21st CENTURY LITERATURES

FROM THE PHILIPPINES AND THE

WORLD
SENIOR HIGH SCHOOL

Compiled/Prepared by

ANGOLUAN, SARAH
DEYTO, JEFFREY
DUEZA, OLIVER
MUSA, GARY
VITALES, HAZEL
 COURSE OUTLINE

COURSE TITLE : 21st Century Literatures from the Philippines and the World

COURSE CODE : SHS 1205

COURSE CREDIT : 4 UNITS

PRE-REQUISITE : None

COURSE DESCRIPTION: This course aims to engage students in appreciation and critical study of 21st
Century Literature from the Philippines and the World encompassing their
various dimensions, genres, elements, structures, contexts, and traditions.

LEARNING OUTCOMES

At the end of the semester, the student must be able to:

✔ demonstrate understanding and appreciation of 21st Century Philippine literature from the regions
through: a written close analysis and critical interpretation of a literary text in terms of form and theme,
with a description of its context derived from research;

✔ demonstrate understanding and appreciation of 21st Century Philippine literature from the regions
through an adaptation of a text into other creative forms using multimedia.

✔ demonstrate understanding and appreciation of 21st century literature of the world through: a written
close analysis and critical interpretation of a literary text in terms of form and theme, with a description of
its context derived from research;

✔ demonstrate understanding and appreciation of 21st century literature of the world through: critical paper
that analyzes literary texts in relation to the context of the reader and the writer or a critical paper that
interprets literary texts using any of the critical approaches; and an adaptation of a text into other creative
forms using multimedia.

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COURSE PLAN

Week Topic Activities Materials

Course Introduction and Orientation

▪ Policies and Guidelines Synchronous Class LMS
▪ Reading Materials Reading Session Google Meet / Zoom
1 ▪ Grading system Text analysis Online sources
▪ Requirements Essay/ Essay Text / Articles
Video

TOPIC 1
Introduction 21st Century Literature LMS
Synchronous Class Google Meet / Zoom
Reading Session Online sources
Text analysis Text / Articles
2-3 Essay/ Essay Video

TOPIC 2 Synchronous Class LMS

Overview of Philippine Literature Reading Session Google Meet / Zoom
Text analysis Online sources
Essay/ Essay Text / Articles
4-5 Video

Midterm Requirement / Assessment

6 (Specific Activity / Requirement to be submitted)

TOPIC 3 Synchronous Class LMS

7-8 Essays on Philippine Literatures Reading Session Google Meet / Zoom
Text analysis Online sources
Essay/ Essay Text / Articles
Video

TOPIC 4
World Literature LMS
Synchronous Class Google Meet / Zoom
Reading Session Online sources
9-10 Text analysis Text / Articles
Essay/ Essay Video

11-12 TOPIC 5 Synchronous Class LMS

21st Global North Literatures Reading Session Google Meet / Zoom
Text analysis Online sources

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 Essay/ Essay Text / Articles
Video
13-14 TOPIC 6 Synchronous Class LMS
21st Century Global South Literatures Reading Session Google Meet / Zoom
Text analysis Online sources
Essay/ Essay Text / Articles
Video
15 Final Requirement / Assessment
12 Critical Paper Analysis

SELF-ASSESSMENT RUBRIC

Type of Assessment: Essay

Criterion Poor (55) Average (92) Good (100)

The content is not
The content is comprehensive. The
Content and incomplete, the insight is Information from other The content is
Development not clear. The content is sources did not comprehensive and used
50 pts from other sources that support the argument. proper citation. The
are not properly cited. Inconsistent in terms content is clear.
(1-30pts) of purpose and clarity (49-50)
of the content
(31 -48)
The structure detracts It is not easy to follow
from the message of the the organization of The structure /
Organization / Structure writer – poor transition or thoughts. The organization of thought is
30pts flow of ideas transition of ideas clear and easy to read
(1-15) needs improvement (29-30)
(16 – 28)
The paper follows
The student did not follow most of the guidelines, The paper follows the
Format the prescribed format but forgot the number prescribed format and
10pts (1-5) of pages number of pages
(6-8) (9-10)
The paper contains Minimal grammatical Rules of grammar are
Grammar / Syntax numerous grammatical, errors, but the followed. Language is
10pts punctuation and spelling language still lacks clear and precise
errors. clarity (9-10)
(1-5) (6-8)

Outline:

Criterion Points Mark

Content and Development 50 pts
Organization / Structure 30 pts
Format 10 pts
Grammar / Syntax 10 pts
Total 100 pts

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 UNIT I
INTRODUCTION TO 21st CENTURY LITERATURE

Learning Objectives:

By the end of this lesson, the learner will be able to:

● Define the problems surrounding the attempts to define the subject 21 st Century Literature.
● Differentiate between Prose, Poetry, Fiction and Non-Fiction.
● Express their view on what is literature by discussing a particular text in a form of essay.

Learning Hours: 2 hours

Discussion

For the sake of convenience, 21st Century Literature was defined by the Dep-Ed with the following:

all literary works written and published at the latter part of the 21st century (from 2001 onwards). These
works are often characterized as gender-sensitive, technologically alluding, culturally pluralistic, operates
on the extreme reality or extreme fiction, and questions conventions and supposedly absolute norms.

But is it really possible to grasp 21st century literature and enclose it in that manner? Should this characterize what
is ‘timely’ and what is not?

What do we even mean with gender-sensitivity? Technological allusion? Cultural plurativism? And all that?

Like more interesting interventions on any subject matter, this subject, 21st Century Literature from the Philippines
and The World, is best approached as a problem to be solved or a question to be answered than to assume that it
is already a definite or an absolute thing that we can directly access right away.

The problem is reflected on the subject name itself. And with the name, we already have four problems: separately,
what do we even mean with the terms 21st Century, Literature, the Philippines and the World?

What makes talking about the 21st Century tricky is that it still hasn’t reached a kind of maturity to be able for us to
define it. We’re still on the 21st year of this century. We’re not really that far off the latter part of the last century.
What even makes this century special that it needs to be studied right away?

Second is Literature. The subject matter has been studied for quite a while now and some may have reached a
definite conclusion on what it means. We’ll get back to this in a little while with a historical discussion of its meaning.

Third is the Philippines. While we’re yet to discuss the concept of literature, the assumption that there’s such a thing
as “Philippine Literature” gives us the idea of a literature having a national character, which can be said be applied
to other nations, like Japan or the USA. There are a lot of debates surrounding this national character of literature
that comes from the very debates of nationalism itself: what really is this source of nationalism? If by sociopolitical
reality, the Philippines only became an official nation-state (i.e. already outside the bounds of any colonial control,
at least officially) in 1945, we can assume that what we can refer to as “Philippine Literature” with a definite
nationalist character comes from this period onwards. But what would we make of Jose Rizal and Lope K. Santos?
What’s more is the stature of Filipino writers in diaspora: do we really consider Carlos Bulosan or Jose Garcia Villa
as Filipino writers when they got published first in the United States? Such are the debates that we hope that we
can settle or decide upon on the coming discussions.

Lastly is our concern for “World Literature.” Why should this even be our concern? Idealists would say a thousand
of reasons why, but it’s always within some naïve conception of the “soul” or the “meaning” or of some ungrounded
generalization of “human condition” or “universality”, like what Goethe assumes when he coined the source term

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weltliteratur. For this course we devised the world literature part within the bounds of what can be useful to you,
Filipino student, especially when making sense of our current historical predicaments.

What is Literature?

The late great cultural theorist, Raymond Williams, provided some intriguing insights on the definition of the word
“literature” as it is used throughout history.

“Literature” comes from the latin root word ‘littera’ which means ‘letters.” Its first appearance in the English language
in the 14th century as ‘literature’ initially means “a polite way of learning through reading.” A hundred years later, the
adjective “literate” was used in writings and language. From the get go, we can see how Literature is always related
to letters and, more importantly, literacy.

To provide some context, unlike in contemporary times, education is a privilege in the middle-ages. We can always
get how literacy has its class character from the get go with this very class-structure of education. Literary
appreciation is always trapped within this cycle of education-literacy, which is why even today, if not thought in this
manner, it baffles idealists how “good literature” are not appreciated by many.

Our fetishized (or romanticized) take on literature comes from the very romanticization of it during the renaissance.
This is where idealism of literature comes in. Further development in the mode of production, transitioning from
formerly monarchic-feudal states, revolutions brought about representative democracy and early capitalism. This
signaled a kind of specialization to the labor of writing. As Williams noted: “Literature itself must be seen as a late
medieval and Renaissance isolation of the skills of reading and of the qualities of the book.”

Literature as understood today as “any form of writing with exceptional creative value” began to favor some kinds
of literary production over the other. This narrowing of what literature means went along the logic of high capitalism
towards work specialization. It is from the late 19th century onwards that we get to be introduced to “writing” as a
profession. And this is not just any kind of writing: fiction writing to be exact. It will take some decades within the
19th century before poetry is considered for “creative” literature (as it was formerly within the speaking tradition of
aesthetics, and is closer to religion than the arts).

Types of Literature

Contemporarily, the discipline of Creative Literature accepts the following forms: prose and poetry.

Prose are writings without a metrical structure and said to exhibit “natural flow of speech” and grammatical structure.
This instructional material is an example.

Poetry, on the other hand, are writings with metric, phonetic and phonaesthetic structures. Songs are examples of
it.

Both prose or poetry can be medium to either fictional or non-fictional writing.

Fictions are kinds of writings which are mainly “products of imagination.” They should not be ideally factual. While
some kinds of fiction incorporate realistic elements, what sets fiction apart is the very construction of a limited world
that one follows within.

Non-fiction are kinds of writings which are based on factual events or people or expresses ideas which are not
necessarily within the world of fiction. Oftentimes non-fiction is a retelling and/or repurposing of a particular event
or factual narrative for a particular use. Non-fiction can range from historical texts, diaries, textbooks to theory,
philosophy, speeches etc.

Literature generally falls within the kinds mentioned above. Genres emerge as repeated forms of writing, or
repeated poetics and aesthetics becomes a convention over time that it provides a convenient categorization to
something.

Glossary from the Department of Education’s 21st Century Literature Syllabus

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Below is the glossary from Dep-Ed’s Syllabus. While some definitions are quite suspicious or are hastily
generalizing, it can provide us useful entry point for discussion of particular concepts, genres or conventions as we
move along.

21st century literature – all literary works written and published at the latter part of the 21st century (from 2001
onwards). These works are often characterized as gender sensitive, technologically alluding, culturally pluralistic,
operates on the extreme reality or extreme fiction, and questions conventions and supposedly absolute norms.

biographical context - same as authorial context. Biographical context places a particular literary work within the
context of the author’s life. Consider the circumstances under which the literary work was written. While exploring
biographical context, useful sources include biographies of the author, autobiographies or memoirs by the author
or by people who knew him or her, and critical works that give close attention to the author’s life.

blog - a web log: a website containing short articles called posts that are changed regularly. Some blogs are written
by one person containing their own opinions, interests and experiences, while others are written by many different
people.

chick lit - genre fiction which addresses issues of modern womanhood, often humorously and light-heartedly. The
genre became popular in the late 1990s, with chick lit titles topping best seller lists and the creation of imprints
devoted entirely to chick lit. Although it sometimes includes romantic elements, chick lit is generally not considered
a direct subcategory of the romance novel genre, because the heroine's relationship with her family or friends is
often just as important as her romantic relationships.

close analysis - synonymous to close reading. It fosters an advanced understanding and interpretation of a literary
passage that is focused primarily on the words themselves. It looks at details within the text in order to identify
larger, overarching themes. Some things to look for are word choice (diction), structure, imagery, syntax, literary
devices, context, tone, strange or surprising statements, and rhythm (mostly in poetry).

context - anything beyond the specific words of a literary work that may be relevant to understanding the meaning.
Contexts may be economic, social, cultural, historical, literary, biographical, etc. (e.g. the political context of the rule
of Elizabeth and James, the religious context of Calivinism, the social context of homosexual relations and cross-
dressing and the literary context of Renaissance literature, for example, all have significant implications for
understanding the words of Shakespeare) creative

nonfiction - also known as literary nonfiction or narrative nonfiction, is a genre of writing that uses literary styles
and techniques to create factually accurate narratives. Creative nonfiction contrasts with other nonfiction, such as
technical writing or journalism, which is also rooted in accurate fact, but is not primarily written in service to its craft.
As a genre, creative nonfiction is still relatively young, and is only beginning to be scrutinized with the same critical
analysis given to fiction and poetry.

critical interpretation - a critical explanation of the meaning of a literary work. It involves analysis of its elements,
especially the theme. When applied to poetry, interpretation may also be called "explication." The most familiar
example of interpretation is literary criticism.

critical paper - a composition that offers an analysis, interpretation, and/or evaluation of a text. Usually intended
for an academic audience, a critical paper often takes the form of an argument. According to Robert DiYanni, when
you write about a literary work, you will often attempt to convince others that what you see and say about it makes
sense. In doing so, you will be arguing for the validity of your way of seeing, not necessarily to the exclusion of all
other ways, but to demonstrate that your understanding of the work is reasonable and valuable. Since your readers
will respond as much to how you support your arguments as to your ideas themselves, you will need to concentrate
on providing evidence for your ideas. Most often this evidence will come in the form of textual support--details of
action, dialogue, imagery, description, language, and structure. Additional evidence may come from secondary
sources, from the comments of experienced readers whose observations and interpretations may influence and
support your own thinking.

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figures of speech - also known as figurative language, it creates figures (pictures) in the mind of the reader or
listener. These pictures help convey the meaning faster and more vividly than words alone. We use figures of
speech in "figurative language" to add colour and interest, and to awaken the imagination. Figurative language is
everywhere, from classical works like Shakespeare or the Bible, to everyday speech, pop music and television
commercials. It makes the reader or listener use their imagination and understand much more than the plain words.
Figurative language is the opposite of literal language. Literal language means exactly what is says. Figurative
language means something different to (and usually more than) what it says on the surface.

flash fiction - a style of fictional literature or fiction of extreme brevity. There is no widely accepted definition of the
length of the category. Some self-described markets for flash fiction impose caps as low as three hundred words,
while others consider stories as long as a thousand words to be flash fiction.

hyperpoetry - a form of digital poetry that uses links using hypertext mark-up. It is a very visual form, and is related
to hypertext fiction and visual arts. The links mean that a hypertext poem has no set order, the poem moving or
being generated in response to the links that the reader/user chooses. It can either involve set words, phrases,
lines, etc. that are presented in variable order but sit on the page much as traditional poetry does, or it can contain
parts of the poem that move and / or mutate. It is usually found online, though CD-ROM and diskette versions exist.
The earliest examples date to no later than the mid 1980s.

linguistic context - discourse that surrounds a language unit and helps to determine its interpretation.

literary elements - refers to particular identifiable characteristics of a whole text. They are not “used,” per se, by
authors; they represent the elements of storytelling which are common to all literary and narrative forms. For
example, every story has a theme, every story has a setting, every story has a conflict, every story is written from
a particular point-of-view, etc. In order to be discussed legitimately as part of a textual analysis, literary elements
must be specifically identified for that particular text.

literary genre - a category of literary composition. Genres may be determined by literary technique, tone, content,
or even (as in the case of fiction) length. The distinctions between genres and categories are flexible and loosely
defined, often with subgroups. The most general genres in literature are (in loose chronological order) epic, tragedy,
comedy, and creative nonfiction. They can all be in the form of prose or poetry. Additionally, a genre such as satire,
allegory or pastoral might appear in any of the above, not only as a sub-genre, but as a mixture of genres. Finally,
they are defined by the general cultural movement of the historical period in which they were composed. Genre
should not be confused with age categories, by which literature may be classified as either adult, young-adult, or
children's. They also must not be confused with format, such as graphic novel or picture book.

literary history - the historical development of writings in prose or poetry which attempts to provide entertainment,
enlightenment, or instruction to the reader/hearer/observer, as well as the development of the literary techniques
used in the communication of these pieces.

literary techniques - refers to any specific, deliberate constructions or choices of language which an author uses
to convey meaning in a particular way. An author’s use of a literary technique usually occurs with a single word or
phrase, or a particular group of words or phrases, at one single point in a text. Unlike literary elements, literary
techniques are not necessarily present in every text; they represent deliberate, conscious choices by individual
authors.

literary traditions - it is a collection of works that have an underlying interconnectedness and coherence that
makes them more than simply a group of works sharing geography or group. Irish poetry and drama, for example,
extend over several centuries, involving writers with a range of voices and preoccupations; and yet it is often thought
that they are distinctively "Irish." This means that you can have someone who doesn't come from Ireland, perhaps
doesn't even have Irish ancestors, but they can write in the Irish Literary Tradition because they will draw on the
same references, structure, mythology, focal points for cultural meanings and historical moments.

Mobile phone Text tula - a particular example of this poem is a tanaga, a type of Filipino poem, consisting of four
lines with seven syllables each with the same rhyme at the end of each line - that is to say a 7-7-7-7 syllabic verse,

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with an AABB rhyme scheme. The modern tanaga still uses the 7777 syllable count, but rhymes range from dual
rhyme forms: AABB, ABAB, ABBA; to freestyle forms such as AAAB, BAAA, or ABCD. Tanagas do not have titles
traditionally because the tanaga should speak for itself. However, moderns can opt to give them titles.

National literature - a literature that reflects the history and culture of a country, usually created by its local writers.
According to Rev. Harley Dewart, a national literature is an essential element in the formation of national character.
It is not merely the record of a country’s mental progress; it is the expression of its intellectual life, the bond of
national unity, and the guide of national energy. It may be fairly questioned, whether the whole range of history
presents the spectacle of a people firmly united politically, without the subtle but powerful cement of a patriotic
literature.

Oral history research - a method of research where the memories of living people about events or social conditions
which they experienced in their earlier lives are taped and preserved as historical

Evidence; oral history -historical information, usually tape-recorded or videotaped, obtained in interviews with
persons having first-hand knowledge; An audiotape, videotape, or written account of such an interview or interviews.

sociocultural context - it is evident when literary works respond in some way to the society in which they were
written, and most often (though not always) that response takes the form of criticism.

Sociocultural context is about how a particular literary work depicts society. Sources you might investigate include
works (books and articles) of history or sociology that talk about the strengths, weaknesses, and changes occurring
in the society during the period in which the literary work is set, and critical works that emphasize the connection
between the society and the literary work. speculative fiction - an umbrella term encompassing the more fantastical
fiction genres, specifically science fiction, fantasy, horror, weird fiction, supernatural fiction, superhero fiction,
utopian and dystopian fiction, apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction, and alternate history in literature as well as
related static, motion, and virtual arts.

Activity:

Write an essay about a particular literature that you like (whether fictional/non-fictional or prose/poetry), answering
the following questions: (Suggested word count: 300 words minimum)

● What made you like this particular literature?

● Why do you think this counts as literature?

References

https://www.deped.gov.ph/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/SHS-Core_21st-Century-Literature-from-the-Philippines-
and-the-World-CG.pdf

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 UNIT II
OVERVIEW OF PHILIPPINE LITERATURE

Learning Objectives:

By the end of this lesson, the learner will be able to:

● Familiarize with the problems surrounding identifying Philippine Literature

● Explain the “being Filipino” or the Filipino-ness of a literature from both the mainstream view and their
subjective points
● Apply these understandings of what is a Filipino Literature in analyzing a selected short story in a form of
essay.

Learning Hour/s: 8 hours

Overview:

The scope of what is considered as “Philippine Literature” oftentimes is metaphysical: that is this scope is trying to
set itself beyond the development of history, or beyond reality. As such we get some occultic attitude from most
people who advocate to follow it. It reached further from the so-called “pre-colonial” times, to even include folk
literature. With this we are presented with a kind of “national” literature that is convoluted and confused of tropes
and styles whenever it presents itself.

Thus, we are presented with a question: what makes a literature Filipino? To provide further context, claims for
being-Filipino of a literary output extends geopolitically: diasporic worker and writer Carlos Bulosan’s literary work
are considered as Filipino even if the historical conditions that produced his works are far from the context of the
Philippines back then. Jose Garcia Villa, a touring creole whose production was heavily influenced by e.e.
cummings is deemed as Filipino, in fact, awarded as National Artist.

Even in the context of settlerism and imperialism of the Manila-Tagalog regime with the insistence of Manuel
Quezon to have Filipino as national language, we still deem to have writers in the Philippines not writing in Filipino
as writing our national literature, national artists Nick Joaquin and F. Sionil Jose comes in mind.

For this Lesson, we’ll assess samples from what is considered as Philippine literature as produced in the 20 th
century to see what makes them Filipino.

Before we proceed with the texts, read first Katrina Melissa Cruz’ “Introduction to Philippine Literature” to at least
have us informed of what the mainstream of thought is thinking of Philippine Literature.

Assessment:

Considering the Katrina Melissa Cruz’ text and your own knowledge, choose one of the following literatures and
write an essay to answer the question: what makes your chosen literature Filipino? (min. 300 words)

● Dead Stars by Paz Benitez Marquez

● The Distance to Andromeda by Gregorio C. Brillantes
● The Bread of Salt by NVM Gonzales

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 Excerpt from INTRODUCTION TO PHILIPPINE LITERATURE by Katrina Melissa Cruz

Philippine literature withstood time and periods and has evolved through generations. For every period that passed,
different genres appeared, and these literary works rooted from all regions reflecting their culture, society and
lifestyle.

The early stages of Filipino Literature consist of the Pre-Spanish period, the Spanish period and the Propaganda
and Revolutionary Periods. In the Pre-Spanish period, literature was in oral form as technology of printing wasn’t
available yet. Works such as epics, legends, folklore, salawikain, bugtong, sawikain, songs such as
the Oyayi or Hele are passed on from generations to generations and they are still well-known up to this day as
they are being taught in schools. Philippine Literature changed during the Spanish Period. It was centered on
Christian faith. Pre-Spanish literary types continued to develop; however, there was a gradual shift of interest from
nature and natural phenomena to the lives of the saints, hymns, miracles and invocations based on the teachings
of the Catholic Church. The works during this time are imitative of the Spanish theme, forms, and traditions.

The corrido, awit, dalit, cenaculo, moro-moro, duplo and karagatan, and zarzuela are reflective of the said
characteristics. Religious matters were in prose as novenas and prayer books, biographies of the saints, tales and
novels. The Filipinos were able to retain their native traditions and poems in the field of poetry reflected as lyrical
folksongs and riddles. Some examples of songs are Bahay Kubo, kundiman, and tapat. Francisco Baltazar also
was popular during this time because of his “Florante at Laura”. Events such as the exposure of the Filipinos to
Europe’s liberal idealism, the opening of the Suez Canal, the Spanish Revolution in 1868, and the martyrdom of
Gomburza led to Filipino nationalism. This gave birth to two movements during this time – the Propaganda
movement and the Revolutionary movement. The Propaganda movement was reformatory in objective and its
members are college students mostly based in Spain. The primary propagandists were Jose Rizal, Marcelo H. del
Pilar, and Graciano Lopez-Jaena. The exposure of the evils of the Spanish rule in the Philippines was because of
Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo and has paved the way to a revolution against Spain. Del Pilar’s
essays and editorials in Diariong Tagalog which he founded with Lopez-Jaena’s articles in La Solidaridad which he
was an editor reflected nationalism that was dominant at this time.

The Revolutionary movement took over as the propagandists failed to get much reforms. This was of course more
violent, and it demands complete independence from Spain. The Katipunan was founded by Andres Bonifacio who
was inspired by Rizal’s novels. The articles written in tagalog (which was a form of revolution) was published in
the Kalayaan, the newspaper of the society. The literature at that time was more propagandistic than literary as the
situation and events at that time needed such purpose for liberation.

The three periods mentioned are the core of our history and literature. History has a very important role in literature
as literature not only reflects facts with aesthetic language but more importantly, it displays the ideas and feelings
of the people living at that time. Not only does literature exhibit history but so as the hope that people have. It shows
what they hope for the nation, or for themselves, may it be about nationalism, love, or other aspects going on in life.
As the Philippines underwent a lot of history, as well as changes, literature also evolved. In the similar case as the
first three periods, literary genres also evolve depending on the influence, state and the condition that our country
is in. From epics to folksongs, to the cenaculo and Noli Me Tangere, to Tagalog and English short stories, essays,
poetry, to the Palanca Awards entries, drama and film, to Wattpad and blogs – these are all reflective of the history,
evolution, and developments or mishaps of the Filipino nation. Each period has its own distinct genre and unique
artists that everyone remembers.

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The Distance to Andromeda by Gregorio C. Brillantes

The Boy Ben, thirteen years old, sits there and wide- London, where no man would ever breath and walk
eyed before the screen of the theater, in the town of again; tomorrow’s spaceship, flaming meteor-like in
Tarlac, his heart thumps in awe and excitement, and the night of space; the faces of the last people, brave
his hands are balled into unconscious fists, as the before the unexplored night.
spaceship burns its blue-flamed journey through the
night of the universe that is forever silent with a high Ben looks up at the pictures, and he feels again, deep
metallic hum. in a silence within him, like the vibration of invisible
wires, the hum of the universe, the movement of the
Enclosed in time within the rocket, the ship itself planets and stars. He turns to his friend in a kind
surrounded by timelessness, which is in turn framed impatience, his eyes bright, his chest tightening; he
by the boundaries of the cinema screen, the last men begins to speak, but the hum and movement cannot
and women and children of Earth watch the asteroids, be uttered. “C’mon, Ben,” says Pepe, and they cross
the stream of cosmic dust, the barren planets drift the street away from the sound and glare of the
past the portholes like luminous flowers at once theater, through the small belling tinkle of the calesas
beautiful and monstrous, floating in the ocean of and the warm gasoline dust, while the strangeness
space. The traveler search the night for another world within him strains almost like a pain for utterance.
of air and greenness, remembering the end of the
Earth, the Final War, the flickering radioactive fires They saunter down the main street in the manner of
upon the lifeless continents. Beyond the dead seas of boys who have no immediate reason for hurry, lazy-
Mars, and beyond the ice-bound tomb of Neptune, legged and curious-eyed. They come to the plaza;
past the orbit of Pluto and out into the black children are roller-skating around the kiosko, and the
immeasurable depths, the rocket flashes onward, stars are clear in the sudden night over the town.
through years of space and time: a moving speck The two boys get up on the bench and sit on the back
among the twinkling stars, propelled by the flame of rest and watch the skating children. In the white light
its engine and a certain destiny. A sun looms up from of the neon lamps, the continuous rumbling sound of
the blackness, more golden and more gentle than the the skaters rises and falls with the quality of the
star they have always known; and as a globe of cemented rink: now hollow and receding, now full and
shining water and green-shadowed land appears ascending, going around, seemingly unending. Tito
through the viewports; they break out into jubilant comes by and join them atop the bench; and they talk
cries and dazed whispers of thanks to God. Cradled of a swim in San Miguel tomorrow morning; they
by a final blast of power, the spacecraft lands on the agree to meet here, at the kiosko, after the last Mass.
meadow: a quiet moment before the airlocks open, a After a few random topics, from basketball to the new
sigh of wind in the nearby trees. The survivors of the swept-winged jets that passed over the town during
Earth climb down onto the grass, and the filmed the day, the talk shifts to the movie Ben and Pepe
prophecy ends with them gathered as on a pilgrimage have just seen. Tito does not go for that kind of
beneath the vertical cylinder of their rocket, looking picture, so fantastic he says, so untrue to life.
out across the plain to the hills green in the light of the
new sun. With every second the night deepens in the sky. As
though in obedience to some secret signal, Ben looks
The curtains close the window of the screen; an up at the stars. The Southern Cross hangs in the
amplified phonograph scratches out a tired rhumba; meridian; the half-man and the half-horse in
there is a brief scramble for vacated seats, the usual Centaurus rides over the acacias, and the Milky Way
reluctant shuffling towards the exit after the show. is a pale misted river dividing the sky. The stars are
Ben thinks of staying for one more screening but his faraway suns… The strangeness stirs in silence
friend Pepe stood up to leave, waving to him from the within him: the unknowable words die stillborn in his
aisle. mind, and the boy joins in the casual conversation,
He and Pepe go up the aisle, stepping on brittle while the rumble of the skates rises and falls, around
peanut shells and candy tinfoil; in the diffused light, and around, as if forever, and the stars swing across
the audience waits for the lovely and terrible dream. the sky.

The two boys linger before the moviehouse and look “I wonder if there are people on Mars – like in the
up at the photo stills tacked on the display board: the comics.”
nuclear-bombed cities, New York and Paris and “If there are any,” says Tito, “they’d look like Mr. Cruz.”

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“Just because he flunked you in algebra.” machines for the first time, quivering in the air,
trembling underground. On the bridge, he stops to
“Do you think people will ever get to the moon?” gaze at the sky; the far edge of the river, without trees
“Ahh, nobody’s going to land on the moon,” says Tito, or houses, planes into a horizon; the stars seem to
“there’s no air up there.” rise from the dark land and the water.

“They’ll bring their oxygen in the rocketship.” He stands alone on the bridge, and he is suddenly
lonely, the vast humming turning within him, waiting:
“Moon, rocketship, Mars – what kind of crazy talk is for a streak of blue flame, a signal flare among the
that?” stars. Where and why … Thousands of years away
by the speed of light, the other worlds… He recalls the
With comic farewells, the three boys part ways, Ben
view of the heavens through the port holes of the
walks home alone, back across the plaza, past the
rocket, and the photographs of the galaxies, the
skaters and the lamp-posts of kiosko, the border of
whirlpooled suns in the book his father gave him one
trees and the town hall. The empty house on Romulo
Christmas. The rocket, an atom wandering in the
Street stares at him through a vein of vines, like a sick
outer reaches of unknown space: to be lost and lovely
old woman abandoned by her children. The electric
forever in the starry night… He feels very tiny, only a
plant by the river thunders compressedly as he goes
boy, shrinking, helpless, standing between the dark
by, the massive dynamos producing heat and light; it
river and the lights in the sky.
is as though he were discovering the power of the

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The Bread of Salt by NVM Gonzales

Usually I was in bed by ten and up by five and thus life. Grandmother had been widowed three years
was ready for one more day of my fourteenth year. now. I often wondered whether I was being depended
Unless Grandmother had forgotten, the fifteen upon to spend the years ahead in the service of this
centavos for the baker down Progreso Street – and great house. One day I learned that Aida, a classmate
how l enjoyed jingling those coins in my pocket!- in high school, was the old Spaniard’s niece. All my
would be in the empty fruit jar in the cupboard. I would doubts disappeared. It was as if, before his death.
remember then that rolls were what Grandmother Grandfather had spoken to me about her. concealing
wanted because recently she had lost three molars. the seriousness of the matter by putting it over as a
For young people like my cousins and myself, she joke, if now l kept true to the virtues, she would step
had always said that the kind called pan de sal ought out of her bedroom ostensibly to say Good Morning
to be quite all right. to her uncle. Her real purpose. I knew, was to reveal
thus her assent to my desire.
The bread of salt! How did it get that name? From
where did its flavor come, through what secret action On quiet mornings I imagined the patter of her shoes
of flour and yeast? At the risk of being jostled from the upon the wooden veranda floor as a further sign, and
counter by early buyers. I would push my way into the I would hurry off to school, taking the route she had
shop so that I might watch the men who, stripped to fixed for me past the post office, the town plaza and
the waist worked their long flat wooden spades in and the church, the health center east of the plaza, and at
out of the glowing maw of the oven. Why did the bread last the school grounds. I asked myself whether I
come nut-brown and the size of my little fist? And why would try to walk with her and decided it would be the
did it have a pair of lips convulsed into a painful height of rudeness. Enough that in her blue skirt and
frown? In the half light of the street and hurrying, the white middy she would be half a block ahead and,
paper bag pressed to my chest I felt my curiosity a from that distance, perhaps throw a glance in my
little gratified by the oven-fresh warmth of the bread I direction, to bestow upon my heart a deserved and
was proudly bringing home for breakfast. abundant blessing. I believed it was but right that, in
some such way as this, her mission in my life was
Well l knew how Grandmother would not mind if I disguised.
nibbled away at one piece; perhaps, l might even eat
two, to be charged later against my share at the table. Her name, I was to learn many years later, was a
But that would be betraying a trust and so, indeed, I convenient mnemonic for the qualities to which
kept my purchase intact. To guard it from harm, I argument might aspire. But in those days it was a
watched my steps and avoided the dark street living voice. “Oh that you might be worthy of uttering
comers. me,” it said. And how l endeavored to build my body
so that l might live long to honor her. With every
For my reward, I had only to look in the direction of victory at singles at the handball court the game was
the sea wall and the fifty yards or so of riverbed then the craze at school -I could feel my body glow in
beyond it, where an old Spaniard’s house stood. At the sun as though it had instantly been cast in bronze.
low tide, when the bed was dry and the rocks glinted I guarded my mind and did not let my wits go astray.
with broken bottles, the stone fence of the Spaniard’s In class I would not allow a lesson to pass
compound set off the house as if it were a castle. unmastered. Our English teacher could put no
Sunrise brought a wash of silver upon the roofs of the question before us that did not have a ready answer
laundry and garden sheds which had been built low in my head. One day he read Robert Louis
and close to the fence. On dull mornings the light Stevenson’s The Sire de Maletroits Door, and we
dripped from the bamboo screen which covered the were so enthralled that our breaths trembled. I knew
veranda and hung some four or five yards from the then that somewhere, sometime in the not too
ground. Unless it was August when the damp, improbable future, a benign old man with a lantern in
northeast monsoon had to be kept away from the his hand would also detain me in a secret room, and
rooms, three servants raised the screen promptly at there daybreak would find me thrilled by the sudden
six-thirty until it was completely hidden under the certainty that I had won Aida’s hand.
veranda eaves. From the sound of the pulleys, l knew
it was time to set out for school. It was perhaps on my violin that her name wrought
such a tender spell. Maestro Antonino remarked the
It was in his service, as a coconut plantation overseer, dexterity of my stubby fingers. Quickly l raced through
that Grandfather had spent the last thirty years of his Alard-until l had all but committed two thirds of the

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book to memory. My short, brown arm learned at last cover of a magazine. A writer had described how,
to draw the bow with grace. Sometimes, when many years ago, I used to trudge the streets of
practising my scales in the early evening. I wondered Buenavista with my violin in a battered black
if the sea wind carrying the straggling notes across cardboard case. In New York, he reported, a
the pebbled river did not transform them into millionaire had offered me a Stradivarius violin, with a
Schubert’s “Serenade.” card that bore the inscription: “In admiration of a
genius your own people must surely be proud of.” I
At last Mr. Custodio, who was in charge of our school dreamed l spent a weekend at the millionaire’s
orchestra, became aware of my progress. He moved country house by the Hudson. A young girl in a blue
me from second to first violin. During the skirt and white middy clapped her lily-white hands
Thanksgiving Day program he bade me render a and, her voice trembling, cried “Bravo!”
number, complete with pizzicati and harmonics.
What people now observed at home was the diligence
“Another Vallejo! Our own Albert Spalding!” I heard with which l attended to my violin lessons. My aunt,
from the front row. who had come from the farm to join her children for
Aida, I thought, would be in the audience. I looked the holidays, brought with her a maidservant, and to
around quickly but could not see her. As I retired to the poor girl was given the chore of taking the money
my place in the orchestra I heard Pete Saez, the to the baker’s for rolls and pan de sal. I realized at
trombone player, call my name. once that it would be no longer becoming on my part
to make these morning trips to the baker’s. I could not
“You must join my band,” he said. “Look, well have thank my aunt enough.
many engagements soon, it’ll be vacation time.”
I began to chafe on being given other errands.
Pete pressed my arm. He had for some time now Suspecting my violin to be the excuse, my aunt
been asking me to join the Minviluz Orchestra, his remarked:
private band. All I had been able to tell him was that l
had my schoolwork to mind. He was twenty-two. I was “What do you want to be a musician for? At parties,
perhaps too young to be going around with him. He musicians always eat last.”
earned his school fees and supported his mother Perhaps, I said to myself, she was thinking of a pack
hiring out his band at least three or four times a of dogs scrambling for scraps tossed over the fence
month. He now said: by some careless kitchen maid. She was the sort you
“Tomorrow we play at the funeral of a Chinese-four to could depend on to say such vulgar things. For that
six in the afternoon; in the evening, judge Roldan’s reason, I thought she ought not to be taken seriously
silver wedding anniversary; Sunday, the municipal at all.
dance.” But the remark hurt me. Although Grandmother had
My head began to whirl. On the stage, in front of us, counseled me kindly to mind my work at school, l went
the principal had begun a speech about America. again and again to Pete Saez’s house for rehearsals.
Nothing he could say about the Pilgrim Fathers and She had demanded that l deposit with her my
the American custom of feasting on turkey seemed earnings; I had felt too weak to refuse. Secretly, I
interesting. I thought of the money I would earn. For counted the money and decided not to ask for it until
several days now l had but one wish, to buy a box of l had enough with which to buy a brooch. Why this
linen stationery. At night when the house was quiet I time I wanted to give Aida a brooch, I didn’t know. But
would fill the sheets with words that would tell Aida I had set my heart on it. I searched the downtown
how much l adored her. One of these mornings, shops. The Chinese clerks, seeing me so young,
perhaps before school closed for the holidays, I would were annoyed when I inquired about prices.
borrow her algebra book and there, upon a good
pageful of equations, there l would slip my message, At last the Christmas season began. I had not
tenderly pressing the leaves of the book. She would counted on Aida’s leaving home, and remembering
perhaps never write back. Neither by post nor by hand that her parents lived in Badajoz, my torment was
would a reply reach me. But no matter, it would be a almost unbearable. Not once had l tried to tell her of
silence full of voices. my love. My letters had remained unwritten, and the
algebra book unborrowed. There was still the brooch
That night l dreamed l had returned from a tour of the to find, but I could not decide on the sort of brooch l
world’s music centers; the newspapers of Manila had really wanted. And the money, in any case, was in
been generous with praise. I saw my picture on the
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Grandmothers purse, which smelled of Tiger Balm.” I “So you know all about it?” I felt I had to explain that
grew somewhat feverish as our class Christmas the party was meant to be a surprise, an asalto.
program drew near. Finally it came; it was a warm
December afternoon. I decided to leave the room And now it would be nothing of the kind, really. The
when our English teacher announced that members women’s club matrons would hustle about, disguising
of the class might exchange gifts. I felt fortunate; Pete their scurrying around for cakes and candies as for
was at the door, beckoning to me. We walked out to some baptismal party or other. In the end, the Rivas
the porch where, Pete said, he would tell me a secret. sisters would outdo them. Boxes of meringues,
bonbons, ladyfingers, and cinnamon buns that only
It was about an asalto the next Sunday which the the Swiss bakers in Manila could make were perhaps
Buenavista Women’s Club wished to give Don coming on the boat with them. I imagined a table
Esteban’s daughters, Josefina and Alicia, who were glimmering with long-stemmed punch glasses;
arriving on the morning steamer from Manila. The enthroned in that array would be a huge brick-red
spinsters were much loved by the ladies. Years ago, bowl of gleaming china with golden flowers around
when they were younger, these ladies studied the brim. The local matrons, however hard they tried,
solfeggio with Josefina and the piano and harp with however sincere their efforts, were bound to fail in
Alicia. As Pete told me all this, his lips ash-gray from their aspiration to rise to the level of Don Esteban’s
practising all morning on his trombone, I saw in my daughters. Perhaps, l thought, Aida knew all this. And
mind the sisters in their silk dresses, shuffling off to that I should share in a foreknowledge of the matrons’
church for the evening benediction. They were very hopes was a matter beyond love. Aida and l could
devout, and the Buenavista ladies admired that. I had laugh together with the gods.
almost forgotten that they were twins and, despite
their age, often dressed alike. In low-bosomed voile At seven, on the appointed evening, our small band
bodices and white summer hats, l remembered, the gathered quietly at the gate of Don Esteban’s house,
pair had attended Grandfather’s funeral, at old Don and when the ladies arrived in their heavy shawls and
Esteban’s behest I wondered how successful they trim panuelo, twittering with excitement, we were
had been in Manila during the past three years in the commanded to play the Poet and Peasant overture.
matter of finding suitable husbands. As Pete directed the band, his eyes glowed with pride
for his having been part of the big event. The
“This party will be a complete surprise,” Pete said, multicolored lights that the old Spaniard’s gardeners
looking around the porch as if to swear me to secrecy. had strung along the vine-covered fence were
They’ve hired our band.” switched on, and the women remarked that Don
Esteban’s daughters might have made some
I joined my classmates in the room, greeting everyone preparations after all. Pete hid his face from the glare.
with a Merry Christmas jollier than that of the others. If the women felt let down, they did not show it.
When I saw Aida in one comer unwrapping something
two girls had given her. I found the boldness to greet The overture snuffled along to its climax while five
her also. men in white shirts bore huge boxes of goods into the
house. I recognized one of the bakers in spite of the
“Merry Christmas,” I said in English, as a hairbrush uniform. A chorus of confused greetings, and the
and a powder case emerged from the fancy wrapping, women trooped into the house; and before we had
it seemed to me rather apt that such gifts went to her. settled in the sala to play “A Basket of Roses,” the
Already several girls were gathered around Aida. heavy damask curtains at the far end of the room
Their eyes glowed with envy, it seemed to me, for were drawn and a long table richly spread was
those fair cheeks and the bobbed dark-brown hair revealed under the chandeliers. I remembered that, in
which lineage had denied them. our haste to be on hand for the asalto, Pete and I had
I was too dumbstruck by my own meanness to hear discouraged the members of the band from taking
exactly what Aida said in answer to my greeting. But their suppers.
I recovered shortly and asked: “You’ve done us a great honor!” Josefina, the more
“Will you be away during the vacation?” buxom of the twins, greeted the ladies.

“No, I’ll be staying here,” she said. When she added “Oh, but you have not allowed us to take you by
that her cousins were arriving and that a big party in surprise!” the ladies demurred in a chorus.
their honor was being planned, l remarked: There were sighs and further protestations amid a
rustle of skirts and the glitter of earrings. I saw Aida in

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a long, flowing white gown and wearing an arch of egg-yolk things in several sheets of napkin paper.
sampaguita flowers on her hair. At her command, two None of my companions had thought of doing the
servants brought out a gleaming harp from the music same, and it was with some pride that I slipped the
room. Only the slightest scraping could be heard packet under my shirt. There. I knew, it would not
because the servants were barefoot As Aida directed bulge.
them to place the instrument near the seats we
occupied, my heart leaped to my throat. Soon she “Have you eaten?”
was lost among the guests, and we played The Dance I turned around. It was Aida. My bow tie seemed to
of the Glowworms.” I kept my eyes closed and held tighten around my collar. I mumbled something, l did
for as long as l could her radiant figure before me. not know what.
Alicia played on the harp and then, in answer to the “If you wait a little while till they’ve gone, I’ll wrap up a
deafening applause, she offered an encore. Josefina big package for you,” she added.
sang afterward. Her voice, though a little husky,
fetched enormous sighs. For her encore, she gave I brought a handkerchief to my mouth. I might have
The Last Rose of Summer”; and the song brought honored her solicitude adequately and even relieved
back snatches of the years gone by. Memories of myself of any embarrassment; I could not quite
solfeggio lessons eddied about us, as if there were believe that she had seen me, and yet l was sure that
rustling leaves scattered all over the hall. Don she knew what I had done, and I felt all ardor for her
Esteban appeared. Earlier, he had greeted the crowd gone from me entirely.
handsomely, twisting his mustache to hide a natural
I walked away to the nearest door, praying that the
shyness before talkative women. He stayed long
damask curtains might hide me in my shame. The
enough to listen to the harp again, whispering in his
door gave on to the veranda, where once my love had
rapture: “Heavenly. Heavenly …”
trod on sunbeams. Outside it was dark, and a faint
By midnight, the merrymaking lagged. We played wind was singing in the harbor.
while the party gathered around the great table at the
With the napkin balled up in my hand. I flung out my
end of the sala. My mind traveled across the seas to
arm to scatter the egg-yolk things in the dark. I waited
the distant cities l had dreamed about. The sisters
for the soft sound of their fall on the garden-shed roof.
sailed among the ladies like two great white liners
Instead, I heard a spatter in the rising night-tide
amid a fleet of tugboats in a bay. Someone had
beyond the stone fence. Farther away glimmered the
thoughtfully remembered-and at last Pete Saez
light from Grandmother’s window, calling me home.
signaled to us to put our instruments away. We
walked in single file across the hall, led by one of the But the party broke up at one or thereabouts. We
barefoot servants. walked away with our instruments after the matrons
were done with their interminable good-byes. Then,
Behind us a couple of hoarse sopranos sang “La
to the tune of “Joy to the World.” we pulled the
Paloma” to the accompaniment of the harp, but I did
Progreso Street shopkeepers out of their beds. The
not care to find out who they were. The sight of so
Chinese merchants were especially generous. When
much silver and china confused me. There was more
Pete divided our collection under a street lamp, there
food before us than I had ever imagined. I searched
was already a little glow of daybreak.
in my mind for the names of the dishes; but my
ignorance appalled me. I wondered what had He walked with me part of the way home. We stopped
happened to the boxes of food that the Buenavista at the baker’s when l told him that I wanted to buy with
ladies had sent up earlier. In a silver bowl was my own money some bread to eat on the way to
something, I discovered, that appeared like whole egg Grandmother’s house at the edge of the sea wall. He
yolks that had been dipped in honey and peppermint laughed, thinking it strange that I should be hungry.
The seven of us in the orchestra were all of one mind We found ourselves alone at the counter; and we
about the feast; and so. confident that I was with watched the bakery assistants at work until our bodies
friends, l allowed my covetousness to have its sway grew warm from the oven across the door, it was not
and not only stuffed my mouth with this and that quite five, and the bread was not yet ready.
confection but also wrapped up a quantity of those

Page 17 of 59
Dead Stars by Pas Benitez Marquez exaggeration of the commonplace, a glorification
of insipid monotonies such as made up his love
life? Was love a combination of circumstances, or
THROUGH the open window the air-steeped sheer native capacity of soul? In those days love
outdoors passed into his room, quietly enveloping was, for him, still the eternal puzzle; for love, as
him, stealing into his very thought. Esperanza, he knew it, was a stranger to love as he divined it
Julia, the sorry mess he had made of life, the might be.
years to come even now beginning to weigh Sitting quietly in his room now, he could almost
down, to crush–they lost concreteness, diffused revive the restlessness of those days, the feeling
into formless melancholy. The tranquil murmur of of tumultuous haste, such as he knew so well in
conversation issued from the brick-tiled azotea his boyhood when something beautiful was going
where Don Julian and Carmen were busy on somewhere and he was trying to get there in
puttering away among the rose pots. time to see. “Hurry, hurry, or you will miss it,”
“Papa, and when will the ‘long table’ be set?” someone had seemed to urge in his ears. So he
had avidly seized on the shadow of Love and
“I don’t know yet. Alfredo is not very specific, but deluded himself for a long while in the way of
I understand Esperanza wants it to be next humanity from time immemorial. In the meantime,
month.” he became very much engaged to Esperanza.
Carmen sighed impatiently. “Why is he not a bit Why would men so mismanage their lives?
more decided, I wonder. He is over thirty, is he Greed, he thought, was what ruined so many.
not? And still a bachelor! Esperanza must be tired Greed–the desire to crowd into a moment all the
waiting.” enjoyment it will hold, to squeeze from the hour
all the emotion it will yield. Men commit
“She does not seem to be in much of a hurry
themselves when but half-meaning to do so,
either,” Don Julian nasally commented, while his
sacrificing possible future fullness of ecstasy to
rose scissors busily snipped away.
the craving for immediate excitement. Greed–
“How can a woman be in a hurry when the man mortgaging the future–forcing the hand of Time,
does not hurry her?” Carmen returned, pinching or of Fate.
off a worm with a careful, somewhat absent air.
“What do you think happened?” asked Carmen,
“Papa, do you remember how much in love he
pursuing her thought.
was?”
“I supposed long-engaged people are like that;
“In love? With whom?”
warm now, cool tomorrow. I think they are oftener
“With Esperanza, of course. He has not had cool than warm. The very fact that an
another love affair that I know of,” she said with engagement has been allowed to prolong itself
good-natured contempt. “What I mean is that at argues a certain placidity of temperament–or of
the beginning he was enthusiastic–flowers, affection–on the part of either, or both.” Don
serenades, notes, and things like that–” Julian loved to philosophize. He was talking now
with an evident relish in words, his resonant, very
Alfredo remembered that period with a wonder nasal voice toned down to monologue pitch. “That
not unmixed with shame. That was less than four phase you were speaking of is natural enough for
years ago. He could not understand those a beginning. Besides, that, as I see it, was
months of a great hunger that was not of the body Alfredo’s last race with escaping youth–”
nor yet of the mind, a craving that had seized on
him one quiet night when the moon was abroad Carmen laughed aloud at the thought of her
and under the dappled shadow of the trees in the brother’s perfect physical repose–almost
plaza, man wooed maid. Was he being cheated indolence–disturbed in the role suggested by her
by life? Love–he seemed to have missed it. Or father’s figurative language.
was the love that others told about a mere
“A last spurt of hot blood,” finished the old man.
fabrication of perfervid imagination, an

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Few certainly would credit Alfredo Salazar with He was puzzled that she should smile with
hot blood. Even his friends had amusedly evident delight every time he addressed her thus.
diagnosed his blood as cool and thin, citing Later Don Julian informed him that she was not
incontrovertible evidence. Tall and slender, he the Judge’s sister, as he had supposed, but his
moved with an indolent ease that verged on sister-in-law, and that her name was Julia Salas.
grace. Under straight recalcitrant hair, a thin face A very dignified rather austere name, he thought.
with a satisfying breadth of forehead, slow, Still, the young lady should have corrected him.
dreamer’s eyes, and astonishing freshness of As it was, he was greatly embarrassed, and felt
lips–indeed Alfredo Salazar’s appearance that he should explain.
betokened little of exuberant masculinity; rather a
poet with wayward humor, a fastidious artist with To his apology, she replied, “That is nothing,
keen, clear brain. Each time I was about to correct you, but I
remembered a similar experience I had once
He rose and quietly went out of the house. He before.”
lingered a moment on the stone steps; then went
down the path shaded by immature acacias, “Oh,” he drawled out, vastly relieved.
through the little tarred gate which he left “A man named Manalang–I kept calling him
swinging back and forth, now opening, now Manalo. After the tenth time or so, the young man
closing, on the gravel road bordered along the rose from his seat and said suddenly, ‘Pardon
farther side by madre cacao hedge in tardy me, but my name is Manalang, Manalang.’ You
lavender bloom. know, I never forgave him!”
The gravel road narrowed as it slanted up to the He laughed with her.
house on the hill, whose wide, open porches he
could glimpse through the heat-shrivelled “The best thing to do under the circumstances, I
tamarinds in the Martinez yard. have found out,” she pursued, “is to pretend not
to hear, and to let the other person find out his
Six weeks ago that house meant nothing to him mistake without help.”
save that it was the Martinez house, rented and
occupied by Judge del Valle and his family. Six “As you did this time. Still, you looked amused
weeks ago Julia Salas meant nothing to him; he every time I–”
did not even know her name; but now–
“I was thinking of Mr. Manalang.”
One evening he had gone “neighboring” with Don
Don Julian and his uncommunicative friend, the
Julian; a rare enough occurrence, since he made
Judge, were absorbed in a game of chess. The
it a point to avoid all appearance of currying favor
young man had tired of playing appreciative
with the Judge. This particular evening however,
spectator and desultory conversationalist, so he
he had allowed himself to be persuaded. “A little
and Julia Salas had gone off to chat in the vine-
mental relaxation now and then is beneficial,” the
covered porch. The lone piano in the
old man had said. “Besides, a judge’s good will,
neighborhood alternately tinkled and banged
you know;” the rest of the thought–“is worth a
away as the player’s moods altered. He listened,
rising young lawyer’s trouble”–Don Julian
and wondered irrelevantly if Miss Salas could
conveyed through a shrug and a smile that
sing; she had such a charming speaking voice.
derided his own worldly wisdom.
He was mildly surprised to note from her
A young woman had met them at the door. It was
appearance that she was unmistakably a sister of
evident from the excitement of the Judge’s
the Judge’s wife, although Doña Adela was of a
children that she was a recent and very welcome
different type altogether. She was small and
arrival. In the characteristic Filipino way formal
plump, with wide brown eyes, clearly defined
introductions had been omitted–the judge limiting
eyebrows, and delicately modeled hips–a pretty
himself to a casual “Ah, ya se conocen?”–with the
woman with the complexion of a baby and the
consequence that Alfredo called her Miss del
expression of a likable cow. Julia was taller, not
Valle throughout the evening.
so obviously pretty. She had the same eyebrows

Page 19 of 59
and lips, but she was much darker, of a smooth “Up here I find–something–”
rich brown with underlying tones of crimson which
heightened the impression she gave of He and Julia Salas stood looking out into the she
abounding vitality. quiet night. Sensing unwanted intensity, laughed,
woman-like, asking, “Amusement?”
On Sunday mornings after mass, father and son
would go crunching up the gravel road to the “No; youth–its spirit–”
house on the hill. The Judge’s wife invariably “Are you so old?”
offered them beer, which Don Julian enjoyed and
Alfredo did not. After a half hour or so, the “And heart’s desire.”
chessboard would be brought out; then Alfredo
Was he becoming a poet, or is there a poet
and Julia Salas would go out to the porch to chat.
lurking in the heart of every man?
She sat in the low hammock and he in a rocking
chair and the hours–warm, quiet March hours– “Down there,” he had continued, his voice
sped by. He enjoyed talking with her and it was somewhat indistinct, “the road is too broad, too
evident that she liked his company; yet what trodden by feet, too barren of mystery.”
feeling there was between them was so
undisturbed that it seemed a matter of course. “Down there” beyond the ancient tamarinds lay
Only when Esperanza chanced to ask him the road, upturned to the stars. In the darkness
indirectly about those visits did some uneasiness the fireflies glimmered, while an errant breeze
creep into his thoughts of the girl next door. strayed in from somewhere, bringing elusive,
faraway sounds as of voices in a dream.
Esperanza had wanted to know if he went straight
home after mass. Alfredo suddenly realized that “Mystery–” she answered lightly, “that is so brief–
for several Sundays now he had not waited for ”
Esperanza to come out of the church as he had
“Not in some,” quickly. “Not in you.”
been wont to do. He had been eager to go
“neighboring.” “You have known me a few weeks; so the
mystery.”
He answered that he went home to work. And,
because he was not habitually untruthful, added, “I could study you all my life and still not find it.”
“Sometimes I go with Papa to Judge del Valle’s.”
“So long?”
She dropped the topic. Esperanza was not prone
to indulge in unprovoked jealousies. She was a “I should like to.”
believer in the regenerative virtue of institutions,
Those six weeks were now so swift–seeming in
in their power to regulate feeling as well as
the memory, yet had they been so deep in the
conduct. If a man were married, why, of course,
living, so charged with compelling power and
he loved his wife; if he were engaged, he could
sweetness. Because neither the past nor the
not possibly love another woman.
future had relevance or meaning, he lived only
That half-lie told him what he had not admitted the present, day by day, lived it intensely, with
openly to himself, that he was giving Julia Salas such a willful shutting out of fact as astounded
something which he was not free to give. He him in his calmer moments.
realized that; yet something that would not be
Just before Holy Week, Don Julian invited the
denied beckoned imperiously, and he followed
judge and his family to spend Sunday afternoon
on.
at Tanda where he had a coconut plantation and
It was so easy to forget up there, away from the a house on the beach. Carmen also came with
prying eyes of the world, so easy and so her four energetic children. She and Doña Adela
poignantly sweet. The beloved woman, he spent most of the time indoors directing the
standing close to her, the shadows around, preparation of the merienda and discussing the
enfolding. likeable absurdities of their husbands–how
Carmen’s Vicente was so absorbed in his farms

Page 20 of 59
that he would not even take time off to “Not perspiring or breathless, as a busy man
accompany her on this visit to her father; how ought to be.”
Doña Adela’s Dionisio was the most
absentminded of men, sometimes going out “But–”
without his collar, or with unmatched socks. “Always unhurried, too unhurried, and calm.” She
After the merienda, Don Julian sauntered off with smiled to herself.
the judge to show him what a thriving young “I wish that were true,” he said after a meditative
coconut looked like–“plenty of leaves, close set, pause.
rich green”–while the children, convoyed by Julia
Salas, found unending entertainment in the She waited.
rippling sand left by the ebbing tide. They were
“A man is happier if he is, as you say, calm and
far down, walking at the edge of the water,
placid.”
indistinctly outlined against the gray of the out-
curving beach. “Like a carabao in a mud pool,” she retorted
perversely
Alfredo left his perch on the bamboo ladder of the
house and followed. Here were her footsteps, “Who? I?”
narrow, arched. He laughed at himself for his
black canvas footwear which he removed “Oh, no!”
forthwith and tossed high up on dry sand.
“You said I am calm and placid.”
When he came up, she flushed, then smiled with
“That is what I think.”
frank pleasure.
“I used to think so too. Shows how little we know
“I hope you are enjoying this,” he said with a
ourselves.”
questioning inflection.
It was strange to him that he could be wooing
“Very much. It looks like home to me, except that
thus: with tone and look and covert phrase.
we do not have such a lovely beach.”
“I should like to see your home town.”
There was a breeze from the water. It blew the
hair away from her forehead, and whipped the “There is nothing to see–little crooked streets,
tucked-up skirt around her straight, slender bunut roofs with ferns growing on them, and
figure. In the picture was something of eager sometimes squashes.”
freedom as of wings poised in flight. The girl had
grace, distinction. Her face was not notably That was the background. It made her seem less
pretty; yet she had a tantalizing charm, all the detached, less unrelated, yet withal more distant,
more compelling because it was an inner quality, as if that background claimed her and excluded
an achievement of the spirit. The lure was there, him.
of naturalness, of an alert vitality of mind and
“Nothing? There is you.”
body, of a thoughtful, sunny temper, and of a
piquant perverseness which is sauce to charm. “Oh, me? But I am here.”
“The afternoon has seemed very short, hasn’t it?” “I will not go, of course, until you are there.”
Then, “This, I think, is the last time–we can visit.”
“Will you come? You will find it dull. There isn’t
“The last? Why?” even one American there!”
“Oh, you will be too busy perhaps.” “Well–Americans are rather essential to my
entertainment.”
He noted an evasive quality in the answer.
She laughed.
“Do I seem especially industrious to you?”
“We live on Calle Luz, a little street with trees.”
“If you are, you never look it.”

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“Could I find that?” “Oh, you don’t need to!”

“If you don’t ask for Miss del Valle,” she smiled “No, but I want to.”
teasingly.
“There is no time.”
“I’ll inquire about–”
The golden streamer was withdrawing,
“What?” shortening, until it looked no more than a pool far
away at the rim of the world. Stillness, a vibrant
“The house of the prettiest girl in the town.” quiet that affects the senses as does solemn
“There is where you will lose your way.” Then she harmony; a peace that is not contentment but a
turned serious. “Now, that is not quite sincere.” cessation of tumult when all violence of feeling
tones down to the wistful serenity of regret. She
“It is,” he averred slowly, but emphatically. turned and looked into his face, in her dark eyes
a ghost of sunset sadness.
“I thought you, at least, would not say such
things.” “Home seems so far from here. This is almost like
another life.”
“Pretty–pretty–a foolish word! But there is none
other more handy I did not mean that quite–”

“Are you withdrawing the compliment?” “I know. This is Elsewhere, and yet strange
enough, I cannot get rid of the old things.”
“Re-enforcing it, maybe. Something is pretty
when it pleases the eye–it is more than that “Old things?”
when–”
“Oh, old things, mistakes, encumbrances, old
“If it saddens?” she interrupted hastily. baggage.” He said it lightly, unwilling to mar the
hour. He walked close, his hand sometimes
“Exactly.”
touching hers for one whirling second.
“It must be ugly.”
Don Julian’s nasal summons came to them on the
“Always?” wind.

Toward the west, the sunlight lay on the dimming Alfredo gripped the soft hand so near his own. At
waters in a broad, glinting streamer of crimsoned his touch, the girl turned her face away, but he
gold. heard her voice say very low, “Good-bye.”

“No, of course you are right.”

“Why did you say this is the last time?” he asked II

quietly as they turned back.
ALFREDO Salazar turned to the right where,
“I am going home.” farther on, the road broadened and entered the
heart of the town–heart of Chinese stores
The end of an impossible dream! sheltered under low-hung roofs, of indolent drug
stores and tailor shops, of dingy shoe-repairing
“When?” after a long silence.
establishments, and a cluttered goldsmith’s
“Tomorrow. I received a letter from Father and cubbyhole where a consumptive bent over a
Mother yesterday. They want me to spend Holy magnifying lens; heart of old brick-roofed houses
Week at home.” with quaint hand-and-ball knockers on the door;
heart of grass-grown plaza reposeful with trees,
She seemed to be waiting for him to speak. “That of ancient church and convento, now circled by
is why I said this is the last time.” swallows gliding in flight as smooth and soft as
the afternoon itself. Into the quickly deepening
“Can’t I come to say good-bye?”
twilight, the voice of the biggest of the church

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bells kept ringing its insistent summons. Flocking males loitered and, maybe, took the longest way
came the devout with their long wax candles, home.
young women in vivid apparel (for this was Holy
Thursday and the Lord was still alive), older Toward the end of the row of Chinese stores, he
women in sober black skirts. Came too the young caught up with Julia Salas. The crowd had
men in droves, elbowing each other under the dispersed into the side streets, leaving Calle Real
talisay tree near the church door. The gaily to those who lived farther out. It was past eight,
decked rice-paper lanterns were again on display and Esperanza would be expecting him in a little
while from the windows of the older houses hung while: yet the thought did not hurry him as he said
colored glass globes, heirlooms from a day when “Good evening” and fell into step with the girl.
grasspith wicks floating in coconut oil were the “I had been thinking all this time that you had
chief lighting device. gone,” he said in a voice that was both excited
Soon a double row of lights emerged from the and troubled.
church and uncoiled down the length of the street “No, my sister asked me to stay until they are
like a huge jewelled band studded with glittering ready to go.”
clusters where the saints’ platforms were. Above
the measured music rose the untutored voices of “Oh, is the Judge going?”
the choir, steeped in incense and the acrid fumes
“Yes.”
of burning wax.
The provincial docket had been cleared, and
The sight of Esperanza and her mother sedately
Judge del Valle had been assigned elsewhere.
pacing behind Our Lady of Sorrows suddenly
As lawyer–and as lover–Alfredo had found that
destroyed the illusion of continuity and broke up
out long before.
those lines of light into component individuals.
Esperanza stiffened self-consciously, tried to look “Mr. Salazar,” she broke into his silence, “I wish
unaware, and could not. to congratulate you.”
The line moved on. Her tone told him that she had learned, at last.
That was inevitable.
Suddenly, Alfredo’s slow blood began to beat
violently, irregularly. A girl was coming down the “For what?”
line–a girl that was striking, and vividly alive, the
woman that could cause violent commotion in his “For your approaching wedding.”
heart, yet had no place in the completed ordering
Some explanation was due her, surely. Yet what
of his life.
could he say that would not offend?
Her glance of abstracted devotion fell on him and
“I should have offered congratulations long
came to a brief stop.
before, but you know mere visitors are slow about
The line kept moving on, wending its circuitous getting the news,” she continued.
route away from the church and then back again,
He listened not so much to what she said as to
where, according to the old proverb, all
the nuances in her voice. He heard nothing to
processions end.
enlighten him, except that she had reverted to the
At last, Our Lady of Sorrows entered the church, formal tones of early acquaintance. No revelation
and with her the priest and the choir, whose there; simply the old voice–cool, almost detached
voices now echoed from the arched ceiling. The from personality, flexible and vibrant, suggesting
bells rang the close of the procession. potentialities of song.

A round orange moon, “huge as a winnowing “Are weddings interesting to you?” he finally
basket,” rose lazily into a clear sky, whitening the brought out quietly
iron roofs and dimming the lanterns at the
“When they are of friends, yes.”
windows. Along the still densely shadowed
streets the young women with their rear guard of

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“Would you come if I asked you?” “Why must it? I–I have to say good-bye, Mr.
Salazar; we are at the house.”
“When is it going to be?”
Without lifting her eyes she quickly turned and
“May,” he replied briefly, after a long pause. walked away.
“May is the month of happiness they say,” she Had the final word been said? He wondered. It
said, with what seemed to him a shade of irony. had. Yet a feeble flutter of hope trembled in his
“They say,” slowly, indifferently. “Would you mind though set against that hope were three
come?” years of engagement, a very near wedding,
perfect understanding between the parents, his
“Why not?” own conscience, and Esperanza herself–
Esperanza waiting, Esperanza no longer young,
“No reason. I am just asking. Then you will?”
Esperanza the efficient, the literal-minded, the
“If you will ask me,” she said with disdain. intensely acquisitive.

“Then I ask you.” He looked attentively at her where she sat on the
sofa, appraisingly, and with a kind of aversion
“Then I will be there.” which he tried to control.
The gravel road lay before them; at the road’s end She was one of those fortunate women who have
the lighted windows of the house on the hill. the gift of uniformly acceptable appearance. She
There swept over the spirit of Alfredo Salazar a never surprised one with unexpected homeliness
longing so keen that it was pain, a wish that, that nor with startling reserves of beauty. At home, in
house were his, that all the bewilderments of the church, on the street, she was always herself, a
present were not, and that this woman by his side woman past first bloom, light and clear of
were his long wedded wife, returning with him to complexion, spare of arms and of breast, with a
the peace of home. slight convexity to thin throat; a woman dressed
with self-conscious care, even elegance; a
“Julita,” he said in his slow, thoughtful manner,
woman distinctly not average.
“did you ever have to choose between something
you wanted to do and something you had to do?” She was pursuing an indignant relation about
something or other, something about Calixta,
“No!”
their note-carrier, Alfredo perceived, so he merely
“I thought maybe you had had that experience; half-listened, understanding imperfectly. At a
then you could understand a man who was in pause he drawled out to fill in the gap: “Well, what
such a situation.” of it?” The remark sounded ruder than he had
intended.
“You are fortunate,” he pursued when she did not
answer. “She is not married to him,” Esperanza insisted in
her thin, nervously pitched voice. “Besides, she
“Is–is this man sure of what he should do?” should have thought of us. Nanay practically
brought her up. We never thought she would turn
“I don’t know, Julita. Perhaps not. But there is a
out bad.”
point where a thing escapes us and rushes
downward of its own weight, dragging us along. What had Calixta done? Homely, middle-aged
Then it is foolish to ask whether one will or will Calixta?
not, because it no longer depends on him.”
“You are very positive about her badness,” he
“But then why–why–” her muffled voice came. commented dryly. Esperanza was always
“Oh, what do I know? That is his problem after positive.
all.”
“But do you approve?”
“Doesn’t it–interest you?”
“Of what?”

Page 24 of 59
“What she did.” Did she mean by this irrelevant remark that he it
was who had sought her; or was that a covert
“No,” indifferently. attack on Julia Salas?
“Well?” “Esperanza–” a desperate plea lay in his
He was suddenly impelled by a desire to disturb stumbling words. “If you–suppose I–” Yet how
the unvexed orthodoxy of her mind. “All I say is could a mere man word such a plea?
that it is not necessarily wicked.” “If you mean you want to take back your word, if
“Why shouldn’t it be? You talked like an–immoral you are tired of–why don’t you tell me you are
man. I did not know that your ideas were like that.” tired of me?” she burst out in a storm of weeping
that left him completely shamed and unnerved.
“My ideas?” he retorted, goaded by a deep,
accumulated exasperation. “The only test I wish The last word had been said.
to apply to conduct is the test of fairness. Am I
injuring anybody? No? Then I am justified in my
conscience. I am right. Living with a man to whom III
she is not married–is that it? It may be wrong, and
again it may not.” AS Alfredo Salazar leaned against the boat rail to
watch the evening settling over the lake, he
“She has injured us. She was ungrateful.” Her wondered if Esperanza would attribute any
voice was tight with resentment. significance to this trip of his. He was supposed
to be in Sta. Cruz whither the case of the People
“The trouble with you, Esperanza, is that you are– of the Philippine Islands vs. Belina et al had kept
” he stopped, appalled by the passion in his voice. him, and there he would have been if Brigida
“Why do you get angry? I do not understand you Samuy had not been so important to the defense.
at all! I think I know why you have been indifferent He had to find that elusive old woman. That the
to me lately. I am not blind, or deaf; I see and hear search was leading him to that particular lake
what perhaps some are trying to keep from me.” town which was Julia Salas’ home should not
The blood surged into his very eyes and his disturb him unduly Yet he was disturbed to a
hearing sharpened to points of acute pain. What degree utterly out of proportion to the
would she say next? prosaicalness of his errand. That inner tumult was
no surprise to him; in the last eight years he had
“Why don’t you speak out frankly before it is too become used to such occasional storms. He had
late? You need not think of me and of what people long realized that he could not forget Julia Salas.
will say.” Her voice trembled. Still, he had tried to be content and not to
remember too much. The climber of mountains
Alfredo was suffering as he could not remember
who has known the back-break, the
ever having suffered before. What people will
lonesomeness, and the chill, finds a certain
say–what will they not say? What don’t they say
restfulness in level paths made easy to his feet.
when long engagements are broken almost on
He looks up sometimes from the valley where
the eve of the wedding?
settles the dusk of evening, but he knows he must
“Yes,” he said hesitatingly, diffidently, as if merely not heed the radiant beckoning. Maybe, in time,
thinking aloud, “one tries to be fair–according to he would cease even to look up.
his lights–but it is hard. One would like to be fair
He was not unhappy in his marriage. He felt no
to one’s self first. But that is too easy, one does
rebellion: only the calm of capitulation to what he
not dare–”
recognized as irresistible forces of circumstance
“What do you mean?” she asked with repressed and of character. His life had simply ordered
violence. “Whatever my shortcomings, and no itself; no more struggles, no more stirring up of
doubt they are many in your eyes, I have never emotions that got a man nowhere. From his
gone out of my way, of my place, to find a man.” capacity of complete detachment he derived a
strange solace. The essential himself, the himself

Page 25 of 59
that had its being in the core of his thought, would, San Antonio was up in the hills! Good man, the
he reflected, always be free and alone. When presidente! He, Alfredo, must do something for
claims encroached too insistently, as sometimes him. It was not every day that one met with such
they did, he retreated into the inner fastness, and willingness to help.
from that vantage he saw things and people
around him as remote and alien, as incidents that Eight o’clock, lugubriously tolled from the bell
did not matter. At such times did Esperanza feel tower, found the boat settled into a somnolent
baffled and helpless; he was gentle, even tender, quiet. A cot had been brought out and spread for
but immeasurably far away, beyond her reach. him, but it was too bare to be inviting at that hour.
It was too early to sleep: he would walk around
Lights were springing into life on the shore. That the town. His heart beat faster as he picked his
was the town, a little up-tilted town nestling in the way to shore over the rafts made fast to sundry
dark greenness of the groves. A snub crested piles driven into the water.
belfry stood beside the ancient church. On the
outskirts the evening smudges glowed red How peaceful the town was! Here and there a
through the sinuous mists of smoke that rose and little tienda was still open, its dim light issuing
lost themselves in the purple shadows of the hills. forlornly through the single window which served
There was a young moon which grew slowly as counter. An occasional couple sauntered by,
luminous as the coral tints in the sky yielded to the women’s chinelas making scraping sounds.
the darker blues of evening. From a distance came the shrill voices of children
playing games on the street–tubigan perhaps, or
The vessel approached the landing quietly, “hawk-and-chicken.” The thought of Julia Salas in
trailing a wake of long golden ripples on the dark that quiet place filled him with a pitying sadness.
water. Peculiar hill inflections came to his ears
from the crowd assembled to meet the boat–slow, How would life seem now if he had married Julia
singing cadences, characteristic of the Laguna Salas? Had he meant anything to her? That
lake-shore speech. From where he stood he unforgettable red-and-gold afternoon in early
could not distinguish faces, so he had no way of April haunted him with a sense of incompleteness
knowing whether the presidente was there to as restless as other unlaid ghosts. She had not
meet him or not. Just then a voice shouted. married–why? Faithfulness, he reflected, was not
a conscious effort at regretful memory. It was
“Is the abogado there? Abogado!” something unvolitional, maybe a recurrent
awareness of irreplaceability. Irrelevant trifles–a
“What abogado?” someone irately asked. cool wind on his forehead, far-away sounds as of
That must be the presidente, he thought, and voices in a dream–at times moved him to an
went down to the landing. oddly irresistible impulse to listen as to an
insistent, unfinished prayer.
It was a policeman, a tall pock-marked individual.
The presidente had left with Brigida Samuy– A few inquiries led him to a certain little tree-
Tandang “Binday”–that noon for Santa Cruz. ceilinged street where the young moon wove
Señor Salazar’s second letter had arrived late, indistinct filigrees of fight and shadow. In the
but the wife had read it and said, “Go and meet gardens the cotton tree threw its angular shadow
the abogado and invite him to our house.” athwart the low stone wall; and in the cool, stilly
midnight the cock’s first call rose in tall, soaring
Alfredo Salazar courteously declined the jets of sound. Calle Luz.
invitation. He would sleep on board since the boat
would leave at four the next morning anyway. So Somehow or other, he had known that he would
the presidente had received his first letter? find her house because she would surely be
Alfredo did not know because that official had not sitting at the window. Where else, before bedtime
sent an answer. “Yes,” the policeman replied, “but on a moonlit night? The house was low and the
he could not write because we heard that light in the sala behind her threw her head into
Tandang Binday was in San Antonio so we went unmistakable relief. He sensed rather than saw
there to find her.” her start of vivid surprise.

Page 26 of 59
“Good evening,” he said, raising his hat. creeping into his gaze. The girl must have
noticed, for her cheek darkened in a blush.
“Good evening. Oh! Are you in town?”
Gently–was it experimentally?–he pressed her
“On some little business,” he answered with a hand at parting; but his own felt undisturbed and
feeling of painful constraint. emotionless. Did she still care? The answer to the
“Won’t you come up?” question hardly interested him.

He considered. His vague plans had not included The young moon had set, and from the uninviting
this. But Julia Salas had left the window, calling cot he could see one half of a star-studded sky.
to her mother as she did so. After a while, So that was all over.
someone came downstairs with a lighted candle
to open the door. At last–he was shaking her Why had he obstinately clung to that dream?
hand.
So all these years–since when?–he had been
She had not changed much–a little less slender, seeing the light of dead stars, long extinguished,
not so eagerly alive, yet something had gone. He yet seemingly still in their appointed places in the
missed it, sitting opposite her, looking thoughtfully heavens.
into her fine dark eyes. She asked him about the
home town, about this and that, in a sober, An immense sadness as of loss invaded his spirit,
somewhat meditative tone. He conversed with a vast homesickness for some immutable refuge
increasing ease, though with a growing wonder of the heart far away where faded gardens bloom
that he should be there at all. He could not take again, and where live on in unchanging
his eyes from her face. What had she lost? Or freshness, the dear, dead loves of vanished
was the loss his? He felt an impersonal curiosity youth.

Suggested Readings and Other Materials for 21st Philippine Century Literature

(Access this Google Drive Folder for the soft copies of the suggested readings and other materials:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1x1LVI81w7fesbXplweBepJH_KmdC_5p1)

Prose Fiction

Alcantara, Jimmy. “Red Ang Luha ni Michael.” In Text Mo, Text Ko: A course Syllabus in Panitikan ng
Pilipinas 12. Compiled by Rosario Torres-Yu. UP College of Arts and Letters, S.Y. 2002-2003.

Aguirre, Alwin. “Desaparecidos.” In Text Mo, Text Ko: A course Syllabus in Panitikan ng Pilipinas 12.
Compiled by Rosario Torres-Yu. UP College of Arts and Letters, S.Y. 2002-2003.

Angeles, Mark. “Isang Istorikong Pagdalumat sa Fliptop para sa mga Guro ng Kulturang Popular.” Pandiwa:
Lathalain Para sa Wika at Kultura: Hulugway ng Filipino 4, Blg 2. (2016): 83-99.

Antonio, Lilia F. “Cellfone.” In Text Mo, Text Ko: A course Syllabus in Panitikan ng Pilipinas 12. Compiled
by Rosario Torres-Yu. UP College of Arts and Letters, S.Y. 2002-2003.

Atalia, Eros. Wag Lang Di Makaraos. Pasay: Visprint, 2011.

Capinanes, Jade Mark. How To Grieve Stories. 2020.

________. Digital Loves. 2020.

Dumol, Paul. “Ang Paglilitis Ni Mang Serapio.” n.d.

Page 27 of 59
De Guzman, Mes. “Mga Baboy Na Di Matuhog Sa Litsunan.” In Text Mo, Text Ko: A course Syllabus in
Panitikan ng Pilipinas 12. Compiled by Rosario Torres-Yu. UP College of Arts and Letters, S.Y. 2002-
2003.

Garcia, Neil and Dante Remoto. Ladlad: An Anthology of Philippine Gay Writing. Pasig: Anvil Publishing,
2000.

Tolentino, Rolando. “Fastfood: para at hindi para kay Myra.” In Text Mo, Text Ko: A course Syllabus in
Panitikan ng Pilipinas 12. Compiled by Rosario Torres-Yu. UP College of Arts and Letters, S.Y. 2002-
2003.

Remoto, Dante. “Are You Homophobic?” In Gaydar, 112-115. Pasig: Anvil Publishing Inc., 2003.

Song Albums

Bandido. Bandido. (2018) https://open.spotify.com/artist/6dBnCA8mwZCyEeHMU5xNOM

Kolateral. Kolateral. (2019) https://open.spotify.com/album/1RRTfc96TgKLfhLeb7DJA6

UNIT III
Essays on Philippine Literatures

Page 28 of 59
Learning Objectives:

At the end of the unit, the students are expected to:

1. Discuss the limits of Taglish

2. Understand the importance of language in literature.
3. Learn what makes Philippine Literature inchoate.
4. Understand the development of Philippine literature.

Learning Hour/s: 4 hours

Content:

Taglish Hanggang Saan? by Bienvenido intellectual ang speaker, at ang tone ng tula ay
Lumbera
medyo tongue-in-check or sarcastic. At kahit na
sa ranks ng Americanized Filipino intellectual,
May nagtanong kung ang paggamit ng Taglish sa and profounder aspects of cultural alienation ay
kolum na ito ay recognition on my part na hindi kayang lamanin nangbuong-buo ng Taglish.
tinaggap kong maaaring gawing basis ng wikang
“Filipino” and Taglish. Ngayon pa man ay nililinaw
Better described marahil and Taglish as a
ko nang hindi lengguwahe and Taglish. Ito ay isa
“manner of expression.” Ibig sabihin, sa mga
lamang convenient vehicle para maabot sa
informal occasions, mas natural sa isang English-
kasalukuyan ang isang articulate sector ng ating
speaking Filipino na sa Taglish magsalita. Sa
lipunan na unti-unting nagsisikap gumamit ng
light conversation, halimbawa. Pero para sa mga
Filipino.
okasyong nangangailangan ng sustained
thought, Taglish simply won’t do. Walang
Importanteng makita nang sinumang gumagamit predictive patterns ang paghahalo ng vocabulary
ng Taglish na limited and gamit nito. Dahil sa at syntax ng dalawang lengguwaheng magkaiba
binubuo ito ng mga salitang galing sa dalawang ng pamilya. Dahil dito, maraming stylistic
wikang not of the same family, makitid ang range and logical gaps na nag-iinterfere sa pag-
of expressiveness nito. Ang sensibiliteng ni- uunawaan ng manunulat at mambabasa.
reflect nito ay pag-aari ng isang maliit na segment Kailangan sa Taglish ang spontaneaous
ng ating lupinan, at ang karanasang karaniwang interaction ng nagsasalita at ng nakikinig. Sa
nilalaman nito ay may pagkasuperficial. Isang pamamagitan ng physical gestures, facial
makatang malimit banggitin kapag pinag- expressions, o tonal inflection, nagagawa ang
uusapan ang paggamit sa Taglish ay si Rolando filling-in na siyang remedyo sa mga stylistic at
S. Tinio. Sa kaniyang koleksyon ng tulang logical gaps. Maaari namang sa
tinawag na Sitsit sa Kuliglig, may ilang mga tula pagtatanonglinawin ng nakikinig ang anumang
na pinaghalong English na sulatin. Effective ambiguity sa sinasabi ng kausap.
lamang ang Taglish, gaya ng pinatutunayan na
rin ng mga tula ni Tinio, kapag Americanized
Samakatuwid, ang pagsusulat sa Taglish,cannot

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be a permanent arrangement. Kung talagang rito. At ang punto ay ito: marami at sari-sari ang
nais ng manunulat na magcommunicate sa gamit ng wika; hindi lamang bilang isang paraan
nakararaming mambabasa, haharapin niya ang ng komunikasyon ng dalawang tao. Sa tingin ko,
pagpapahusay sa kaniyang command ng lubos na simplistiko ang paniniwalang ang wika
Filipino. Para sa manunulat, isang transitional ay isa lamang kasangkapan sa komunikasyon.
“language” lamang ang Taglish. Kung tunay na Sa tingin ko, lubos na simplistiko ang
nirerecognize niya na napakaliit at lalo pang lumiit paniniwalang ang tanging papel na
ang audience for English writing, hindi siya ginagampanan ng wika sa lipunan ay ang
makapananatiling Taglish pagbibigay-daan sa palitan ng mga idea ng mga
lamang ang kaniyang ginagamit. Maliit pa rin ang tao sa lipunang iyon. Totoong ang isang wika ay
audience na nakauunawa sa Taglish pagkat isa ring paraan o kasangkapan sa komunikasyon.
nagdedemand ito ng adequate control of English. At bagama’t isang bahagi lamang ito ng kabuuan
Magbalik sa English. O tuluyang lumapit sa ng wika ay malaking bahagi ito. Sa bagay na ito,
Filipino. Ito ang alternatives para sa Taglish users malaki ang halaga ng Ingles bilang isang paraan
ngayon na hangad pa ring magpatuloy sa ng komunikasyon. May punto ang mga nagsasabi
pagsusulat sa atin na hindi natin maaaring kaligtaan ang
Ingles. Talaga namang hindi. Ang Ingles ay ang
Ang kapangyarihan ng Wika, At Wika ng
ating susi–o sabi nga ng mga bata, ang ating
kapangyarihan ni Conrado de Quiros
“connect”–sa mundo. Ito ang ating susi sa

Hanggang ngayon, hindi ko maintindihan kung pandaigdigang impormsyon. Lalong-lalo na sa

bakit kinakausap natin ang ating mga aso sa panahong ito na masasaksihan natin ang isang

wikang Ingles. Wala kang naririnig na “information explosion” na likha ng computers.

nagsasabing, “Upo, Bantay, upo,” o “Habol, Malamang ay narinig na ninyo ang Internet, ang

Kidlat, habol.” Ang maririnig mo ay “Sit, Rover, pandaigdigang electronic board para sa lahat ng

sit,” o “Fetch, Fido, fetch.” O kung poodle, Fifi. uri ng impormasyon. Sa pamamagitan ng Internet

Kung sa bagay tayo mang mga taong Filipino ay ay maaari nating ma-access pati na ang US

may mga pangalang Rover, Fido, at Fifi, kaya Library of Congress at mag-research doon.

hindi nakapagtatakang pangalanan din natin ang Maaari din tayong makapanood ng sine o

ating mga aso ng ganoon. Ang nakapagtataka ay retratong bomba. Walang MTRCB sa

kung bakit kinakausap natin sila sa Ingles. Ibig Internet.Pero kailangan pa rin ang Ingles para

sabihin, kakaiba ba ang korte ng kanilang mga mapakinabangan ang mga biyayang ito.

utak at natural silang sumusunod sa mga utos sa Bagama’t ang computer programs ay nagiging

Ingles? Ang tinig ba ng Ingles ay hawig sa mga mas graphic na kaysa word-based—gumagamit

tunog na ginagawang silent dog whistle? ng icons kaysa salita—kailangan pa ring

magbasa kahit katiting. At ang iskrip ay sa Ingles.
Bukas ang information highway sa anumang uri
Ipauubaya ko sa mga dalubhasa sa sikolohiya ng ng sasakyan, kahit kariton, pero nakasulat sa
hayop ang pagpapaliwanag nito. Pero may punto

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Ingles ang mga signs sa kalye. Pag hindi tayo basang-sisiw lamang. Ayon kay Peter Limqueco,
marunong mag-Ingles, mawawala tayo sa kalye. isang kaibigan na nag-eedit ng isang diyaryo sa
At talaga namang pagkalalawak ng mga kalye Bangkok, pumapangalawa lamang ang Thailand
rito. sa Japan sa computer technology sa Southeast
at South Asia. Makikita ang ebidensiya ng
kaunlaran sa Bangkok—sa mga gusali, sa mga
Pero huwag nang isipin ang Internet; isipin na
skyway, sa mga pagawaan. Ang kaunlaran dito,
lang ang simpleng paglalakbay. Kailangan pa rin
ayon kay Peter, ay hindi sinusukat sa taon kundi
ang Ingles—maliban na lang kung sa Filipinas ka
sa buwan. Mawala ka lang ng ilang buwan at
lang maglalakbay. At kung tutuusin, hindi bale na
nagbago na ang hitsura ng lugar. Bale ba,
rin ang mundo—o ang pisikal na paglalakbay sa
bagama’t hindi marunong mag-Ingles ang mga
mundo namagagawa sa pagbabasa, panonood
Thai ay higit na malaki ang kanilang turismo
ng sine, pakikinig ng balita. Kailangan pa rin ang
kaysa atin. Ihambing mo ang turismo nila at
Ingles—liban na lang kung ang papanoorin lang
turismo natin at parang pinaghahambing mo ang
ay mga sine ni Silvester Stallone. Walang duda
daga at elepante. Ang bilang ng mga turistang
na kailangan natin ng Ingles. Walang duda na
pumapasok sa atin sa isang taon ay ang bilang
mahalaga ang Ingles. Subalit, dito man ay
ng turistang pumapasok sa Thailand sa isang
marami nang mga maling akala tungkol sa
buwan.
kahalagahan ng Ingles. Isa sa mga maling
akalang ito ay ang paniniwalang ang Ingles ay
ang susi sa kaunlarang pangekonomiya. Ito ang Malinaw na ang mga tao ay bumibisita sa ibang
paboritong argumento ng mga nagtataguyod ng bansa hindi dahil sa kaalaman ng mga
Philippines 2000. mamamayan doon ng Ingles. Subalit hindi pa ito
ang problema sa Ingles. Sapagkat gaya ng
nasabi ko kanina, hindi lamang isang paraan ng
Pinabubulaanan ito ng Thailand. Mahirap kumilos
komunikasyon ang wika. Lalong-lalo na ang
sa Bangkok hindi lamang dahil sa ang sulat dito
Ingles. Lalong-lalo na sa bansang ito. Ang Ingles
ay sulat-bulate, ayon nga sa isang kaibigan,
ay hindi lamang isang paraan para makapag-
kundi dahil iilan lamang ang marunong mag-
usap; ito ay isa ring paraan para makapaghari.
Ingles. Iba pa kung paano nila bigkasin ang
Hindi lamang ito isang susi sa impormasyon;
Ingles, na talaga naming papawisan ka ng dugo
isang susi ito sa kapangyarihan. Ang Ingles ay
bago mo maintindihan. Kahit na hotel clerks ay
kapangyarihan sa isang paraan na higit pa sa
hindi makapag-
karaniwangkahulugan na kapag matatas kang
Ingles ng diretso. Ang pinakamadaling paraan
magsalita ay may kapangyarihan ka sa kaligiran
para makapagtalastasan sa taxi driver at tindero
mo. Kapangyarihan ang Ingles sa isang payak o
ay sign language. Pero gayumpaman, ang
literal na paraan. Marunong kang mag- Ingles,
Thailand ay isang tigre, samantalang tayo, na
makararating ka sa itaas. Hindi ka marunong
ipinangangalandakan ang ating Ingles, ay isang
mag-Ingles, mauuwi ka sa pagiging kargador. Sa

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bansang ito, hindi lamang salita ang Ingles kundi matirhan ang madaming lugar dito ay
orasyon, na pinanghahawakan ng isang pinagpapatay ng mga settler o kolonyalista ang
kaparian. Ano man ang sabihin mo, matino man katutubong populasyong Indio. Isang malinaw na
o hindi, kapag sinabi mo sa Ingles ay kaso ng genocide. Umusbong ang isang
nagkakaroon ng bigat, o halaga. Ang “marunong populasyong creole, na galing sa mga dayong
mag-Ingles” ay hindi lamang palatandaan ng Espanyol at nagsasalita ng Espanyol.
kagalingan sa lengguwahe. Palatandaan ito ng Naunawaan ng mga Espanyol na ang wika ay
kaalaman, ng pagkakaroon ng “class,” ng kapangyarihan pero nagkamali sila sa
pagkakaiba sa karaniwang mamamayan. Kapag pagsasamantala nito. Ang mga Amerikano ang
sinabi mo ang isang bagay sa Ingles ay tila pinag- makakikita ng wastong pagsasamantala nito. Ito
isipan mo ito ng malalim. Siguro ito ang dahilan ay hindi ang pagkakait ng wikang kolonyal sa
kung bakit kinakausap natin ang ating mga aso mga Indio kundi ang pagpapalaganap sa kanila
sa Ingles. Siguro, akala natin, kapag nag-Ingles nito. Ang pagkakait ng mga Espanyol ng wikang
ka, aso man ay seseryosohin ka. Sa mula’t mula Espanyol sa mga Filipino ay hindi nakapagpabait
pa ay nasapol na ng mga Kastila ang sa mga Indio. Naging rebelde sila. Ang pagtuturo
katotohanang ang wika ay kapangyarihan, at ng Ingles sa mga Filipino ay hindi
sinikap nilang pakinabangan ang nakapagrebelde sa kanila. Naging masunurin
kapangyarihang ito sa pamamagitan ng sila.
pagkakait sa mga Indio ng salitang Espanyol.
Kung sa bagay, sa umpisa ay hindi ito tuluyang
Ito ang totoong problema sa Ingles, ang dahilan
sinadya. Nakita ng mga misyonerong kagaya ni
kung bakit hindi natin dapat akalaing ito ay isang
Pedro Chirino na mas madaling pag-aralan ang
purong grasya. Malinaw sa ating kasaysayan na
mga salitang indio kaysa turuan sila ng Espanyol.
ang Ingles ay hindi lamang naging paraan ng
Mas madaling turuan ang mga Indio ng
komunikasyon kundi paraan ng kolonisasyon.
Kristiyanismo sa pamamagitan ng kanilang mga
Ang Ingles ay hindi naging paraan para sa pag-
wika kaysa Espanyol. Makikita rin ang mga bagay
uusap ng mga mamamayan. Naging paraan para
na ito nina Mike Velarde at iba pang mga
ito ay sa paghahati ng mga mamamayan. Ang
matagumpay na “misyonero” sa kasalukuyan. Sa
tanging diyalogo na ginawa nito ay ang diyalogo
bandang huli na lamang sadyang ipinagbawal ng
sa pamamagitan ng pamahalaang kolonyal at ng
mga Kastila ang wikang Espanyol sa mga
lokal na naghaharing-uri. Kasunod sa kaputian ng
eskuwelahan at iba pang institusyon ng mga
balat, ang galing sa paggamit ng Ingles ay naging
Indio. Ito ay para ipuwera sila sa alta sosyedad at
pasaporte sa sirkulo ng kapangyarihan.
tuloy sa pagpapalakad ng bayan. Iba ang naging
karanasan ng mga bansa sa America Latina.
Kaiba sa Filipinas, ang mga bansang ito ay Nalikha ng mga Amerikano sa pamamagitan ng
naging settler colonies, o mga kolonyang Ingles ang isang naghaharing-uri na
tinirahan ng mga taong galing sa kanluran. Para sumasawsaw sa kanilang kultura. Ang wika ay

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hindi lamang koleksiyon ng mga salita at mga maaaring maging Ingles. Iyan ay isang kaso ng,
paraan sa paggamit nito. Ang wika ay isang sabi nga sa Ingles, the “tail wagging the dog.”
buhay na bagay. Tumutubo ang wika mula sa Hindi maaaring ipagpag ng buntot ang aso. Ang
puso ng isang bayan. Sumususo ang wika sa pambansang wika ay maaari lamang maging
pambansang kasaysayan at karanasan. Ang Filipino. Ang maling akala, o fallacy, ay ang
pag-aral ng Ingles ay hindi lamang pagkabisa ng paniniwalang kapag gustgo mong palakasin ang
mga salita at paggamit nito. Ang pag-aral ng Filipino ay gusto mong pahinain ang Ingles.
Ingles ay pagbabad sa kultura na lumikha nito. Hindi totoo iyan. Gusto nating palakasin
Alam ko. Bilang isang manunulat sa Ingles, alam angFilipino, pero gusto rin nating palakasin ang
ko na para ka magkaroon ng kumpiyansa sa Ingles—bilang pangalawang lengguwahe, o
salitang iyon ay kailangan angkinin mo ang second language. Ang mahalaga ay ang
kaluluwa noon. Hindi lamang grammar at syntax katagang “pangalawa” or “second.” Hindi
ang wika. Ang wika ay kultura at sensibilidad. maaaring maging una ang Ingles. Makikita natin
Kung tutuusin, ang wika ay hindi laging sa halimbawa ng Thailand at iba pang mga
nagdudulot ng komunikasyon. Kung minsa, bansag Asyano na hindi lamang ito posible
nagdudulot ito ng kawalan ng komunikasyon. kundi kailangan, Ayon sa mga nagtataguyod ng
Malinaw na malaki ang ambag ng Ingles sa Philippines 2000, ang mga bansang ito sa
pangalawa. Higit tayong pinaghiwalay kaysa kasalukuyan ay puspusang nagpapalaganap ng
pinag-isa nito. Makikita ang puwang sa lipunan Ingles: bakit tayo pupunta sa kabilang
sa ating mga sine, ang pinakapopular na uri ng direksiyon? Simple. Dahil sa kung ang mga
entertainment dito sa atin. Kapag mayaman ang bansang ito ay kasalukuyang nagpapalaganap
pamilya ay tiyak na Ingles ang dialogue. Kapag ng Ingles, ito ay dahil sa mayroon na silang sarili
katulong ang karakter ay mag-tatagalog, lalong- nilang wika—Thai, Bahasa, Intsik, Hapon,
lalo na ang tipong may puntong Batangas o Koreano. Bagama’t puspusan nilang itinutulak
Bulacan. Para maging class ang dating, ang ang pag-aaral ng Ingles, wala sa mga bansang
mga artista mismo ay sumasagot sa Ingles sa ito ang magpupumilit na palitan ang sariling wika
mga interview. ng Ingles.
Bagama’t sikat siya sa labas, si Melanie ay
laging magiging api rito dahil hindi
Kung bumisita ka sa ibang bansang Asyano, o
siyamarunong mag-Ingles.
Arab, ang unang maiisip mo ay kung gaano tayo
kaiba sa kanila. Hindi tayo ang rule, tayo ang
Ano ang dapat gawin? Paano natin exception. Ang mga higanteng diyaryo sa mga
pagtutugmain ang pangangailangan natin sa bansang ito ay nasa wikang pambansa. Iilan
Ingles sa isang banda at ang pangangailangan lamang ang nasa Ingles, at ito ay nakatutok sa
natin ng isang wikang magbubuklod sa atin sa mga banyaga. Hindi aksidente na mas marami
kabila? Ang sagot ay ang pagpapalakas ng ang mambabasa ng mga diyaryong Thai, Arab,
wikang pambansa. Ang wikang iyan ay hindi Bahasa. Natural na gustong basahin ng mga tao

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ang naiintindihan nila. diyaryo. Ang Filipino ay lengguwahe lamang ng
mga tabloids at hindi broadsheets. Kung tutuusin,
ano ba naman ang likas na mahusay na wika?
Maaaring ang mga bansang ito ay puspusang
Bago dumating si Goethe, mahusay lamang ang
nagtuturo ng Ingles, pero matapos lamang silang
Aleman para sa barbarians. Bago dumating si
magkaroon ng isang matatag at malusog na
Pushkin, ang Russian ay mahusay lamang para
wikang pambansa, isang wikang pinagmulan ng
sa pag-toast ng vodka. At bago dumating si
national discourse, o usapang pambansa, isang
Shakespeare, ang Ingles ay mahusay lamang sa
wikang pinagmumulan ng kanilang puri at
isang sakop. Ang husay ng lengguwahe ay nasa
karangalan. Ganito nila nagagamit ang Ingles
mga taong gumagamit nito.
habang naiiwasan ang alienating effects nito.

Ang paborito ko pa ring kuwento rito ay ang isang

May kaibhan sa paghango at pagpapalit, may
direktor ng teatro na minsan ay tinanong ng isang
kaibhan sa paghiram at sa pagkopya. “God bless
estudyanteng pa-wers-wers: “Talaga bang
the child that’s got his own,” ayon nga sa isang
epektibo ang Filipino sa teatro?” Sumagot ang
kanta. Totoo iyan hindi lang para sa mga
direktor, “Putang ina mo.” Namutla ang
indibidwal kundi para rin sa mga bansa. Ang
estudyante at dali-daling umalis. “Tingnan n’yo,”
ibang bansa ay mayroong pinanghahawakan,
sabi ng direktor sa kaniyang crew, “epektibo ang
tayo ay wala. Sila ay humahango at humihiram,
Filipino sa teatro.”
tayo ay nagpapalit at kumokopya. At tingin natin
sa sarili natin ay cosmopolitan tayo. Hindi ito
pagiging cosmopolitan, ito ay simpleng pagiging PHILIPPINE LITERATURE: PERPETUALLY
uprooted. Bakit hindi Filipino Engllish bilang INCHOATE1 By: Miguel Bernad
wikang pambansa? At ano naman ang gamit sa There is a respectable and growing body of
atin ng Ingles na tayo lamang ang nakakaintindi. Philippine literature in several languages. The
At kung tutuusin, ano naman ang naging ambag most illustrious is that in Spanish, including as it
ng Filipino English—ang mga salitang does the works of Rizal and other Philippine
“aggrupation” at “actuation”? Walang ganyang heroes; it is also the most polished. The most vital
mga salita sa Ingles. Ang mga salita doon ay is that in English, and it is also the most
“group” at “action.” Ang Filipino ba ay mayamang promising. There is considerable writing in
wika? Kaya ba nito ang seryosong diskusyon? Tagalog. In Visayan (particularly Cebuano
Makikita natin sa mga talk show sa TV—salamat Visayan) the quantity is much less, but some of
sa pinasimulan ng Public Forum—na ganito na what has been written in the past few decade
nga. Sayang lamang at hindi pa ito nagyayari sa shave been excellent. Among the Visayan writers

1 discussed it with their students. While much of the

This essay is probably one of this author's
writings most widely discussed. Originally published in a discussion dealt with the substance of the essay, there was
magazine of limited circulation Philippine international, Nov. also a certai n amou111 of puzzlement regarding the word
1957, 14-17), it caught the attention of some teachers who "inchoate" (in-ko-et). It is derived from the Latin inchoare (to
begin).

Page 34 of 59
are two clergymen: Archbishop Cuenco of Jaro Of course, they had the leisure because they had
and Bishop Yap of Bacolod. There are wealth and they had slaves who did the menial
Hiligaynon' writers and llocano writers. There is work for them, leaving chem free to hold their
an inchoate literature in various other native symposia and attend their theater, or to hold
languages. And that, in brief, seems to be the discussions on the stoa or in the academy.
scare of Philippine lechers.
Sometimes leisure is enforced. Dante found
That Filipino literature has not yet grown beyond leisure in exile and wrote the Comedia. Bocchius
this state is due to many causes. The most and Sir Thomas More and Father Robert
important, I believe, are three: the first economic, Southwell and many others found leisure in
the second linguistic, the third cultural. prison.

Of these the one most deplored by the writers But the lack of leisure is a drawback that can be
themselves is the economic –primum est viver: overstressed. Not all the great writing in the world
one must first live; writing is a secondary matter. has been done by persons of leisure. Some of our
In the Philippines it is hard for the writer to live great works in literature and the sciences have
merely on his writing. The result is chat writing as been written under pressure, by men busy with
a profession (apart from journalism) cannot other work. Shakespeare's great tragedies were
demand the full time of a person who has to make written before he found the leisure of Stratford.
his living by some other means-unless, of course, Caesar-the astute politician forever involved in in-
he is wealthy and does not have to work for a trigues and the extraordinarily energetic general
living. It seems, however, a truism (though not forever on the march, besieging cities, deploying
always universally true here) that the writers are troops:-could hardly have been called a man of
not weal thy and the wealthy do not write. leisure: yet he found time to write, and this
extraordinary man who was seldom modest gave
This situation is ordinarily not conducive to good
his writings a modest tide. He called them
writing. To write well, one must have leisure:
"jottings": Commentarii de belo gallico- jottings on
leisure to read, leisure to think, leisure to talk
the war in Gaul. Few writers with all the leisure in
things over, to talk oneself in and out of a position,
the world could have produced prose as finely
leisure to compose and rewrite and polish, leisure
chiseled and as vividly detailed-as economical in
to observe, to listen, to let the sounds and voices
phrase yet as orotund in cadence-as these
sink into one's consciousness until they are ready
"jottings"of a busy soldier intent upon becoming
to come out again having "suffered a sea-change.
the sole master of Rome. Even Cicero, who did
“All this requires leisure, and leisure is an
not always like Caesar, liked his prose. He
expensive commodity.
characterized it tersely: clara ed inlustris brevitas-
The Greeks had leisure and they have left us a lucid, brilliant, terse.
great literature.
Cicero himself was not a man of leisure. He had
a busy law practice, and he wass a politician who

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on two occasions held the supreme magistracy of The linguistic difficulty is obvious. lt is possible to
Rome. He complains of how his mind was often produce great literature in a language, only if that
weary and his ears often jaded with legal debate: language has been mastered. By "mastered" I
animus ex hocforensi strepitu reficiatur,et aures mean more than mere grammatical or idiomatic
convicio defessae conquiescant . Yet Cicero mastery. I mean the type of mastery· which
found time to write and rewrite and polish, and his assimilates even the thought processes peculiar
writings will always be read as long as there are to an idiom. Every language has its peculiar
cultivated minds left that can appreciate subtlety genius: he is master of the language who has
of argument and the cadence of words. We refer, caught that genius.
of course, to his speeches and essays: his verse
Unfortunately, the Philippines has not had a
is happily lost.
thorough chance to assimilate the genius of a
Lest we be accused of dwelling on the past, we particular language. Those whose education has
hasten to cite two contemporary writers, both been in English but whose parents were
presumably busy with other work, and both educated in Spanish will understand what I mean.
exceptionally good in literature. One is a writer of In their case there is a barrier, a wall of separation
unforgettable prose, Sir Winston Churchill, the between the parents and the children, between
prime minister of a great country and a once great one generation and the one that preceded .it. It is
empire, burdened with problems (international not that the parents cannot converse in English,
and domestic) of astronomical proportions, or that both parents and children cannot converse
weighed down with anxiety, distracted with in one or other Philippine language. It is not a
numberless details, yet winning the Nobel prize question of conversing; - it is a question of
for literature. The other is an excellent poet, thought processes. The thought processes are
T.S.Eliot: by day a businessman, by night different.
engaged in "the intolerable wrestle with words."
Despite this difficulty, our literary productions in
Therefore if our writers in the Philippines both English and Spanish have been respectable.
complain that writing is not lucrative, they have
Before I 896 there were three Filipinos who
indeed a case, but it is not their most important
attained some stature as writers in Spanish. One
drawback. There are more serious drawbacks: on
of them was Rizal. There were many other
the one hand we need writers of profounder and
writers, most of them (as a Spanish critic putsit)
broader cultural formation; on the other, we need
"mocerio del 'Ateneo' de la Compania"-"young
a much wider reading pubic. That we have
men from the 'Ateneo' of the Society [of Jesus]."
difficulty getting both is partly a linguistic, partly a
The emphasis in that phrase is probably on
cultural difficulty.
"young." They were not mature writers. They
were not Rizals. After 1898 and for two decades
thereafter there was a flowering of Philippine
Ill
literature in Spanish. The names are still well

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known: Balmori, Recto, Bernabe, Paterno, the nine are short-story writers. Perhaps ocher
Goyena, Fernandez Lumba, Jacinto, and many names should be added: for instance chat of our
others. Chief among them, however, were two, ambassador at the court of St.James, Leon Ma.
acclaimed the equal of peninsular Spanish poets: Guerrero, and chat of our ambassador in Wash-
Cecilio Apostol and Fernando Maria Guerrero. ington, Carlos P. Romulo. Also Teodoro Locsin,
the Tuveras, the Tiempos, and the two young
But this flowering of a culture never bore fruit
story writers who show much promise:Gregorio
before its roots were withered. While Apostol and
Brillanycs and Gilda Cordero-Fernando. There is
Guerrero were writing poems that were admired
also, not lease among them, my colleague,
in Spain, a generation of Filipinos was growing up
Father Horacio de la Costa.
that could not understand the very language in
which they were written. This is not to deplore the IV
coming of English to our shores. The coming of
There are some, saddened by the passing away
English was by no means deplorable: it was a
of Spanish from our culture, who would want to
cultural windfall. It does explain, however, why
impose it back by legislative and other means.
Philippine letters, which had finally flowered (and
They seek to impose it at the expense of English.
it is a curious thing that it did not come to its
There are others, saddened by the apparent
flowering until after Spanish political domination
neglect of Tagalog or the other native languages
was over) died out so quickly, even in flower.
would prefer to impose Tagalog (or the local
Philippi ne letters had to seek other roots in a
language), again at the expense of English.
different cultural soil. That is why even after fifty
There are still other, impatient of the slow
years of English in the Philippines, Philippine
progress that English is making in the country,
literature in English is still young. But it has much
who would impose a diluted form of English upon
promise: it may eventually attain to full maturlty.
the schools-"Filipino English" they would call it.
It is interesting to note that while the Filipino These arr all well-meaning people, but they have
writers in Spanish took most easily to verse, the the defect of youth (though some of them are no
Filipino writers in English have taken more kindly longer physically young). Youth is always in a
to prose, and in particular co the short story. The hurry. Youth is always crying short cuts. But there
short story is our most developed literary genre, is no short cut in cultural growth. There is no short
and our better writers are either essayists or cut to greatness, not even in literature. The
short-story writers or both. Arturo Roseburg, who solution to our problem is not to impose anything.
is working on a compilation of Philippine literature The experience of Burma should deter us from
in English, has chosen nine writers as the most trying to impose anything. The solution to our
representative: Jose Garcia Villa, Carlos problem is not to empty the well of one kind of
Bulosan, N. V. M. Gonzales, Alejandro Roces, liquid and try to refill it with another: we could be
Bienvenido Santos, Salvador Lopez, Manuel doing that forever without ever producing
Arguilla, Nick Joaquin, and Arturo Rotor. Six of permanent results. That would make our

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literature forever inchoate, forever adolescent. in Europe and in America no less than in Asia. We
The solution rather is to see our culture not as a are a part of Christendom just as much as
well to be emptied or refilled, but as a seed to be Europeis.The Graeco-Roman civilization is not
nurtured, to be allowed to grow, to flower, to bear an exclusive heirloom of Europe: it is ours as weil.
fruit, and for the fruit to ripen on the tree.
If the Filipino writers in Spanish were influenced
v by the Spanish romanticists and the French
symbol ists, our writers in English must seek
But the most serious drawback to Philippine
cultural unity with Shakespeare and his cultural
letters is not economic nor merely linguistic. It is
heritage.Dance and Homer and Virgil are our
cultural. The tree cannot grow, as Father Reuter
contemporaries and our ancestors.
has recently pointed out, unless it is in contract
with the elements. Its roots must be deeply in the Cut off from this great tradition, cut off from the
soil, and the soil must be enriched by rain, and great thought and literature of the world, and cut
the chlorophyll in the leaf must have the sunlight, off from our own native soil, our literature would
and pollination must be brought about by the die of inanition. Properly nurtured it may grow to
winds and the bees. The poet's phrase has a wide something great,or at least something robust. But
application: no man is an island. If islanded, he it must have deep roots: it must draw vitality from
retrogresses from the civilized to the savage. the soil, elegance from civilized art, and
universality from Christendom.
We are in danger of cultural isolation in the
Philippines, of being islanded culturally as we are
islanded in geography. We are in danger of ACTIVITY
isolation from the thought currents of Europe and
1. Write a reflection essay synthesizing the
America, isolation from the l iving present, important points of the three essays you
isolation &om the past: not only our Indo-Malayan have read above. (300-500 words; in
English or in Filipino)
past but also our European past, for our roots are

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 UNIT IV
WORLD LITERATURE

Learning Objectives:

1. For the students to understand makes literature a global or world literature.

2. For the students to determine what are these world works of literature.
3. At the end of the lesson, the students will understand what are the criteria that make literature
global and apply these criteria in criticizing certain literature.

Learning Hour/s: 4 hours

Content:

Literature is claimed that it provides readers a privileged mode of access to thinking about the
problems of the globe and the inner life of a culture. Literary works may never directly reflect the reality
around them, but they can refract from it. They can recreate it as an alternative world always closely
connected in some way to the readers, and gives the readers a way to think about the inner tensions and
possibilities of the world. (David Damrosh in Conversation with Wang Ning 2011, 171)

It may be claimed that ‘literature is dead’ or ‘literature is no longer as important as it used to be,’ or
‘literature has now shifted their attention to popular culture, internet culture or TV, the football match and
so on’ (Ibid, p. 173). The truth is, our global world has more need of literature than ever, and of world
literature in particular, where so many people’s horizon now in international and global in so much
movement of people across borders, and academic institutions are so much more opened out to students
around the world. But it cannot be taken easily that world literature does not face any competitive
challenges. The thing is, there are three challenges in world literature. One is there is a tension between
elite works of art literature and more broadly popular literature. Today, there is a tremendous threat to elite
culture from popular literature and a question of reading standards and reading interest (Ibid, p. 172).
Surely, these elite works do not represent the global culture that is needed or represents the struggle of our
world but only presents those who are capable of writing and are popular in the global market. Two, people
are shifting away from reading literature in this internet age, instead of reading, they are now doing
cellphone activities, computer games, and so on. Three, literature now is fully entering again into the multi-
media space in which where literature traditionally lived all along. It is said that most literature is not written
to be read by isolated individuals, instead, literature is always part of the social world, where it would be
read in social events or a companion during drinks or as a parting gift (Ibid.) The thing is, more people are
reading than ever, more common people are reading. They have always liked, for instance, detective
stories. It is not that there are fewer copies necessarily of literary works being sold (Ibid, p. 174). People
read Dickens for example not because it is the only thing available to do like during the Victorian Era where
there is no televisions and cellphones, but people read Dickens now because he was a great artist who
used popular medium, he made it more than it needed to be, that is the reason why we still read him today
(Ibid, p. 175.) In this case, we can say that literature is not dead, but is lively than ever, if it is true that it is
dead then why is it then new comparative literature is reborn that the core of its learning is world literature?

The earliest stage of comparative literature is world literature, and when comparative literature has
progressed for over one hundred years, the culminating stage of comparative literature will also be world
literature. This is why in the age of globalization, although literary studies are often reported to be ‘dead’
and comparative literature is also reported to be ‘dead,’ new comparative literature has been reborn (Ibid,
p. 181.)

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 It is also said that the term world literature goes back to the great German poet Johann Wolfgang
von Goethe and in the 1820s he developed the term of Weltliteratur or ‘world literature’ in which he saw as
a modern and new phenomenon of the literary market becoming international, with a heightened circulation
of texts and also the kind of reaction abroad of different writers. What makes world literature a matter of
literature is that if it circulates the world outside of its initial home and usually in translation. A determining
feature of world literature is, therefore, that it does well in translation (Ibid, p. 176.) We can also say that
world literature is literature if it follows these criteria:

1. It has gone beyond the boundary of nations and countries and languages, that is, it goes through
translations.
2. It is included in some anthologies, especially some authoritative anthologies of world literature.
3. The literature expands the reach of these writings among ordinary readers so that they become the
inheritance of different generations of writers (Ibid, p. 177.)

We can also describe world literature based on these three basic modes:

1. World literature is from the old classic that is from the old form of world literature, example are the
Confucian classics, works of Virgil and Homer, and so on.
2. A modern masterpiece that can be recognized in its own time even before it has been established
as a classic.
3. With an authoritative quality, that holds that an artistically excellent work that is circulating and
being recognized by readers in its own time even if there is no cultural heritage and no large critical
discourse (this is based on Goethe’s primary idea of world literature) (Ibid, p. 178.)

The idea of literary works as windows on the world is very significant today. Readers can approach
world literature just to get a sense of what is going on in the world, what another culture is like (Ibid, p. 178).

Examples of 21st Century World Literatures (based on Vulture entry)

1. The Last Samurai by Helen DeWitt (2000)

2. The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen (2001)
3. Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro (2005)
4. How Should a Person Be? by Shiela Heti (2010)
5. The Neapolitan Novels by Elena Ferrante (2011 - 2015)
6. The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson (2015)
7. 2666 by Roberto Bolano (2008)
8. The Sellout by Paul Beatty (2015)
9. The Outline Trilogy by Rachel Cusk (2014 - 2018)
10. Atonement by Ian McEwan (2001)
11. The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion (2005)
12. Leaving the Atocha Station by Ben Lerner (2011)
13. The Flamethrowers by Rachel Kushner (2013) (Feinsod 2002)

Usually when it comes to the idea of world literature the term ‘the world’ is really about Western Europe,
but some anthologies like Longman Anthology aims is to move beyond the Euro-centrism of the older
American anthologies of world literature (Ibid, p. 184.) Though anthologies are still unbalanced like in the
Norton Anthology that has a proportion of about two-thirds are from western writings and one third are non-
western, still, anthologies are working within the constraints of training the current generation to be open in
regards to euro-centrism bias (David Damrosh in Conversation with Wang Ning 2011, 185).

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Activity:

What is an example of 21st-century fiction world literature that you have read? Fill out the form
below to share your insight about the story.

TITLE:
AUTHOR:
YEAR PUBLISHED:
PUBLISHER:

SETTINGS:

CHARACTERS: (protagonist, antagonist and supporting characters)

PLOT: (exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and denouement)

CONFLICT:

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 SYMBOLISM:

THEME:

References

David Damrosh in Conversation with Wang Ning. 2011. "What is World Literature?" Ariel: A Review of
International English Literature 42 (1): 171-190.

Feinsod, Harris. 2002. The Tolson Exception: The Anthology in the 21st Century. Accessed January 3,
2021. https://arcade.stanford.edu/blogs/tolson-exception-anthology-21st-century.

Page 42 of 59
 UNIT V
21ST GLOBAL NORTH LITERATURE

Learning Objectives

At the end of this unit, students shall…

1. Write reflective essays about Global North literature.

2. Write their own flash fiction (in English or in Filipino).

Learning Hours: 4 hours

Overview

As the world moves and changes, so does the literature. The 21st century has been marked to be a century
of speed, information, multimedia, internet, economic recessions, pandemic. Along with these drastic
changes, literature and literary experience have always paced up with such. The pressing issues brought
in the last century, that is, the 20th century, have still persisted up to this day. We are yet to see the other
almost 80 years of the 21st Century, but we are already coaxed to talk about “21st century literature” as if
we have already witnessed its entirety.

So, for this module unit, the pieces of literary texts here are those considered belonging to Global North
countries. Usually, countries in the world are divided into this sweeping category: Global North and Global
South. What countries belong to Global North and to Global South? To find out, take out a world map (if
you still have a physical map, nice! You had a wonderful childhood). Place your pointing finger horizontally
at the Mediterranean Sea which is the blue space between Europe and Africa. Imagine your finger to be a
long and continuous horizontal line across the map. So, all countries in line above that imagined line across
the map are considered as the Global North. And all countries below that imagined line are considered as
the Global South.

Although this is not a flawless way to group countries, it is a coincidence that most of the countries belonging
to Global North are high-income earning countries, while countries in the Global South are either middle-
income earning countries and low-income earning countries. And in some unwritten agreement about
Global North/Global South division, the countries of Australia, New Zealand, Israel, South Korea, and Japan
are considered to belong to Global North, as they are high-income economically speaking. Most of the
countries in the Global North are the ones who had colonized the world, and some continue to colonize up
to this day, in the form of international policies in economy, trade, labor exportation, exploitation of natural
resources. The countries that greatly benefit from this economic division are mostly the nations in the Global
North.

The literatures of the 21st century have been centered around styles on the flexibility of form, of
experimentation, or deconstruction of traditional writing. There is no one way to classify the topics and
themes of 21st century literature of the Global North, as same with the Global South, their writings explore
about almost anything — anything about gender sensitivity, about celebration of plural identities, about
political protests, about consumerism, about obsession with multimedia, about absurd advertisements,
mental health decline, depression, anxiety, trigger warnings, alternatives, spirituality, about meditation,
about alternative indie pop music,, rap battle, about political correctness, cancel culture, twitter, facebook,
Instagramabability, antidepressants, self-medication, psychedelics therapy, weed legalization, smart
phone, algorithm, fake news, pop culture Coco Melon, tinder, grindr, Tiktok, ghosting, simping, trash talking,
memes, videogames, Wikipedia, hashtags, lofi beats, good vibes, welcome to my channel, toxic positivity,

Page 43 of 59
free trial, #BlackLivesMatter, #SupportLocal, #OustDuterte, about using environmental friendly metal straw
made from iron excavated by transnational mining company somewhere in Africa using child labor.

The crises of life have continued until this day, and worsened by the pandemic and global and local political
incompetence. Literature serves also as a way to document the events, the highs, the lows, the moments,
aspirations, the condemnations; all the positivity and negativity of every generation finds its museum in the
memorialization of all significant human experiences in one way or another through literature.

The texts on focus here are from Russian writer Tatyana Tolstaya and from the American writer Victoria
McCurdy. The category of their work belongs to so-called flash fiction or microfiction, a type of fiction that
have word count ranging from four words up to 1500 words, although there is no official word count
threshold for it to be classified as flash fiction. Flash fiction for sure is an immensely shorter that a typical
short story.2 The next text belongs to genre of satirical observational humor, from the work of American
born Irish comedian George Carlin. His satires are also transgressive, due to his use of offensive language
and controversial themes and issues in politics, abortion, white supremacy, religion, and American
Imperialism. The next text is the lyrics of the song Fitter, Happier from the English band Radiohead’s
critically acclaimed album Ok Computer. It is important to incorporate a text coming from the popular culture.
Songs are also literatures, and in the lyrics of the song Fitter, Happier (and actually the whole album, pre-
empted by the album’s title ‘Ok Computer’), echoes the theme of alienation in the 21 st century—the kind of
everyday life that many (or perhaps only some) can relate to. The last text is the poem from British-Somalian
poet Warsan Shire entitled Home, a poem about her experience of migration.

The other literatures from different Global North writers can be accessed in the ‘For Further
Readings/Viewing/Listening’ section at the end of this module unit.

had not yet acclimated to their new habitat. I did

Unnecessary Things my best to soften the strangeness of these foreign
chests of drawers and sideboards with my
by Tatyana Tolstaya (translated, from the mother’s knickknacks and fabrics. I placed the
Russian, by Anya Migdal) bear on my bed, not knowing what else to do with
him.
[from https://www.newyorker.com/books/flash-
fiction/unnecessary-things] That night, I slept with my arm around him; he
weakly returned the hug with his solitary paw. It
What was it like? Maybe something like this: say
was a white summer night, a kind of gauze with
you have babies, they grow up and turn forty, and
dusky twilight, no slumber, but a yearning for it.
you get used to this fact and live with it, and then
The bear smelled of dust, dust and old age,
you rummage in the closet and here he is, your
infirmity, decades, millennia. Opening my eyes in
first baby, the way he used to be—eighteen
the underwater dimness of this alabaster
months old, not able to talk yet, sweet-smelling
midnight, I could see the black thread hanging
like oatmeal and applesauce, his face puffy from
from his miserable little eye socket. I stroked his
crying, lost but found, waiting for you all these
wooden head; it was covered with scars. I
decades behind the storage chest in the closet,
touched his ears.
unable to call for you—and now you are finally
reunited. No, I thought, this cannot continue. There is a
short story by William Faulkner called “A Rose for
I took him with me to my new apartment.
Emily.” It’s about a woman who poisons her lover
Everything there was insultingly new—that is,
to prevent him from leaving her, and who
unfamiliar and alien. The place was full of items
subsequently locks herself in her house and
bought at antique and secondhand shops, items
refuses to leave it for the forty years until her
that had previously belonged to other people and

2
The first flask fictions are said to be already present in the classical writers such as the French-Czech writer Franz
Kafka, the American writers Ernest Hemingway and Joyce Oates Carol. Check some of their works in this link:
https://electricliterature.com/7-flash-fiction-stories-that-are-worth-a-tiny-amount-of-your-time/

Page 44 of 59
death. After her funeral, a rotted corpse in a rotted imagine the combination of pineapple and Spam.
nightshirt is found lying on his side in a bed, as if And also because you are dating-weary, fail to
embracing someone, and next to him, on a pillow notice the good things about him—that he is not
with the indentation of a head, there is a single constantly checking his phone, not checking out
long strand of iron-gray hair. other women, that he is clean-shaven, attentive,
and not outwardly crazy.
In the morning, I left for Moscow. And when I
came back, a month later, the bear was gone. He Swipe left. Swipe right.
wasn’t on the bed, or under it; he wasn’t in any of
the closets, or in the crawlspace. He was Find yourself unable to listen to his all-about-me
nowhere to be found. Nowhere. speech, the required get-to-know-you section of
every first internet date. Weight at birth, post
college year at Teach for America, current job as
This is How You Fail to Ghost Him systems analyst for blah blah corporation blah
blah blah, current obsessions—unicycles and
by Victoria McCurdy organic brew pubs. Blame your inattentiveness
on the fact that you know how all this usually
http://monkeybicycle.net/this-is-how-you-fail-to- goes. He will like you but you will feel a diffuse
ghost-him/ revulsion at the touch of his lips. He will like you,
but confess he and his girlfriend are looking for a
Swipe right. Swipe right. third. You will like him and he will not call. You will
Tinder. Bumble. Be unable to remember which, like him and then realize he is a fuk boi, which
but this younger, generically handsome boy means what it means. You will not like him but he
whose face reminds you of a Playmobil figure has will propose by text and then lapse into vulgarity
driven from the suburbs tonight to meet you. when you ghost him in response.

Stand about awkwardly untill you are seated at a When he turns the conversation toward you, find
table in the loudest section of the bar. Order wine. yourself lying. Tell him you were born at nine
Order apps. Try to engage him in conversation. thousand feet on a mountain in Tasmania. Tell
Lean across the table in order to hear over the him that your intermittent vertigo ended your
sound system blaring an Adele song about love, career as a flight attendant. Tell him you are the
love in the dark. proud owner of four tarantulas. Stutter when he
tells you that he, too, has a tarantula. Wonder
Cup your palm to your ear to indicate you are what he means when he asks if you raise your
having trouble. own crickets. Elaborate further by saying you
inherited the tarantulas from your old boyfriend.
Watch as his attention flashes up from your That your old boyfriend is a Sumo wrestler. Yes,
breasts to your eyes before he half yells the word from Japan. No, they don’t call it a diaper. Tell him
“Pizza.” you now work as an egg sorter for Locally Laid.
Recognize his cologne as you lean in closer, 1 Yes, it is local. Realize that your saying these
Million by Paco Rabanne, the scent of the things is a direct reflection of your futile
moment for the young, professional and sexually worldview.
hopeful. Do not under any circumstance admit the
Repeat the word pizza as a question back to him. following: that you were raised on Beauty and the
Beast, that you have kissed many a rough
Nod as he says, I just really really love pizza, exterior searching for the glimpse of a prince, that
because that is the required response. Then your timetable for love is a red rose, slowly losing
randomly think how you are like a pebble and that petals under glass.
this boy is like a pebble, that you are like two
random pebbles thrown together by the fist of the Fail to notice that he is staring at you in wonder
internet. with a tiny smile, as if you are a beautiful but
slightly crazy sea creature he has discovered in a
Say you like pizza too. Say yes to thin crust. Yes hidden pool.
to deep dish. Yes to cheese, especially cheese.
Nod enthusiastically at his suggestion of the Swipe right . . .
Hawaiian, though truth be told, you cannot

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Back in your apartment, turn on the white noise [Trigger Warning!]
machine because your roommate is having loud
sex. Switch on the little white lights that you have Have you noticed that most people who are
strung across your bedroom ceiling. Pretend you against abortion are people you wouldn’t want to
are lying in a bed that happens to be in a Greek fuck in the first place? Conservatives are
taverna, the twinkling lights replacing stars. Turn physically unattractive and morally inconsistent.
the white noise to the sound of electronic waves. They’re obsessed with fetuses from conception to
Feel the pounding of your roommate’s headboard nine months, but after that they have no interest
against your shared wall and a deep-throated in you. None. No day care, no Head Start, no
male laughter. Think how you used to have a school lunch, no food stamps, no welfare, no
boyfriend who was not a Sumo wrestler. Wonder nothin’. If you’re preborn, you’re fine; if you’re
how OKCupid and then Tinder and then Bumble preschool, you’re fucked.
have failed you. And as it will surely come to
nothing, how you never want to communicate Once you leave the womb, conservatives don’t
with the Playmobil boy again. care about you until you reach military age. Then
you’re just what they’re looking for. Conservatives
Startle from a muzzy sleep at the sound of bells want live babies so they can raise them to be
ringing. Recognize the new chime you have dead soldiers.
programmed into your phone, ascending bells, Pro-life. How can they be pro-life when they’re
how it is a cheerful sound, a hopeful sound, three killing doctors? What sort of moral philosophy is
notes rising upward into air. that? “We’ll do anything to save a fetus, but we
Sink deeper into the mothering down of your might have to kill it later on if it grows up to be a
pillow and pull the covers up over your ears, doctor”? They’re not prolife; they’re antiwoman.
letting the waves from the sound machine lull you Simple. They’re afraid of women, and they don’t
out to sea. At the second sound of bells, reach like them. They believe a woman’s primary role is
toward your cluttered nightstand, pushing aside to function as a brood mare for the State. If they
books and cough drop wrappers until you find think a fetus is more important than a woman,
your phone. Worry it will be him. Worry it won’t be they should try getting a fetus to wash the shit
him. Worry it will be just another dick pic. Do not stains out of their underwear. For no pay.
expect the text you read.
Pro-life. You don’t see many white, antiabortion
< I have the feeling that neither of us own women volunteering to have black fetuses
tarantulas > transplanted into their uteruses, do you? No. You
don’t see them adopting any crack babies, do
< Or feeder crickets > you? No, that’s something Jesus would do.
< But I enjoyed meeting you >
And you won’t see many pro-lifers dousing
Feel charmed but also cautious as you read and themselves with kerosene and lighting
reread his words. Admit that you found him the themselves on fire. Remember the Buddhist
littlest bit attractive. See from the dots that he is monks in Vietnam? Morally committed religious
still typing. people in Southeast Asia knew how to stage a
protest: light yourself on fire! C’mon, you
But do not respond, yet. Christian crusaders, let’s see a little smoke. Let’s
see if you can match that fire in your bellies.
Not yet.
Listen to the waves. See the twinkling lights as Separate thought: Why is it when it’s a human
stars. And keep the phone on your chest over being it’s called an abortion, and when it’s a
your heart till the insistent peal of possibility chicken it’s called an omelet. Are we so much
chimes once more. better than chickens? When did that happen?
Name six ways we’re better than chickens. See?
No one can do it. You know why? Because
chickens are
decent people.
Not Every Ejaculation Deserves a Name
You don’t see chickens hanging around in drug
by George Carlin (from Napalm and Silly Putty) gangs, do you? No. You don’t see chickens

Page 46 of 59
strappin’ someone to a chair and hookin’ up their sanitary napkins, and yet they are fertilized eggs.
nuts to a car battery. And when’s the last time you So, what these antiabortion people are actually
heard about a chicken who came home from work telling us is that any woman who’s had more than
and beat the shit out of his hen? Huh? It doesn’t one period is a serial killer. I don’t mean to be
happen. You know why? Because chickens are picky, I’m just looking for a little consistency.
decent people.

Back to abortion: The central question seems to And speaking of consistency, Catholics—which I
be “Are fetuses human beings?” Well, if fetuses was until I reached the age of reason—Catholics
are human beings, why aren’t they counted by the and other Christians are against abortions, and
census? If fetuses are human beings, why is it they’re against homosexuals. Well, who has less
there’s no funeral following a miscarriage? If abortions than homosexuals? Here’s an entire
fetuses are human beings, why do people say, class of citizens guaranteed never to have an
“We have two children and one on the way,” abortion, and the Catholics and Christians are
instead of saying, “We have three children”? just tossin’ them aside. You’d think they’d be
natural allies.
Some people say life begins at conception; I say
life began a billion years ago, and it’s a And regarding the Catholics, when I hear that
continuous process. And actually, it goes back the Pope and some of his “holy” friends have
farther than that. What about the carbon atoms? experienced their first pregnancies and labor
Human life could not exist without carbon. So is it pains, and raised a couple of children on
possible that maybe we shouldn’t be burning all minimum wage, I’ll be glad to hear what they
this coal? I don’t mean to be picky, I’m just lookin’ have to say about abortion. In the meantime,
for a little consistency.
what they ought to do is tell these priests who
took a vow of chastity to keep their hands off the
The hard-core pro-lifers tell us that life begins at
fertilization, when the sperm fertilizes the egg. altar boys. When Jesus said, “Suffer the little
Which usually occurs a few minutes after the man children come unto me,” pedophilia is not what
says, “Sorry, honey, I was gonna pull out, but the he was talking about. He had something else in
phone startled me.” mind.

But even after fertilization it’s still six or seven

days before the egg reaches the uterus and
pregnancy begins. And not every egg makes it.
Eighty percent of a woman’s fertilized eggs are
rinsed out of her body once a month during those
delightful few days she has. They end up on

Page 47 of 59
Fitter, Happier No longer afraid of the dark
Or midday shadows
by Radiohead (Retrieved from Nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate
https://genius.com/1752713) Nothing so childish
At a better pace
Slower and more calculated
[Spoken] No chance of escape
Fitter, happier, more productive Now self-employed
Comfortable (not drinking too much) Concerned (but powerless)
Regular exercise at the gym (3 days a week) An empowered and informed member of
Getting on better with your associate employee society (pragmatism not idealism)
contemporaries Will not cry in public
At ease Less chance of illness
Eating well (no more microwave dinners and Tires that grip in the wet (shot of baby strapped
saturated fats) in back seat)
A patient, better driver A good memory
A safer car (baby smiling in back seat) Still cries at a good film
Sleeping well (no bad dreams) Still kisses with saliva
No paranoia No longer empty and frantic
Careful to all animals (never washing spiders Like a cat
down the plughole) Tied to a stick
Keep in contact with old friends (enjoy a drink That's driven into
now and then) Frozen winter shit (the ability to laugh at
Will frequently check credit at (moral) bank (hole weakness)
in wall) Calm
Favours for favours Fitter, healthier and more productive
Fond but not in love A pig
Charity standing orders In a cage
On Sundays ring road supermarket On antibiotics
(No killing moths or putting boiling water on the
NOTE: These are lyrics from a song, so it is better to read
ants) the lyrics while playing the actual song.
Car wash (also on Sunday

*******

Home by Warsan Shire

(https://genius.com/Warsan-shire-home-annotated)

no one leaves home unless

home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbours running faster than you

breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you

fire under feet
hot blood in your belly

Page 48 of 59
it’s not something you ever thought of doing they smell strange
until the blade burnt threats into savage
your neck messed up their country and now they want
and even then you carried the anthem under to mess ours up
your breath how do the words
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets the dirty looks
sobbing as each mouthful of paper roll off your backs
made it clear that you would not be going back. maybe it's because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off
you have to understand,
that no one would put their children in a boat or the words are more tender
unless the sea is safer than the land than fourteen men between
no one burns their palms your legs
under trains or the insults are easier
beneath carriages to swallow
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a than rubble
truck than bone
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled than your child body
means something more than journey. in pieces.
no one crawls under fences i want to go home,
wants to be beaten but home is the mouth of a shark
wants to be pitied home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
no one chooses refugee camps unless home chased you to the shore
or strip searches where your unless home told you
body is left aching to quicken your legs
or prison, leave your clothes behind
because prison is safer crawl through the desert
than a city of fire wade through the oceans
and one prison guard drown
in the night save
is better than a truckload be hungry
of men who look like your father beg
no one could take it forget pride
no one could stomach it your survival is more important
no one's skin would be tough enough
no one leaves home unless home is a sweaty voice in
the your ear
go home blacks saying-
refugees leave,
dirty immigrants run away from me now
asylum seekers i dont know what i’ve become
sucking our country dry but i know that anywhere
niggers with their hands out is safer than here

Page 49 of 59
Activity

1. Reflect on each text that you have read above. Breath in. breath out. Write a reflection essay for each
literary text you have read, in terms of their themes related to our experiences in the 21st century. Each
essay must be 200-400 words. You are to write your reflection, NOT A SUMMARY.

2. Write your own flash fiction about anything that is part of 21st century experience/generation. Minimum
of 200 words, maximum of 500. It can be written in English or in Filipino.

References

[To access some of the references here, check this Google Drive link:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1frKtn1l8Hf9WAj4zNsGmhQz05LxQoW2y]

McCurdy, Victoria. “This is How You Fail to Ghost Him.” http://monkeybicycle.net/this-is-how-you-fail-to-

ghost-him/

Tolstaya, Tatyana. “Unnecessary Things.” Translated by Anya Migdal.

https://www.newyorker.com/books/flash-fiction/unnecessary-things]
Shire, Warsan. “Home.” https://genius.com/Warsan-shire-home-annotated

https://electricliterature.com/7-flash-fiction-stories-that-are-worth-a-tiny-amount-of-your-time/

Radiohead, “Fitter, Happier.” Retrieved from https://genius.com/1752713.

For Further Readings/Materials

[To access some of the references here, access this Google Drive link:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1frKtn1l8Hf9WAj4zNsGmhQz05LxQoW2y]

Brooks, Gwendelyn. “We Real Cool.” https://poets.org/poem/we-real-cool#

________. “We Real Cool.” https://soundcloud.com/poets-org

Clavell, James. The Children’s Story. n.d. https://www.uwsp.edu/cnr-

ap/UWEXLakes/Documents/programs/lakeleaders/crew7/greenlake_may_2008/the_childrens_stor
y_becken_presentation.pdf

Gaiman, Neil. London: Harper Collins, 2013.

Machado, Carmen Maria. The Husband Stitch. 2014.

Murakami, Haruki. Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman: Twenty Four Stories. New York: Vintage, 2007.

________. 1Q84. New York: Random House, 2011.

Welsh, Irvine. The Acid House. London, Vintage, 1995.

Page 50 of 59
 UNIT VI
21st CENTURY LITERATURE IN GLOBAL SOUTH

Overview:

This lesson aims to provide an overview of the literary production from former colonies, or more generally
known either as the Third World or the Global South. Coming from histories of colonization and are facing
development and globalized aggression, literature from the third world has provided a diverse and often
provocative approach to literary production. For this lesson, literatures from Mexico, Indonesia and Kenya
will be studied by the students.

Learning Objectives:

By the end of this lesson, the students will be able to

● Familiarize with the tropes and styles present in the selected literatures from Mexico, Indonesia,
Kenya
● Analyze the texts according to their particular historical context.
● Assess their understanding of the text with correlating its content with their current condition in a
form of an essay.

Learning Hours: 4 hours

Discussion

Global South, or the third world, are those countries which has undergone colonization and are still
having a hard time catching up to contemporary capitalist world. This includes a large portion of the world:
most of Middle eastern, south, and southeast Asia; South America, the whole of Africa and significant
portions of Australia and the Polynesian islands. While having experienced different course of
development, the countries of global south can be thought generally from their shared experience of
colonialism and the violence it brought with it.

Colonialism has shifted not just the economic and political structure of a country, but also the way people
live, speak and, of course, write.

With regards to writing, in this lesson, we’ll read three literatures which exhibits this effect of Colonialism
in their writing. First is a short story from Indonesia translated into English, “No Crazies in this Town,” Eka
Kurniawan provides a chilling narrative that looks into the colonial effects in a contemporary tourist town.
Second is from Makena Onjerika of Kenya: “Fanta Blackcurrant,” written in English, tells the story of a
bright streetsmart girl whose life went downhill while she’s hustling to live. Last texts are two poems from
Mexican writer from Tijuana, Heriberto Yepez: “About Me: in English” and “A Ten Step Program (or a
User’s Guide) On How | Mexicans and Americans | Can Know | They Have | A Body” are poems which
uses the English language to expose the violence done by postcolonial realities not just to the body, but
also to the mind.

Assessment:

Answer the following questions in a single-flowing essay (500 words min.):

● Of the three sets of readings, which one made best impression to you?
● How do you think the three treatment in the English language – the translation, the direct use and
the self-conscious use – affected your response?
● Try to generalize your impression with the three: what do you think is the underlying thread
between them?

References

Page 51 of 59
Kurniawan, Eka. 2019. ""No Crazies in this Town"." In Kitchen Curse: Stories, translated by Annie Tucker.
London: Verso.

Onjerika, Makena. 2017. "Fanta Blackcurrant." Wasafiri 32 (1): 29-32.

doi:10.1080/02690055.2017.1252104.

Yépez, Heriberto. 2017. "A Ten Step Program (or a User’s Guide) On How | Mexicans and Americans |
Can Know | They Have | A Body." In Transnational Battle Field, 25-34. Oakland, CA: Commune
Editions.

Yépez, Heriberto. 2017. "About Me: In English." In Transnational Battle Field, 115-116. Oakland, CA:
Commune Editions.

Page 52 of 59
 NO CRAZIES IN THIS TOWN by Eka Kurniawan

Kurniawan, Eka. 2019. ""No Crazies in this Town"." In Kitchen Curse: Stories, translated by Annie Tucker. London: Verso.

Vacation was almost here. So, three officers rid the town of crazies—because, of course, they
climbed into a pickup and drove around looking could never rid the town of tourists. The preacher
for crazy people. himself made a good living selling packets of
dried fish, most of which were bought by tourists
About five years ago there had been an
as gifts, and the mosque finances were heavily
incident, one quite embarrassing for the town. It
dependent on benefactors who also made their
began with a gang of high school kids on break
money off the tourists.
who were staying at a cheap inn, not far from the
bay. It was the height of vacation season, and So, the cleansing of the crazy people was
they were lucky to have gotten a room, even carried out—and not just crazy women, but also
though it was a filthy mess, with clogged toilets crazy men. The more wackos they found, the
and cloudy water. The group, eight boys in all, harder they looked for them. At first, it was a job
were hoping to find a little action far from home. for the police. But after a while, the civilian officers
Too bad for them, the girls on the shore wearing charged with maintaining order took over.
short shorts and carefree smiles were all closely
The town was small, on the southern coast of
guarded by their boyfriends or under their
Java. They didn’t have a mental hospital, they
parents’ constant watchful eye.
didn’t even have a regular hospital. They had only
Then one of the boys suggested going to a one community health center and an orphanage.
whorehouse. They had never done that before So, this is what the three officers in the pickup
and, imagining it would make a great story for would do: They would drive around the town and
their schoolfriends back home, not one of them if they found a crazy person or two by the side of
objected. Renting four motorbikes, they drove the road, they would grab them and throw them
around the town. They asked some local kids into the truck. As afternoon approached, by which
hanging out at an intersection where the time they would have caught a few, the pickup
whorehouse was. But it turned out the last would drive north, away from the town, into a
prostitute in the town had been paraded around government-owned teak forest, beyond which
town and beaten black and blue a month before, was the nearest town. When they’d driven about
by a group of pious men. halfway through, they would stop and release the
crazy people.
“If there are any left,” the local kids said,
“We’re not going to share. Sorry.” Marwan drove the truck, and he would always
be the one to say goodbye:
Sorely disappointed, and so horny they were
about to burst, the eight schoolkids came across “Until we meet again, at the end of vacation
a crazy woman on a bridge. She looked to be in season!”
her thirties. She wasn’t too ugly for them. And, so,
When the season was over, Marwan and his two
driven by their natural instincts, they bathed her
friends would get back into the pickup and drive
and brought her back to their inn. And that was
back to the teak forest. They wouldn’t
how it all started.
immediately see any crazy people, of course.
Nobody knows how or why the idea spread to
This year they had released three women
other tourists, but the police started getting
and two men. After slowly driving along the road
reports about out-of-towners capturing crazy
that cut through the forest, they pulled over and
women and bringing them back to their lodgings.
climbed out. Then, just as always, they set out on
At first they didn’t pay much attention, since the
foot. Marwan was carrying a twine rope—so far
local youth got up to similar tricks from time to
they had never been forced to tie anyone up, but
time. It only became a scandal after it had been
they always had to be ready. His two friends,
going on for a while and a local preacher
Darto and Kartomo, followed him. Darto was
lamented, on Eid al-Fitr no less, the fact that
wearing a backpack.
tourists from all over the world were coming to
their town to sleep with crazy people. In a fiery In their experience, crazy people never
sermon, the preacher incited his congregation to strayed too far. They checked the small stream at
burn down the inns unless the police immediately the bottom of a hill. For some reason, they often

Page 53 of 59
found their first one there—perhaps, like animals, size wasn’t exactly a surprise, they still felt a pang
crazy people preferred to be near water. And they of envy.
did find a man, slumped over on a big rock, feet
The crazy man grinned as soon as he saw
dangling in the current.
the three officers. He recognized them. Seeing
Marwan approached the crazy man, stood on rice cake, he didn’t need to be persuaded to fall
the edge of a rock, and peered down at him. Then in step and follow them.
he looked back at his friends and said,
They brought these two crazies to the pickup
“Dead.” and helped them in. It was Kartomo’s job to guard
them while Darto and Marwan went looking for
They had lost one. Kartomo reached into in
the other two. With some luck, they would be
his pocket and took out a cellphone, preparing to
found before dusk. Marwan and Darto knew the
photograph the corpse. Marwan and Darto
two remaining crazy women fairly well—they
squatted next to the body, posing and smiling
usually went everywhere together and had a
broadly. Kartomo pressed a button, and they
tendency to roam farther afield than the other two.
heard the sound that indicated the picture had
been taken. “I hate to see a crazy man die,” Darto
muttered as he walked.
The corpse didn’t smell yet, but they all spat
anyway. After Kartomo took a few more pictures, “Mm-hmm,” Marwan agreed, following
they continued on their journey, following the behind. “But sooner or later there will be a new
stream. They left the corpse without touching it. one. Believe me. God is the Infinitely Just.”
That’s a matter for the police, one of them said.
Darto chuckled. He didn’t say anything else,
And the gravedigger, said another.
but now had a cheerful spring in his step. Then he
Then they heard the second crazy person’s sung a line of a song. Neither remembered who
voice, coming from the top of the hill. A woman. sang it, or what the title was, but Marwan was
Darto heard her first. He looked up and soon singing along. They looked happy—and,
whispered, “Is this nut-job singing?” But after all indeed, good work should make people happy.
three heard it, they couldn’t tell whether she was
The next vacation season would arrive in two
really humming to herself or snarling. They
months. Marwan stood at the door to the bar on
hurried up the slope, holding sharpened teak
which a large sign was hung: “KIDS UNDER 17
branches. At the top of the hill, there was a rest
AND IN SCHOOL UNIFORMS PROHIBITED.” A
hut for the forest rangers. That’s where the crazy
pair of Japanese tourists stood on the sidewalk
woman was. Snarling.
under a streetlight, checking a page in a Lonely
A foul smell assaulted the men’s noses— Planet guide. Two Finnish girls sat on the chairs
there were piles of shit strewn all around the hut. on the bar terrace, beers on the table, one of them
absorbed in a Michael Crichton book while the
“Damn it!” Darto swore. “Hi, wacko, quick,
other listened to her iPod. A family of local
let’s get out of there.”
tourists—from Makassar, judging by their
With quite some difficulty, they hauled her accent—bicycled by. Even though high season
down the hill and dunked her in the river. Darto was still a long way off, there was already a
took a clean dress out of his backpack and smattering of tourists. Marwan smiled happily at
changed her clothes. After they gave her some that, and of course so did all the other folks in the
rice cake and a slice of white bread, the crazy town.
woman followed them on foot. And on their
A well-dressed man approached from the
journey back up the hill, on a different path than
beach. He looked to his left and right and then
the one they had taken before, they found the
read the name of the bar on the sign. He looked
third crazy person, a man.
over at Marwan, hesitated for a moment, but then
He was naked and had a muscular body, but approached.
the most striking thing about him was his
“Are you Marwan?”
genitals—dark, big, protruding from behind a wiry
thicket of pubic hair that stuck out in every “Mm-hmm.”
direction—swinging in rhythm with his steps. The
Marwan pointed to the red Honda 700
three officers marveled at the sight. Even though
motorcycle parked nearby. The well-dressed man
they had seen him a number of times, and so the
nodded and followed Marwan to the bike. Without

Page 54 of 59
saying anything else, Marwan got on and the man Still, when vacation season arrived, Marwan
sat behind him. and his two friends got back into the pickup.
Crazy people were roaming the streets, and so
They drove away from the bar, taking small
they would have to catch them and release them
back streets, passing the used bookstore Big
into the teak forest.
Mushroom and the kitchen in back of Hotel
Rosebud. The road descended, and they turned, “There’s a new nut-job in town!” Darto
circling around a hill. Somehow they passed by exclaimed, looking out the window.
Big Mushroom again from the other direction, a
From behind the wheel, Marwan looked over
row of local houses, a per-kilo laundry, and a
and muttered, “Too bad it’s not my ex-girlfriend.”
small coconut grove. Then they turned into a
narrow alley, with men stationed on the left and And they all smacked the dashboard and
the right: security. They stopped Marwan, frisked laughed.
his well-dressed passenger, and let them
through.
And then there they were, in an old building
with writing on the wall: “No cameras, no
cellphones, no kids.” They went in through a door,
past two more guards, who again searched the
well-dressed man. Once inside, they found
themselves looking at an old badminton court that
had long ago been turned into a futsal stadium.
The bleachers were full, and the voices of the
crowd merged into a droning hum. Marwan
guided the well-dressed man to his seat.
“Thank you,” the man said.
“Meet me at the door after,” Marwan replied,
and then left.
Marwan stood leaning against the doorway,
waiting for the show to begin. The arena was pitch
dark. Enthusiastic introductory talk came over a
loud speaker, then some music.
Soon the MC spoke again, and a dim reddish
light shone on the middle of the arena. A hush fell
over the crowd—there were three beds there,
each with a naked woman sitting uneasily atop it.
But what captivated the audience was none other
than the fourth person: a muscular man, also
naked, with dark skin, smiling cheerfully at the
women. His penis fascinated them; as it slowly
rose, they wondered how big it would get.
“It’s a damn shame one of them died. The
police didn’t even bother to take him out of the
river,” said Marwan to the man standing next to
him. He took a cigarette out of his pocket, offered
another to his companion, and lit up.
Sometimes a resident would complain, “Why do
they always come back here? Can’t we just shoot
them?” During the vacation season, they didn’t
need the crazy people anymore—they could be
discarded because business was good, and that
made the pious folk happy.

Page 55 of 59
Page 56 of 59
Page 57 of 59
About Me: In English A phone call with no bodies
By HERIBERTO YÉPEZ (Just the Long Distance Sound.)
A phone call made on the subject
I am possessed by the most powerful Of the arrival of the American Body.
Revolutionary force in the world today: A phone call made by the Mexican President
The Anti-American spirit. Indicating to Castro
(the Cuban Horse)
But I am written and I write in English Indicating to him (Fidel) he has to leave our country
I too sing America’s shit. (our body), when the American Body, The American
President (the Son) arrives into our land | enters into
I am inhabited by imperial feelings our flesh. (Castro has to leave.) He has to leave his
Which arise in my mind as images place so another body can take it. He had to leave so
Of pre-industrial rivers the other body, the American one (the Son) could enter
Or take some technocratic screen-form. into our body,
our sexual body, the political one.
My hopes are these wounds
Are also weapons. But they may be undead 2.
Scholarly jargon. Remembering we have | A Body |

I am colonized. I dream of decolonizing by way of lds

Myself and others. The images of the dream (Language
Do not match up. I am the body Discomfort
And the archive. Syndrome.)
A bomb is ticking in my old soul. Remembering
And the life of the bomb The way the body feels
Trembles in the hands of my new voice. When the mind
And the voice
I am a professor in the Third World. Switch
What do I know? Libraries in the North From one language to another.
Do not open their doors. I laugh at myself
Imagining what the newer books state. The way it’s going to feel when we
(“The Mexicans”)
Writing is counter switch into English.
-insurgent. But the counter The way our mind and body
-insurgency Become
Leaders want our body Disconnected when such a Language Event
Believing writing is freedom. Happens
(to us).
This is as far as my English goes.
3.
**************************************** Applying torture.
That’s an easy way
A Ten Step Program to find out
(or a User’s Guide) others do have
ON HOW | MEXICANS AND AMERICANS |CAN (a discourse on) pain.
KNOW | THEY HAVE | A BODY Applying torture
By HERIBERTO YÉPEZ Or
Declaring war on the body
1. Of the Other
(A phone call.) (The Afghan | The Zapatista)
Receiving a Phone Call Destroying another body
(Long Distance Phone Call.) That’s a good way
To find out
We may have a body too. Being a woman.
A discourse. Getting a job in a maquiladora
(Ford | Samsung | Matsushita | Qualcomm)
Moving to Juárez.
4. Getting a job in a maquiladora.
Being a woman. Being a woman.
Moving to Juárez. Getting raped
(Traffic.) by a serial killer
Moving to Juárez. or a death squad.

Page 58 of 59
Copy cat. Quote. 8.
(800 women have felt that Being a man.
in the last 10 years Moving to the border.
in Juárez) Finding a pollero.
Becoming a body. Waiting for the right moment
And then being found to illegally cross.
in an empty lot No helicopters around.
in the outskirts of the city No trucks.
with a torn t-shirt Walking.
that says: Hating the sun.
“California. Being a man.
The Golden State. Moving to the border.
Finding a pollero.
5. Walking [to what’s called the Other Side].
Feeling stressed. And then, getting beaten
Experiencing our body by some American ins Agent
Thanks Who needs to feel his body
To the Sickness as the body of a Real Man.
The New World Order
Gave us: 9.
Stress. Fearing
Another attack.
6. That’s also
Going to Tijuana. Another step
Because Tijuana is To remembering
(according to The Simpsons) We still have
The happiest place on Earth. A body
And it is the maquiladora town Left.
Where 75 percent
Of all television sets 10.
Are produced. (The pleasure.)
It is also the most crossed border in the world, and the (Through the pleasure)
place where thousands of Americans hang out every The pleasure of uploading
weekend, the into the Internet
place where: Uploading
a) They have Fun Without our bodies
b) Feel beautiful and loved (The Relief)
and c) In control. The relief of entering
Cyberspace
(Mexico is the place where Americans feel they really (The Final
are Common Place)
“Americans.”) Uploading ourselves
into the Internet
7. Without our bodies.
Using Our bodies that hurt so much
Language exchange rates And viewing
(Body Surplus) And buying
Violence is the American Way (A quote) With credit cards the image
Violence is the American Way (A quote) (just the image)
And we cannot help but to be Americans in that (of the bodies)
sense. (of the bodies of the others).
We are all Americans now
(even the French). Restrictions apply.

Page 59 of 59