Showing posts with label Filipinos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Filipinos. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Alfredo Salazar from Paz Marquez-Benitez’ "Dead Stars": A Character Analysis

(In which I pose another attempt toward reactivation.)

***

Paz Marquez-Benitez, in her masterpiece Dead Stars, did not only write about a love story. Most importantly, her writing reflects the time in which the literary work was written along with the language, the norms and the way people think. It serves as a literary time machine for readers as it enables them to understand how courtship, marriage and fidelity were viewed through the early 1900 standards. It renders a sound comparison between the past and the present, the existing modern culture and the fading, almost obsolete tradition. Although the comparison and contrast provides a good critical foundation, another highly significant aspect of this short story involves the main character, Alfredo Salazar, which, always applies to whatever era, hence the focus of this paper. His confusion, weakness and unreasonableness are innate flaws of humans. Perhaps one of the many reasons why this work is timeless is that readers never fail to see a part of them in Alfredo Salazar’s character, making the short story a rich source of serious ruminations on society, love and humanity.

People oftentimes give high regard to the society in which they belong. They try to adhere to the norms, traditions and culture of their society, though sometimes the conformity would require them to sacrifice a part of themselves – an opinion, an emotion or a decision. However, there are cases wherein the established norms and rules of society are the ones which should prevail. In Dead Stars, the main character, Alfredo Salazar, was torn between making two important decisions – to marry or not to marry. But just like other dilemmas, the crossroad in which he found himself in was not to be solved without harming anyone. He was engaged to Esperanza, his fiancée of four years. Theirs was undoubtedly a love that was true. But for some reasons, apparently on Alfredo’s part, a change of heart has taken place. He has fallen for Julia Salas, the sister-in-law of the judge whom his father had a meeting with. After spending several afternoons and conversations, he found himself slowly getting attached to her that he started losing concern for Esperanza. In the end, however, he married his fiancée and though their marriage was not an unhappy one, he still could not take the possibilities of a future with Julia off his mind. Until one day, their paths crossed again and he realized one painful truth that led him to liberation at last.

Human emotions are very intricate and delicate both at its lowest and highest. And so is love. When Alfredo was still passionately attached to Esperanza, he was overwhelmed. Taking the conversation of Alfredo’s sister, Carmen, and his father, Don Julian into consideration, readers can deliberately conclude that he was indeed in love.
. . . “Papa, do you remember how much in love he was?”

“In love? With whom?”

“With Esperanza of course. He has not had another love affair that I know of,” she said with good-natured contempt. “What I mean is that in the beginning he was enthusiastic – flowers, serenades, notes and things like that.’
The excerpt was a good manifestation of how change in men occurs. But since change is men’s “wine and bread” according to Angela Manalang-Gloria, it is as essential as living itself, and therefore the most important things to be considered after the transition are the causes, the way one deals with change and the consequences. Alfredo was aware of the cause of his change as what is shown in the following paragraph:

Why would men so mismanage their lives? Greed, he thought, was what ruined so many. Greed – the desire to crowd into a moment all the enjoyment it will hold, to squeeze from the hour all the emotions it will yield. Men commit themselves when but half-meaning to do so, sacrificing possible future fullness of ecstasy to the craving for immediate excitement. . .
Another significant reason as to his emotional wanderings could be the length of time n which he was engaged o Esperanza. As what Don Julian had philosophize, couples who were engaged for so long become too comfortable and familiar with each other that the spark of love that was felt at the time the romance was just starting to blossom would expectantly cool down – that it “argues a certain placidity of temperament – or of affection – on the part of either, or both”.

Another factor to be considered was the contrast of Alfredo and Julia’s personalities. Alfredo was “calm and placid” while Julia was lively and full of vitality. The difference between them must have excited him as he saw in her the things he lacked.

However, though aware he was of the possible reasons why he, as well as men, or even humans in general, succumb to acts or thoughts of subtle infidelity, his attitude towards what is moral and not becomes shadowed in the attempts to justify his own behavior. Stances about the argument he had with Esperanza regarding the latter’s anger toward Calixta’s cohabitation with the man she’s not married to, may vary. But again, one’s act was expected to adhere with what is the established morality in a certain society. Because of what seemed as a liberal notion, Alfredo was trapped in a situation where he has to defend himself and in the process, what was manifested was his greed.

“One tries to be fair – according to his lights – but it is hard. One would like to be fair to one’s self first.”
But the wedding materialized; He chose not to break his word probably in order to save himself, Esperanza and Julia from social ridicule. He felt that his moral and social obligations were already fulfilled upon choosing not to cause humiliation to them all. The way in which he chose to deal with his internal change was to consider the way in which the society will view the people involved. But perhaps he felt that in doing so he has deprived himself of fairness. So he became distant and unreachable to Esperanza although he stayed with her and treated her gently. He has developed the skill in being unaffected and somehow mastered the art of being detached.

After several years, he was sent by his profession in search for the elusive Brigida Samuy and into the hometown of Julia Salas. Upon seeing her and finding out that she never married, he started to notice that she lost something, even doubted if the loss was his. As he tried to find the answer, a great realization dawned on him.

Gently – was it experimentally? – he pressed her hand at parting; but his remained undisturbed and emotionless. Did she still care? The answer to the question hardly interested him.
. . . So all these years – since when? – he had seen the light of dead stars, long extinguished, yet seemingly still in their appointed places in the heavens.

Therefore, the love he thought he felt for her during the short summer they shared was not the love that was enough to break an engagement. Nor was it love in its strictest definition. Instead, it was desire that sprung from the coldness that slowly crept in his relationship with Esperanza due to their long-time familiarity with each other. It was excitement that was ignited by boredom and “the last spurt of hot blood.”

Alfredo symbolizes the greed and indecisiveness of men when it comes to dealing with the matters of the emotion. He had entertained the pull of an anonymous feeling. Anonymous since he never really ventured to understand it but he clung to it anyway. And in the process he lost a part of himself and deprived that part to Esperanza as well.

Had it not been for chasing the lights of an illusive love that was long dead, or worse, never was, would Alfredo be happier in his marriage? Is it fair to say that he has wasted the milestones of a blissful marriage with a woman he loved first all for the sake of an impossible whim? Considering the disappointment he manifested upon realizing what he lost, the answer, is yes.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

The Lost Language by Marianne Villanueva


(In which home is still the best place.)

***
Reading Villanueva’s The Lost Language reminds me of the days when my classes in the university had at least two hours interval and I had to sit in the library throughout the entire period to pass the time. It felt good to pick up a small book and finish it. I especially love compilations – short stories, one-act plays, poems about the darkness of Manila and the backwardness of the provinces. Yes, Villanueva brought them all back. And then some.

What I like about the stories was the distinct Filipino feeling about almost everything. It felt as though I flew to America and witnessed another tale of another brave Filipino immigrant in a cruel city. The familiarity made me feel at home but unfortunately gave some stories a cliché mood. And the normality of a dysfunctional Filipino family, as believed by a character, lingers in my thoughts as I flipped the pages and jumped from one story to another.

Yes, jumped. There are some easy reads. But most of the time I find it hard to grasp the way a part of the story leads to another. And some endings were so abrupt that the feeling of finality was lost.

However, though I jumped from one story to another, I should say that when it comes to the characters, I glided – for the characters in The Lost Language share the complexities of the mind of people in a tormenting atmosphere intensified by pressure and loss.

I believe that there should be a good time for reading a certain book. In the case of The Lost Language, I couldn't say that it’s for either a sunny or a rainy day. The bitterness of it would break hearts during the former and make past wounds fresh and deeper in the latter. But if there’s a time when one wishes to see real life and feelings unfold as one searches for or looks back at the silent traces of his or her being Filipino, this book is a must read.

Photo SourceThe Lost Language

Friday, June 11, 2010

On Liberty



(In which I wish to relive my heritage.)

***

An officemate gaped when she found out that I write on my YA books. I told her that I underline and/or highlight beautiful and philosophical quotes and unfamiliar words and even write down my comments and the definition of the words on the margins.

“Hey, that is not a text book!” she yelled in disbelief.

Looking back, I realize that I don’t read my text books the same way I read the novels and that text books deserve to be read cover to cover too.

After commenting on a blog post about a book on the pre-war Manila, I was enlightened that my recall of Philippine history deteriorated – that is, if I used to recall well. The blogger said that being poor in our history is another sad manifestation of our “self-effacing nature” and it hit me. And now I am thinking of rereading . . . okay, read – Constantino. After that I may have the time to reread (Yes, I’ve read it!) León Ma. Guerrero’s The First Filipino and another Rizal book. (Suggestions about other authors are very welcome.)

Currently (Re)reading
The Philippines – A Past Revisited by Renato Constantino



And in celebration of our independence, here’s to all of us!



Aming ligaya na pag may mang-aapi
Ang mamatay nang dahil sa ‘yo.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Our Love and Pride

(In which Mike Enriquez had me thinking.)
***

The countdown – to seeing the streets with less jeepneys and cars, multi-purpose halls filled with people, houses teeming of spectators and the criminal reports for the day minimal – has started. For Sunday, November 15 in Manila, was another moment where Filipinos from all places around the globe wait – with the world – and shout two uniform battle cries – Manny Pacquiao and Philippines.

Last Saturday, in Imbestigador, Mike Enriquez mentioned what their next week episode will be about love and pride for the Philippines. And his question was:

Do we just express our love and pride for our country when there is a calamity and Pacquiao has a match? Do we really love the Philippines in thoughts, in words and in deeds?

Not that it’s negative. It’s really nice to see your people lending hands to those in need in times of tragic calamities. It is also such an unusual sight – and a funny one too - to see that places are unusually peaceful and quiet as if all of the people were summoned (much to the disappointment of priests as my sister has told me) by their TV sets to watch Pacquiao fight.

Yet when the period of elation – which starts on a victory and ends days after the hero’s welcome - died down, everything goes back to normal. It would be interesting to know how much love and pride Filipinos give their country.

Do we really love the Philippines in thoughts, in words and in deeds?

It reminds me of the Patriotic Oath that we recite every day during flag ceremony way back my elementary school days. Not that my opinion counts, but I will take the original oath over the revised one anytime. Anyway, so how much do we really our Motherland? I am not sure if making the students recite the oath daily will suffice especially when they are living with adults in a country that can not even conduct a decent election.

I hope a boxing match would not be the yardstick of our pride and love for the Philippines. There are still small and individual things we could do than marvel that we have the largest shoe in the world and that the world’s best fighter to date is here.

Now I have another reason to stay up late next Saturday.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

One Love for the Philippines: A Letter to the Filipinos

(In which a patriot writes us a letter.)


***

Isn’t it just ironic that after posting a blog post about me being busy, I have actually posted two blogs for today? Anyway, I just thought it is a matter of importance.
When I was in college, I saw an essay written by a Korean student posted on the bulletin board of the Athletics Department. I was surprised to see it on the net. (Thanks to soulcast.com)
Click here for the full text of MY SHORT ESSAY ABOUT THE PHILIPPINES by Jae Youn Kim. Pardon the length and the grammar as well.
My short response:
Jae Youn Kim,
Yes. We have cried for the Philippines as well – several times. Definitely more than you cried for this country. I feel sorry that you completely lost your faith when you came here. We don’t. And we’ve been here for as long as we can remember. What happened after the times when the Philippines was economically doing well is really sad though.
About the terrible feeling you get when you see poor people in slums, I suggest you read Maximo Ramos. Maybe you will have a better perspective. But you’re right. It’s high time that we Filipinos learn to love the Philippines.
And about the employers treating their employees fairly, I have no comment.

Friday, October 9, 2009

We Filipinos Are…

(In which a little love and pride are everything we need.)
***

The two units of the company were spiced up by the story about the latest rudeness that overly/pseudo nationalistic student has displayed. No, it’s not Lex. It’s the son of the stage mom.

I really can’t imagine how I’ll behave if faced with an eleven-year-old East Asian boy who claims that “Filipinos are not thinking” and that he’s better than his teacher. How about spelling supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?

As the other teachers share their hatred toward the ill remark, we have come up with a stand that we should start dealing with them with less kindness and more strictness. And that we have to step up for our country and our people especially in times when these siopao-faced foreigners with glasses of quadrilateral lenses ventured upon insult.

And for a little dose of racial pride, here’s for everyone.

When I See a Barong-Barong
Maximo Ramos

When I see a barong-barong neighborhood in the heart of war-torn Manila;


When I behold beside the Pasig sudden lean-tos defended against sun and rain with salvaged sheets of tin;

When I take a truck ride through Suburbia and find nipa huts clustered within the shell-punched walls of former mansions of stone –
I do not look away in shame or throw up my hands despairing for my people.

I fill my chest with the bracing breeze of this my country and say:

Though my race has been pushed around in his own land for nearly half a thousand years,

Though my people have been double-crossed again and again by foreigners,

Though my race has been pitted against themselves down the centuries;

I joy to discover that they are whole and remained unbroken in spirit;

Building them makeshift huts of nipa and salvaged tin and standing straight with heads against the stars.