Learning the Vernacularby

When I won the Palanca Award this year, my Filipino teacher, Mrs. Cayabyab, congratulated me and said: "I wish you could write and win in the Filipino division next year." She didn’t know it, but she managed to pinpoint one area where I feel I need much improvement.

Having studied in Brent school all my life, I must admit that I am more fluent speaking and writing in English. My school has an international setting, and basic good manners require that I speak to people in a language that everyone understands. That language happens to be English.

Fortunately, however, I grew up in a fiercely nationalistic Filipino family. This is what has saved me from becoming a "little brown Caucasian."

My family relentlessly stresses to my brother and me the need for national pride. They say that as proud Filipinos, we have an obligation to be the best we can be, so that we will be able to help our country later on. When we read about, or experience firsthand, the corruption and ineptitude that goes on in our society, our family says: "In the future, when you are in charge of things, you could change that and do things better." Undoubtedly, our family has big dreams for us. This is one reason why I always try my best in everything that I do. I do not only want to make my family happy. I also want to make a positive contribution to my country later on in the future.

Aside from being nationalistic, my parents are proud of their regional backgrounds. When we were small children, they told us the legends and folklore of their provinces. In addition, they insisted that we learn their respective dialects. Even now, they constantly tell us that if we are to become effective leaders later on, we need to learn the dialects that will enable us to connect and relate with people.

My dad is an Ilocano and my mom is Pangasinense, and I have to admit that there are times when Ilocano, Pangasinan, and Filipino create a confusing jumble of words in my brain.

When my mom says, "Wala," I have to ask, "Mom, is that ‘wala’ in Pangasinan or ‘wala’ in Filipino?" I need clarification because "wala" means the complete opposite in those dialects: "there is" in Pangasinan, and "there’s none" in Filipino.

When my dad talks about an "otot," I have to ask him, "Dad, are you talking about flatus or are you talking about a rat?" Obviously, "utot," Filipino for fart and "otot" :Ilocano for rat, are two different and completely unrelated things.

To complicate it even more, the equivalent of the Ilocano otot (rat) is "daga" in Filipino. And that’s not the end of it yet, since "daga" in Ilocano pertains to "land!" At this point, maybe you can imagine how this mish-mash of different meanings sometimes drives me crazy!

Ramon Magsaysay awardee, well-respected writer and scholar Dr. Bienvenido Lumbera is credited with "asserting the central place of the vernacular tradition in framing a national identity for modern Filipinos." My family echoes him when they tell my brother and me, "You should be proud of your roots. You should learn the dialects. You should know how to speak in Ilocano, or Pangasinan or Filipino until you become very fluent in them. Fluency in the dialects will empower you in the future because nothing will be lost in translation and you will have a direct pulse of the people around you." And so, despite the difficulties and confusion involved in learning the vernacular, my brother and I struggle and persevere.

The Philippines is unique because it is composed of many indigenous groups with different cultural and ethnic backgrounds. Our people speak many distinct languages or dialects. The common belief is that this diversity in language is responsible for the lack of national unity. And because we do not understand each other, we remain apart as a people.

The way I see it, however, having a myriad of anguages is not a bad thing. If we were painting a picture where each dialect is assigned a certain color, we would end up with a painting that is both multi-hued and unique. The sheer number of Filipino dialects ensures that many colors will be available for our painting. If one dialect is forgotten or lost, then our painting becomes less magnificent because one color in it is lost too. Thus, the need to preserve the different dialects by giving them equal importance.

As a young Filipino who is more comfortable writing in English, I contribute my own color—I am part of that figurative painting which is the Filipino nation. I realize that I am just equally as important and can contribute as much as those who are comfortable in Pilipino, Ilocano, Visayan or whatever.

One of the first female Filipino writers in English named Trinidad Tarrosa-Subido, wrote sometime in the late 1930s a poem called Muted Cry which goes:

They took away the language of my blood,
Giving me one "more widely understood.
More widely understood! Now lips can never,
Never with the soul in me commune.

Moments there are I strain, but futile ever,
To flute my feelings through some native tune…
Alas, how can I interpret my mood?
They took away the language of my blood.

If I could speak the language of my blood,
My voice would whirl up through resistless space
Swiftly-sure-flight no one can retrace
And flung against the skyey breast of God
Its scattered words, charged with a passion rare,
With treble glow would dim the stars now there.

In this poem, she talks of the frustration of being unable to convey her feelings in the language of her blood, which is the native dialect. If she were still alive, I would tell her how things are different today. I would say: "Now, it doesn’t matter whether you speak and write in the native dialects or in English or any other languages. The crucial thing is that your message of national pride, love of country, and the optimism that things will get better for all of us, gets through to the people."