision have made a new beginning possible. I cannot but recall at this point, therefore, Ninoy Aquino's words:

"I have carefully weighed the virtues and the faults of the Filipino, and I have come to the conclusion that he is worth dying for."

As we break from the past in our quest for the new Philippines, the unity, the Filipino's sense of history, and his unshakeable faith in the Almighty that prevailed in Edsa '86 and Edsa 2001 will continue to guide and inspire us.

I am certain the Filipinos of unborn generations will look back with pride to Edsa 2001, just as we look back with pride to Mactan, the Katipunan and other revolts, Bataan and Corregidor , and Edsa '86.

I am certain that pride will reign supreme as they recall the heroism and sacrifices and prayers of Jaime Cardinal Sin, former Presidens Corazon Aquino and Fidel Ramos, the legislators who fought the good fight in Congress, the leaders whose principles were beyond negotiation, the witnesses in the impeachment trial who did not count the cost of testifying, the youth and students who walked out of their classes to be here at Edsa, the generals in the Armed Forces and the Philippine National Police, and the Filipino out there who stood up to be counted in these troubled times.

The Filipino, crises and all, is truly worth living and dying for.

Ngunit saan tayo tutungo mula rito?

Jose Rizal, the first to articulate self-determination in a free society, provides the answer.

Rizal counseled the Filipino to lead a life of commitment, "He must think national, go beyond self."

"A stone is worthless," Rizal wrote, "if it is not part of an edifice."

We are the stones, and the Philippines is our edifice.

On many occasions, I have given my views on what our program of government should be. This is not the time or place to repeat them all. However, I can tell you that they converge on four core beliefs.

1. We must be bold in our national ambitions, so that our challenge must be that within this decade, we will win the fight against poverty.

2. We must improve moral standards in government and society, in order to provide a strong foundation for good governance.

3. We must change the character of our politics, in order create fertile ground for true reforms. Our politics of personality and patronage must give way to a new politics of party programs and process of dialogue with the people.

4. Finally, I believe in leadership by example. We should promote solid traits such as work ethic and a dignified lifestyle, matching action to rhetoric, performing rather than grandstanding.

The first of my core beliefs pertains to the elimination of poverty. This is our unfinished business from the past. It dates back to the creation of our Republic, whose seeds were sown in the revolution launched in 1896 by the plebian Andres Bonifacio. It was an unfinished revolution, for to this day, poverty remains our national problem. We need to complete what Andres Bonifacio began. The ultimate solution to poverty has both a political and an economic aspect.

Let me first talk about the political aspect.

In doing so, I will refer to one of my core beliefs, that of the need for new politics. Politics and political power as traditionally practiced and used in the Philippines are among the roots of the social and economic inequities that characterize our national problems. Thus, to achieve true reforms, we need to outgrow our traditional brand of politics based on patronage and personality. Traditional politics is the politics of the status quo. It is a structural part of our problem.

We need to promote a new politics of true party programs and platforms, of an institutional process of dialogue with our citizenry. This new politics is the politics of genuine reform. It is a structural part of the solution.

We have long accepted the need to level the playing field in business and economics. Now, we must accept the need to level the playing field in politics as well. We have long aspired to be a world class economy. Now, we must also aspire to develop a world class political system, one in tune with the 21st Century.

The world of the 21st Century that our youth will inherit is truly a new economy, where relentless forces such as capital market flows and advances in information and communications technology create both peril and opportunity.

To tap the opportunities, we need an economic philosophy of transparency and private enterprise, for these are the catalysts that nurture the entrepreneurial spirit to be globally competitive.

To extend the opportunities to our rural countryside, we must create a modernized and socially equitable agricultural sector.

To address the perils, we must give a social bias to balance our economic development, and these are embodied in safety nets for sectors affected by globalization, and safeguards for our environment.

To ensure that our gains are not dissipated through corruption, we must improve moral standards. As we do so, we create fertile ground for good governance based on a sound moral foundation, a philosophy of transparency, and an ethic of effective implementation.

Considering the divisions of today, our commitment will entail a lot of sacrifices among us all, as we work to restore the dignity and pre-eminence of the Filipino.

Join me, therefore, as we begin to tear down the walls that divide. Let us build an edifice of peace, progress and economic stability.

People Power has dramatized the Filipino's capacity for greatness.

People of People Power, I ask for your support and prayers. Together, we will light the healing and cleansing flame.

This we owe to the Philippines. This we own to every Filipino.

Thank you and may the Good Lord bless us all.


1. What is Gloria Arroyo’s view about revolution?
2. What have you understood about her plans for the Philippines now that revolution had put her on power?
3. In terms of politics, in what way does she want it reformed?
4. In terms of economics, what does she want to have?
5. As an evaluation, explain your stand as to whether or not her visions for the future of the Philippines have been met.

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Not for the faint of heart

For many who are simply wondering why there are so many demonstrations and outright cries concerning the Ampatuan case and the Maguindanao Massacre, well... look at these photos.

But just a warning. Never, ever see this with a full stomach. Follow the link...



I Warned You.

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