21st Century Literature From The Philippines and The World

DIWA
DIWA Senior High School Series:
21st Century Literature from the Philippines and the World (Second
Edition)
e–Module

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e-ISBN 978-971-46-1357-7
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Author
Second Edition

CHEENO MARLO M. SAYUNO holds a master’s degree in

communication arts from the University of the Philippines – Los Baños
(UPLB) and a bachelor’s degree in mass communication, cum laude, from
Cavite State University. He is presently an assistant professor in the
Department of Humanities at the UPLB, while working toward earning his
doctor’s
recipient degree in communication
of the Carlos at theA
Palanca Memorial UP Diliman.
Awards
wards Mr. Sayuno
for Literature in 2013isand
a
2017 for his short stories for children “The Magic Bahag,” which is his first
published book of the same title under Lampara Publishing House, and “Si
Tiya Salome,” respectively. He is also the sole awardee (honorable
mention) of the Philippine Board on Books for Young People’s Salanga
Prize in 2015 for “The Missing Blanket,” published by Adarna House. He is
a writing fellow in the Writers and Illustrators Retreat of Asian Festival of
Children’s Content sponsored by the Singapore government, the UP
National Writers’
Writers’ Workshop, the Cordillera Creative WritingWriting Workshop
2014, Ricky Lee Scriptwriting Masterclass, TV5 Kwentong Komedi
Scriptwriting Workshop, the UST J. Elizalde Navarro National Workshop in
Criticism on the Arts and Humanities, and the DLSU KRITIKA National
Workshop on Art and Cultural Criticism, among others. His research
presentations and publications center on children’s
children’s literature, child studies,
discourse analysis, communication research, and dance.

First Edition
RINA GARCIA CHUA completed her master’s degree in Language and
Literature (major in Literature) from the De La Salle University (DLSU) –
Manila. She was awarded a gold medal for outstanding thesis. She obtained
her bachelor’s degree in Secondary Education (major in English) from the
University of Santo Tomas (UST), where she is currently affiliated with the
university’s Literature Department. She has been a fellow in several
national writing workshops, has been published in journals and newspapers
( Dapitan,
Dapitan, Kritika Kultura, Panorama, Philippine Daily Inquirer,
Inquirer, Manila
Bulletin), and was awarded the International Membership Grant by the
Association for the Study of Literature and the Environment – USA. Aside
from writing textbooks, short stories, and magazine articles for Diwa
Learning Systems Inc., she has completed the first anthology of Philippine
ecopoetry entitled “Sustaining the Archipelago.”

Reviewer
GUILLERMO MIGUEL O. OCHOA previously taught literature in the
University of Santo Tomas and the Philippine Normal University (PNU) –
Manila. Currently, he is a full-time faculty member at the Rizal
Technological University, handling literature and English language teaching
courses. He holds a bachelor’s degree in Secondary Education (major in
English) and a master’s degree in Education (with specialization in
Literature – English Stream), which he both finished at PNU. Mr. Ochoa
has lectured and conducted seminar-workshops on classroom management,
professional development for teachers, teacher training, literary theory and
criticism, teaching of poetry, literature and postmodernism, assessment and
instruction of literature, teaching of grammar, campus journalism,
technology use in the classroom, teaching English as a second or a foreign
language, teaching strategies as recommended by the K to 12 curriculum of
the Department of Education, research, and outcomes-based education. At
present, he is pursuing
pursuing his do
doctorate
ctorate in Literature.

This book is produced by an academic publisher whose quality management

system is certified to ISO 9001.

Preface
Today, our country faces various challenges not only in politics
and safety but also in the kind of information circulating in virtual
spaces. The internet creates avenues for creation and consumption of
this information, and creators become consumers, just as consumers
become creators themselves. Blogging and journalism face in
combat, and the responsibility of writing becomes fluid; the thin
lines separating genres and forms from credibility blur in the murky
waters of propaganda. The act of writing was supposed to reach new
heights with the advent of new media. But what happens is that the
life of writing is compromised because the very act of transforming
stories into written masterpieces is challenged by manipulating facts
and manufacturing narratives that reflect multiple realities, and only
some of these are truly reflective of the human experience.
But why do people write stories? Writers of the past and present
would tell stories of the human experience because these stories,
may they be fiction or creative nonfiction, are reflective of cultures
and traditions. Through these written works, people get to know their
ancestors at a deeper level. In the process, readers learn from the
victories and failures of the past to create a promising future.
Through literature, readers get to experience past lives and
understand the joy and beauty of various human emotions—
emotions that transcend across eras and races, cultures and genders,
and geographies and moments in time. It is through literature that we
develop an appreciation of the past so that we can live better lives at
present. Literature keeps the human side of us intact.
This textbook, Diwa Senior High School Series: 21st Century
Literature from the Philippines and the World (Second Edition),
attempts to bridge the gap between the contemporary literary scene
and the struggles of today’s times in understanding written texts in
new media platforms. Through a survey of the many literatures in
the country and its regions, as well as the various clusters in the
world literary scene, the goal of this textbook is to awaken the

awareness of young readers. When you encounter opportune

moments to read with the aid of technological advancements, you
become more aware of how to interact with various texts and how to
combat the rise of manipulative and propaganda messages.
Republic Act 10533 of the Enhanced Basic Education Act of
2013 introduced the K to 12 program, which included the senior high
school levels for all learners. This program includes providing
opportunities
opportuni ties for senior high school students to specialize in different
tracks, depending on their interests. On one hand, literature is one
track that you can pursue. By studying and mastering literature, you
become a learner not only of various reading selections that explore
humanistic experiences but also someone who can become a writer
and a purveyor of culture and values through various platforms. On
the other hand, studying literature, regardless of the track you
pursue, grounds you as a learner
learner.. Through literature, you learn and
you grow to be a better individual who is ready to take on any
challenge.
Each module in the Diwa Senior High School Series: 21st
Century Literature from the Philippines and the World (Second
Edition) introduces you not only to literary pieces that you can enjoy
reading but also to theories and concepts that can help you
understand literature from various critical perspectives. You
You can then
improve your critical thinking skills and also incorporate social and
cultural knowledge into your reading, something that can be very
helpful in the future. Simply put, reading can be both fun and
critical.
Unit I is a primer of the various literary genres and forms that are
common in the country. By exploring the historical, literary, and
creative landscape of Philippine literature, you have a fantastic
opportunity to get to know our country deeper. In reading these texts,
you are given the chance to appreciate the works based on your own,
for these contemporary and timely literary pieces are meant to be
interpreted individually. You have the power to process the texts
based on your
your own biases, experiences,
experiences, and perspectives.
perspectives.

In Unit II, your sojourn to world literature starts—you go beyond

the comforts of our own country and break boundaries as you look
into how the people of the world write about themselves. With
literary selections from both seasoned and up-and-coming writers
from across the globe, you are given varying perspectives of
different but equally

with theoretical colorful cultures.
perspectives that can Furthermore, these are guided
offer unique examinations of
literary texts, all toward information literacy and global awareness.
Literature is part of the human experience. By reading literature,
you, dear young readers, become empowered, morally upright, and
well-informed citizens of the world.
The Author

Table of Contents
Contents
Unit I 21st Century Philippine Literature from the

Regions
Module 1
Module 1 Mapping Our Literary Past, Present,
Present, and Future
Module 2 Poetry of the Archipelago
Module 3 The Landscape of Philippine Fiction
Module 4
Module 4 In an Ocean
Ocean of Emotions: Philippin
Philippinee Drama
Module 5
Module 5 Archipelagic Life, or Creative Nonfiction
Nonfiction
Module 6 Remapping of Philippine Literature through Criticism
Module 7
Module 7 Looking Beyond: The Future of Philippine
Philippine Literature
Module 8
Module 8 Finding the Literary Space within You
You
Culminating Output
Quarter Challenge
Unit II 21st Century Literature from the World

Module 9 A Rediscovery of the Literary World
Module 10 Charting Our Own Paths in Southeast Asia
Module 11 The Roots of East Asia
Module 12 Exploring South Asia and Western Asia
Module 13 Delving Deep into the Anglo-American Frontier
Module 14 Traversing
Traversing Europe and Its Intricacies
Module 15 The Magic of Latin America

Module 16 Deep into Africa

Module 17 The Atlas of World Literature
Culminating Output
Quarter Challenge

Bibliography

Unit
21st Century Philippine
I Literature from the
Regions
While contemplating on the country’s history in 1887 shortly after

completing Noli Me Tangere, our national hero, Jose Rizal, returned to the
old Filipino proverb: “Those who do not know how to look back at where
they came from will never get to their destination.” Literature is the perfect
melting pot of the different disciplines you have learned previously in
school, such as history, science, values, and the languages. This is because
the literary selections in this unit have been carefully chosen to encapsulate
the message of Rizal’s famous quotation: looking back to move forward.
Through the literary texts that you will be reading in this unit, you will get
to know yourself, the society you live in, and the world you will be moving
in a lot better. The knowledge you will unearth and explore from the poems,
stories, plays, and essays in this unit will teach you how to be a better
Filipino—as a holistic human being and, more importantly, as an agent of
compassion to the rest of the world. This way, you will use the past that
literature has narrated for you
you as the main weapon for your
your successful
future.
This unit begins with a glimpse of our precolonial literary heritage.
Here, you will learn that before the Spanish had colonized the country,
Filipinos already enjoyed a variety of literature such as proverbs, riddles,
songs, tales, and, of course, epics. These changed during the Spanish
colonization as literature became more religious and God-centered. You
should be well acquainted with the epic of Hinilawod from the Visayas
region and a retelling of the legend of Mariang Makiling by the country’s
very own national hero. These will help you understand just how rich our
local indigenous literature is and how it speaks well about the life that was

lived before here in this archipelago. The other subsequent modules in this
unit are designed in a way to represent not only literature from the different
regions of our country, but also the different genres in the literary canon.
They are separated as such (i.e., poetry fiction, drama, creative nonfiction,
literary criticism, and contemporary works) to emphasize the uniqueness
and
Asidenuances of each
from this, genreinvite
they also as written
you to and
openinterpreted
your mindby
to ainnovate
local writer.
these
literary canons into genres that our local literature has never seen before.
Maybe you are the start of something new, dear student, and hopefully,
these stories of your life will inspire you to exercise your creativity and
make your mark in the world. Remember what Rizal had proven so many
times before in his short but heroic life: the pen will always be mightier
than any other weapon, even the sword.
Learning Outcomes for the Unit

Understand and appreciate the elements and contexts of 21st
century Philippine literature from the different regions.
Demonstrate understanding and appreciation of 21st century
Philippine literature from the different regions through the
following:
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
An adaptation of a text into other creative forms using
multimedia

Module
Mapping Our Literary Past,
1
Present, and Future
At the end of this module, I can:
1. Identify the geographic, linguistic, and ethnic dimensions of
Philippine literary history from the precolonial era to the
contemporary.
2. Value the contributions of local writers to the development of
regional literary traditions.
3. Differentiate the various 21st century literary genres and the
ones from the earlier genres or periods citing their elements,
structures, and traditions.
4. Explain the literary, biographical, linguistic, and sociocultural
contexts, and discuss how they enhance the text’s
text’s meaning
and enrich my understanding.
Philippine Precolonial Literature

Before the Philippines
Philippines Big Idea
was colonized,
colonized, it was already
brimming with with a rich The precolonial liter aatures
tures of the
tradition of oral literature. Philippines were abundant with
Early Filipinos weaved myths and legends. These were used
together countless myths and to explain particular phenomena in
legends to explain certain daily life, such as natural
phenomena in life. They had occurrences, ritualistic behaviors, or
stories on how the world was observations about society and
created—why there is a sun culture.
in the morning and the moon

at night, how a mountain

was formed, why there are earthquakes, and other life events. However,
because paper was not invented yet, many of these tales were not preserved
and have vanished from local knowledge. Most of what have been
transcribed now are taken from oral literature, which means that these
stories have been

which survived arepassed on folklores.
epics and from one Here
generation to descriptions
are their another. Mostandofother
that
forms of literature that were passed on by the early Filipinos to today’s
generation.
Proverbs are practical observations and philosophy of everyday life
that are written usually in a rhyming scheme. It is obviously meant to
entertain while teaching basic skills in surviving local life. In Filipino,
these are called salawikain. Here are some examples:
Kung ano ang puno, siya ang bunga.
(Whatever the tree, so is the fruit.)

Kung walang tiyaga, walang nilaga.
(If you don’t persevere, you can expect no reward.)
are like proverbs with one main difference: they demand an answer
and are used to test the wits of those who are listening to them.
Usually, riddles (or, in Filipino, bugtong ) are used in a battle of wits,
where locals young and old join and/ or watch to see who is the
smartest. Another characteristic of Filipino riddles is their flippant
nature-
the theyisseem
answer moretoserious
be referring to something
than expected. Canlaughable,
you guessbut
theinanswers
reality,
reality,
to these riddles?
Heto nasi Kaka, bubuka-bukaka. (Here comes Kaka, walking with an
open leg.)
Sa araw ay bungbong, sa gabi ay dahon. (Roll in the morning, leaf in

the afternoon.)
Folksongs are beautiful songs that are informal expressions of our

ancestors’ experiences in life. These range from courtship (which they

sing in a harana or a serenade for a girl), to lullabies, harvests,

funerals, and others.
Tales are stories of origin for certain places, their names, and their
creation. These are also known as myths and legends. They usually are
used to explain certain events or phenomena in our ancestors’ lives
that
knewcannot be explained
back then. by the limited
Some examples are thepractical
origin ofkind of science
mountains they
such as
Mount Makiling or Mount Arayat, or legends of great heroes like
Bernardo Carpio.
Epics are long-winded poems about a hero and his adventures and
misadventures. It usually tells of a male hero who is born with all the
pleasing qualities that your ancestors like in a person and who also has
superhuman capabilities. This male hero is also paired with a beautiful
young maiden, whom he will fall in love with and will usually have to
go to battle for. Sometimes, supernatural elements are also introduced
to show the strength of the hero and his capabilities. One of the best
epics of the Philippines comes from Negros, which is the Hinilawod .
Read its rich story in the following activity.
Reflect Upon
What is the relevance of studying precolonial forms of literature?

Beyond Walls 1.1 Read and Answer
The following story is an epic from Central Panay. Read the story and
answer the questions that follow.

The Hinilawod

When the goddess of the eastern sky Alunsina (also known as Laun
Sina, “The Unmarried One”) reached maidenhood, the king of the gods,
Kaptan, decreed that she should marry. All the unmarried gods of the
different domains of the universe tried to win her hand to no avail. She
chose to marry a mortal, Datu Paubari, the mighty ruler of Halawod.
Her decision angered her other suitors. They plotted to bring harm to
the newlyweds. A meeting of the council of gods was called by
Maklium-sa-t’wan, god of the plains, where a decision by those present
was made to destroy Halawod by flood.
Alunsina and Paubari escaped harm through the assistance of Suklang
Malayon, the goddess and guardian of happy homes and sister of
Alunsina, who learned of the evil plot and warned the two so they were
able to seek refuge on higher ground.
After the flood waters subsided, Paubari and Alunsina returned to the
plains secretly.
secretly. They settled near the mouth o
off the Halawod river.
river.
Several months later, Alunsina became pregnant and told Paubari to
prepare the siklot , things necessary for childbirth. She delivered a set of
triplets and summoned the high priest Bungot-Banwa to perform the rites
of the gods of Mount Madya-as (the mountain abode of the gods) to
ensure the good health of the children. The high priest promptly made an
altar and burned some alanghiran fronds and a pinch of kamangyan.

When the ceremony was over he opened the windows of the north side of
the room and a cold northernly wind came in and suddenly, the three
infants were transformed into strong, handsome young men.
Labaw Donggon, the eldest of the three, asked his mother to prepare
his magic cape, hat, belt, and kampilan (sword) for he heard of a place
called Handug where a beautiful maiden named Angoy Ginbitinan lived.
Fig. 1.1. A scene from the play entitled, “Hinilawod”, at the LUCE Auditorium in Dumaguete
City last 1-3 July 2010.
Source: https://hinilawod.files.wordpress.co
https://hinilawod.files.wordpress.com/2010/03
m/2010/03/hinilawod-
/hinilawod-
004.jpg
The journey took several days. He walked across plains and valleys,
climbed up mountains until he reached the mouth of the Halawod river.
When he finally met the maiden’s father and asked for her hand in
marriage, the father asked him to fight the monster Manalintad as part of
his dowry. He went off to confront the monster and with the help of his
magic belt, Labaw Donggon killed the monster and to prove his feat he
brought to Angoy Ginbitinan’
Ginbitinan’ss father the monst
monster’s
er’s tail.
After the wedding, Labaw Donggon proceeded home with his new
bride. Along
they were on the
theirway
waythey met a groupBurok
to Tarambang of young men
to win thewho told
hand of him that
Abyang

Durunuun, sister of Sumpoy, the lord of the underworld and whose

beauty was legendary
legendary.
Labaw Donggon and his bride continued on their journey home. The
moment they arrived home, Labaw Donggon told his mother to take care
of his wife because he is taking another quest, this time he was going to
Tarambang Burok.
Before he can get to the place he has to pass a ridge guarded by a
giant named Sikay Padalogdog who has a hundred arms. The giant would
not allow Labaw Donggon to go through without a fight. However, Sikay
Padalogdog was no match to Labaw Donggon’s prowess and skill in
fighting so he gave up and allowed him to continue.
Labaw Donggon won the hand of Abyang Durunuun and also took
her home. Before long he went on another journey, this time it is to
Gadlum to ask for the hand of Malitong Yawa Sinagmaling Diwata who
is the young bride of Saragnayan, the lord of darkness.
This trip required him to use his biday nga inagta (black boat) on
which he sailed across the seas for many months, went across the region
of the clouds, and passed the land of stones until finally he reached the
shores of Tulogmatian
Tulogmatian which was the se
seaside
aside fortress of Saragnayan. The
moment he set foot on the ground Saragnayan asked him, “Who are you
and why are you here?”
To which he answered, “I am Labaw Donggon, son of Datu Paubari
and goddess Alunsina of Halawod. I came for the beautiful Malitong
Yawa Sinagmaling Diwata.”
Saragnayan laughed. He told Labaw Donggon that what he wished
for was impossible to grant because she was his wife. Labaw Donggon
then challenged Saragnayan to a duel saying that whoever wins will have
her.
The challenge was accepted and they started fighting. Labaw
Donggon submerged Saragnayan under water for seven years, but when
he let go of him, Saragnayan was still alive. The latter uprooted a coconut
tree and started beating Labaw Donggon with it. He survived the beating
but was not able to surpass the powers of Saragnayan’
Saragnayan’ss pamlang (amulet)
(amulet)

and eventually he gave up and was imprisoned by Saragnayan beneath

his house.
Back home, Angoy Ginbitinan and Abyang Durunuun both delivered
sons. Angoy Ginbitinan’s child was named Aso Mangga and Abyang
Durunuun’s son was called Abyang Baranugon.
Only a few days after they were born, Aso Mangga and Abyang
Baranugon embarked to look for their father. They rode their sailboats
through the region of eternal darkness, passed the region of the clouds
and the land of stones, finally reaching Saragnayan’s home. Saragnayan
noticed that Abyang Baranugon’s umbilical cord have not yet been
removed, he laughed and told the child to go home to his mother.
Abyang Baranugon was slighted by the remarks and immediately
challenged Saragnayan to a duel. They fought and Abyang Baranugon
defeated Saragnayan and won his father’
father ’s freedom.
Labaw Donggon’s defeat and subsequent imprisonment by the Lord
of Darkness also angered his brothers. Humadapnon was so enraged that
he swore to the gods of Madya-as that he would wreak revenge on all of
Saragnayan’s kinsmen and followers.
Humadapnon prepared to go to Saragnayan’s domain. He employed
the aid of Buyong Matanayon of Mount Matiula who was well-known for
his skill in swordsmanship. For their journey they rode on a sailboat
called biday nga rumba-rumba. They travelled through the region of the
clouds, passed by the region of eternal darkness and ended up at a place
called Tarambang Buriraw. In this place was a ridge called Talagas
Kuting-tangwhere
Kuting-tangwh ere a seductive sorceress named Piganun lived.
Piganun changed herself to a beautiful maiden and captured the heart
of Humadapnon. Buyong Matanayon begged with Humadapnon to leave
the place with him but the latter refused. After seven months passed,
Buyong Matanayon remembered that they have brought with them some
ginger. One evening at dinner time Buyong Matanayon threw seven
slices of ginger into the fire. When Piganun smelled the odor of burning
ginger she left the dinner table because sorcerers hated the odor of ginger.
ginger.
Immediately Buyong Matanayon struck Humadapnon, who became

unconscious. He dragged his friend with him, and they were able to
escape.
They continued with their trek and everywhere they went they
exacted revenge on all of Saragnayan’s people and relatives. One day
they reached a place called Piniling Tubig, which was ruled by Datu
Umbaw Pinaumbaw. There was a big gathering in the village and when
they asked what was going on they were told that the datu was giving his
daughter for marriage to whoever could remove the huge boulder that
rolled from a mountain into the center of the village. Many men tried
their luck but no one so far was able to even move the stone.
Humadapnon took off his magic cape and used it to lift the stone and
threw it back into the mountain. The datu kept his word and
Humadapnon married his daughter. During the wedding feast,
Humadapnon heard about the beauty of the goddess of greed Burigadang
Pada Sinaklang Bulawan from a guest minstrel who sang at the
celebration.
After the wedding, Humadapnon went to seek the hand of the
goddess in marriage. Along the way he encountered Buyong
Makabagting, son of the mighty Datu Balahidyong of Paling Bukid who
was also travelling with the same purpose in mind. Upon learning of
Humadapnon’s intent, Buyong Makabagting challenged him to a duel.
They fought and Buyong Makabagting was no match to Humadapnon’s
strength and skill. The fight ended when Buyong Makabagting
surrendered and even promised to aid Humadapnon in his quest.
Humadapnon married the goddess and brought her home.

Meanwhile, right after Humadapnon left to seek Saragnayan’s
followers and relatives, his brother Dumalapdap left for Burutlakan-ka-
adlaw where the maiden Lubay-Lubyok Hanginun si Mahuyokhuyokon
lived. For the trip he brought along Dumasig, the most powerful wrestler
in Madya-as.
Several months later they came to a place called Tarambuan-ka-
banwa where they encountered the two-headed monster Balanakon who
guarded a narrow ridge leading to the place where the maiden lived.

With the aid of Dumasig, Dumalapdap killed Balanakon. However,

upon approaching the gate of the palace where the maiden lived he was
confronted by Uyutang, a bat -like monster with sharp poisonous claws.
There ensued a bloody battle between the Dumalapdap and the monster.
They fought for seven months and their skill and prowess seemed to be
equal. But ankle

Uyutang’s on theand
seventh
broke month,
it. ThenDumalapdap
he took his was able
iwang to grab
daniwan on to
(magic
dagger) and stabbed Uyutang under the armpit. Uyutang cried out so loud
that the ridge where they were fighting broke into two, and there was an
earthquake. Half of the ridge became the island of Buglas (Negros) and
the other became the island of Panay.
Dumalapdap married Lubay-Lubyok Hanginun si Mahuyokhuyokan
and then took her home. Datu Paubari was very happy when he was
reunited with his three sons and he prepared a feast in their honor. After
the celebration, the three brothers left for different parts of the world.
Labaw Donggon went to the north, Humadapnon went south,
Dumalapdap to the west and Datu Paubari remained in the east.
Guide Questions:
1. Why did the council of the gods called by Maklium-sa-t’wan
decide to destroy Halawod by flood?

2. Who are the three sons of Alunsina and Datu Paubari?

3. What did Humadapnon do to win the hand of the daughter of

Datu Umbaw Pinaumbaw in marriage?

Although few, the surviving stories of your ancestors prove that the
Philippines was a lively nation with a rich indigenous heritage. These tales,
such as the Hinilawod , tell more than just stories of brave men and magical
creatures; they also illustrate the history of the country and the formation of
its values system. You see in the story the values of bravery, brotherhood,
friendship, and communal respect among the characters. You see also the
way society worked back then, which is important when you think about the
society you live in right now. How do these values shape you as a Filipino
today? How much has changed from the way Filipinos lived before and the
way we live now? The surviving records of your precolonial literature can
tell you not only about life in the past, but also in the present.
Big Idea
Epics have the special element of hyperbole. Filipinos
love listening to stories of high fantasy and adventure.
When you were younger, you were probably fond of
fantasy stories told by your parents and teachers or from the
ones you watch on TV.
What Have I Learned So Far?
1. What values have you picked up from “The Hinilawod”? Are these
values applicable to your experience today? Why or why not?

2. What can you say about the nature of precolonial literature in the
Philippines? What are its characteristics?

Spanish Colonial Philippine Literature

When the Spaniards Big Idea
came, there was an
immediate shift on the focus The Spanish influence is evident
of literature. It became not only in our literature but also in
centered on the Christian our language, tradition, religion,
faith,
naturaland the stories
phenomena about
suddenly food, music,
aspects. dance,
Because and
of the many
many more
years of
became all about the lives of Spanish colonization, the remnants of
saints and other religious the Spanish regime still run in our
hymns. Slowly, Philippine veins.
literature started to emulate
the traditional Spanish ways
of themes and forms in writing, including the repetitive plots and obvious
shadowy characters. Despite these changes, Filipinos still found a way to
make Spanish literature their own, as shown through these common kinds:

Corrido is a legendary religious narrative form that usually details the

lives of saints or the history of a tradition.
wit is
Awit
A is a chivalric poem about a hero, usually about a saint. It is also
usually sung and used in religious processions.
Pasyon is a narrative poem about the life of Jesus Christ, beginning
from
Lentenhisseason.
birth and up to
Many his death.
women were This is usually
trained before sung during the
to perform the
Pasyon. Nowadays, it is sung by seasoned performers in churches
nationwide.
Cenaculo is the dramatization of the passion of Christ. It highlights the
sufferings and death of Jesus Christ, and it is also done during the
Lenten season. A good example is the San Pedro Cutud Lenten Rites
in San Fernando, Pampanga, where fervent Catholics volunteer
themselves to be actually nailed to the cross to reenact the suffering of
Jesus Christ.
Moro-moro or Comedia de Capay Espada is a blood-and-thunder
melodrama depicting the conflict of Christians and Muslims. It is
usually about battles to the death and the proofs of faith.
Carillo is a play that uses shadows as its main spectacle. This is
created by animating figures made from cardboard, which are
projected onto a white screen.
Beyond Walls 1.2 Go Online
Track: Academic
Have you ever participated in Pasyon? Does your city or township
have its own rituals during Pasyon? Go online and look for unique rituals
that are done during the Holy Week by people all over the world.
Compare what you have found out to what is being done in your own city
or town during this week. Share what you have found online with the rest
of the class.

Tibag is
is the dramatic reenactment of St. Helena’s search for the Holy
Cross. St. Helena is the mother of Constantine and is oftentimes
credited to have influenced her son to be the great Christian leader he
is known for today.
today. She is also well-known to have traveled to Syria to
look for the relics of Jesus Christ’s cross, the one that was used in his
crucifixion.
country. It is also widely believed that she found it in the same
Duplo or
Duplo Karagatan are native dramas that are connected to Catholic
or Karagatan
mourning rituals and harvest celebrations.
Zarzuela is probably one of the most famous forms of entertainment
back in the Spanish era. Zarzuelas are musical comedies or
melodramas that deal with the elemental passions of human beings. A
zarzuela follows a certain plot, which shows either a satirical look at
society or a begrudged life.
These kinds of Spanish colonial literature show how welcoming your
Filipino ancestors were to the Catholic faith. Most of them were happy to
be baptized and immediately began to follow Catholicism’s
Catholicism’s traditions and
teachings. This faith and belief transcended up until now, because the
Philippines is the third largest Catholic nation in the world in terms of
population (after Brazil and Mexico). At the same time, these kinds of
literature also helped shape the literature that we have today, not only in
terms of faith, but also in terms of values system, societal norms, and
realizations about life.
Compare the precolonial literature and Spanish colonial literature in the

Philippines in terms of the following:
Points of Precolonial Philippine Spanish Colonial

Comparison Literature Philippine Literature

Forms
Themes
Purpose
Plots
Other significant
elements
Despite being colonized, most Filipinos back then still treasured the old
myths and folklores of their ancestors. One of these is Jose Rizal. Even
though he is an ilustrado (a Filipino student educated abroad), he still firmly
championed the literature of precolonial Philippines and had also spent time
researching on them. This is his retelling of a famous mysterious maiden
who once lived in the mountains of his hometown.

Mariang Makiling
As retold By
By Gat. Jose P.
P. Rizal in Northern Luzon

There are many stories woven about this guardian spirit. Most of them
deal with her helping the poor and the sick, in the guise of a peasant girl.
The precious things she lent the country folk are said to be returned to her,
along with the offering of a young pullet with feathers white as milk.

A hunter has recounted a face-to-face encounter with the enigma

herself. He was hunting a wild boar, he said, deep into the forest where
Mariang Makiling lived. The boar suddenly crashed into some bushes and
the hunter, fearing that he would not find it again, dived in after it When he
came to his feet he saw a small hut, and witnessed his prey entering it. He
followed
face withthe boar into maiden
a beautiful the hut, standing
thinking itbydeserted,
the boar,and thenwas
who he came
meek face to
in her
presence. The maiden
maiden said “This boar is mine and yo you
u must not harm it. But
I see that you are tired and hurt. Come in, eat, and then go your way.”
way.”
The hunter felt compelled to obey her. He sat down at her table, and she
served him a porridge that he found was unlike anything he had ever tasted.
It invigorated him, and after eating, he felt healed. As a parting gift,
Mariang Makiling filled his peasant hat, called a salakot , with yellow
ginger.
The hunter,
hunter, on his way home from the forest, found that his salakot was
was
growing heavier and heavier, and so he broke a few pieces of ginger in half
and threw some bits away. Upon coming home, he handed Maria
Makiling’s gifts to his wife, who found that the salakot , instead of
containing ginger, as her husband claimed, contained gold. The hunter
regretted having thrown away a few bits of ginger/ gold along the way.
Mariang Makiling is said to be more than compassionate. Once, there
lived a young farmer who always seemed to be blessed. His fields were
never touched by any calamity, and his livestock were always in good
health. The people of his village say he is endowed with a charm, or mutya,
as it is called,
himself was good thatatprotected him
heart and and his
simple from harm.
in spirit. But heThe
wasyoung
quiet man
and
secretive, and would not say much of his stranger activities, which included
frequent visits into the wood of Mariang Makiling.
He visited Mariang Big Idea
Makiling’s wood one last
time, a few days before his Learning about Filipino folklore
marriage. Mariang Makiling and myths is important in your
lent him a dress and some formation as a citizen of this country.
jewelry,, for his wife to wear
jewelry These stories show you what values
on their wedding day. “I were upheld in society before up to

would that you were now. For example, in “Mariang

consecrated to me,” she said Makiling,” the values of honesty,
sadly, “but you need an loyalty, and generosity are pointed
earthly love, and you do not out by Mariang Makiling, who trusts
have enough faith in me people.
besides. Iyoucould
protected and have
your
family.” This having been said, she disappeared. The young man went back
to his village with Mariang Makiling’s gifts, and presented them at once to
the girl he would marry.
But the girl did not care for Mariang Makiling’s gifts. Instead she wore
the pearls and dresses her mother had handed down.
Mariang Makiling was never seen by the peasants again, nor was her
humble hut ever rediscovered.
Source: http://www
http://www.philsites.net/folklor
.philsites.net/folklore/stories/legendl.html
e/stories/legendl.html
Reflect Upon
Fairies, witches, and enchanted women are common in TV shows,
films, and literature. What values of Maria Makiling are different from
other characters that you have encountered?

Beyond Walls 1.3 Apply It in Real Life
Track: Academic
It is the acquaintance party for faculty members in the university
where you have just joined as a professor
professor.. The theme for this year’s party
is Philippine folklore. Your task is to think of a character from
precolonial and Spanish colonial Philippine literature and create your
own costume that will fully represent your chosen character. Aside from
that, you will also prepare a short introduction of your character and give
a short description. Make sure that your introduction is both informative
and witty. There will be a fashion show showcasing the costumes, and
the deans of your university will be judging the best costume, the best
character, and the best introduction
introduction..
Your Knowledge
Extend Your K nowledge
1. If you are interested in further readings on Philippine precolonial

myths and legends, you may find an extensive annotated listing of
Philippine myths and legends through one of Damiana Eugenio’s
Eugenio’s
books. As the Mother
Mother of Phili
Philippine
ppine Folklo
Folklore,
re, Eugenio has compiled

and transcribed in English almost a thousand precolonial myths.

Some of her most popular books are Philippine Folk Literature:
Literature: The
Myths (University of the Philippines Press, 1994) and Philippine
Folk Literature: An Anthology (University of the Philippines Press,
1981).
2. You may also find some websites dedicated to Philippine myths,
legends, and folklore. A good example is the alamat . You can access
it here: http://folktales.webmanila.com/.
http://folktales.webmanila.com/. Currently
Currently,, it is still adding
more stories to the web page.
Essential Learning
The Philippine literary scene has been thriving even before the
country was colonized. The ageold values that Filipinos nowadays still
emulate
this have
epic, beenbrothers
three evident in precolonial
show their bravery, like the Hinilawod
literaturestrength, . In
wisdom, and
camaraderie to win against their opponents. In the end, they are rewarded
with a peaceful and bountiful life.
The colonization of Spain did not deter Philippine literature from
flourishing; instead, Philippine literature became richer and more
intricate. Writers such as Jose Rizal, despite being educated abroad as an
ilustrado, did not forget about their heritage and chose to transcribe some
of the more popular myths and folklore of their hometown, so that these
could be enjoyed by future generations. These writings, whether
precolonial or colonial, are to be cherished for they show the ever-
evolving lives of the Filipinos and the extensive colorful history of the
country. They can be used by future generations as sources of wisdom
and knowledge. Indeed, mapping the Philippine literary landscape of the
past can help young Filipinos like you to live your life meaningfully and
determine what you want for yourself-and the country-in the future.

Module
2 Poetry of the
Archipelago

1. Identify representative texts and authors from each region.
2. Emphasize the region I come from through the process of
research and a performance.
3. Analyze the figures of speech and other literary techniques
and devices in the text.
4. Identify common figures of speech used in Philippine poetry.
5. Explain the relationship of the context with the text's
meaning, how they enhance the text's meaning and enrich my
understanding.
Poetry is probably the most sophisticated of all literary genres. Your

Filipino ancestors, through oral tradition, shared epics, proverbs, riddles,
and folksongs in poetic form- with
with a specific form
formal
al scheme in which they
strictly followed.
followed. Writer and lite
literary
rary critic Gemin
Geminoo Abad has written that
the journey
journey to ccreating
reating a local poetic identity has been continually
transformed by the different colonizers who have stayed in the country and
the continued fascination with languages- be it English, Filipino, Visayan,
Bikolano, and so much more. Yet, poetry is still the chosen genre of many
local writers, for it offers a uniqueness that other genres may not achieve:
the opportunity to see the world anew, with every single written word.

The nongovernment organization (NGO) where you are working as a

volunteer is organizing its annual poetry event, which is the Tulaan sa
Paaralan. The goal of this project is to invite students to write poetry by
setting up a writeable space on the wall of your school. As initial content
of the wall, all volunteers are required to submit an entry. You may
follow any structure that you know in writing your poems, but the poems
should communicate the message of empowerment, experiences, and
rights of children. Write your “minds” and “hearts” out in the poems that
you will post on the wall, because the best poems, which will be decided
by the head of the organization,
organization, will be read by the writer during the
opening ceremony of the project.
Philippine Poetry: Its Form, Language, and

Speech
Poetry in the Philippines Big Idea
is not different from its other
counterparts around the Poetry is a reflection of the
world. In the early 1900s, country's history and changing
Filipino poetry celebrated lifestyles, values, and situations.
romanticism, and several Poems are full of emotion, so they
poems about love flourished. reflect what Filipinos are feeling at a
Eventually, as the years went given historical period. Poems also
on, poetry became more communicate the people's hopes for
—the emphasis of
formalist the future.
the poetry is more on the
form and language that the
poet used, rather than the theme itself. Then, modern poetry sprouted, and
nowadays, writers are more adventurous in their craft. Here are some
elements of poetry that local writers use in their poems.
Senses and images are used by the writer to describe their impressions
of their words
phrased topic or
to object
create of
an writing.
imagery The
that writer usescan
the reader carefully chosenhisand
see through or

her senses. The kinds of sense impressions in poetry are categorized in

mainly the following: visual imagery (what the writer wants you to see);
olfactory imagery (what the writer wants you to smell); gustatory imagery
(what the writer wants you to taste); tactile imagery (what the writer wants
you to feel); and auditory imagery (what the writer wants you to smell).
Diction is another important element in Filipino poetry. In fact, Filipino
writers are very careful of the way they write and the words they use to
form their poems. Diction is the denotative and connotative meaning of the
words in a sentence, phrase, paragraph, or poem.
Rhyme scheme is the way the author arranges words, meters, lines, and
stanzas to create a coherent sound when the poem is read out loud. It may
be formal or informal, depending on the way the poem was written by the
poet.
Senses, imagery, diction, and rhyme scheme are emphasized in this
canonical poem, “Gabu,” one of the most widely read local poems in
English by Carlos Angeles.
Fig. 2.1. Carlos Angeles

Source: http://www.oocities.org/phil_writers/AngelesC
arlos.jpg
Carlos Angeles was born on 25 May 1921 in Tacloban, Leyte. He

finished his undergraduate degree in the University of the Philippines. His
work has been included in poetry anthologies in the United States. His

poetry collection, Stun of Jewels, won the Republic Cultural Heritage

Award in Literature back in 1964; he also won the Don Carlos Palanca
Memorial Awards in Poetry in the same year. He is an active member of
many Filipino-American press clubs in the US, where he has lived most of
his life when he was alive. His poem “Gabu” is said to be one of the most
widely read and well-loved Filipino poems written in English.
Go to the following link and read the poem “Gabu” by Carlos Angeles:
http://www.luisaigloria.com
http://www.luisaigloria.com/some-poems-i-l
/some-poems-i-love-best/
ove-best/
Draw your visual imagery of “Gabu” as described in the poem on a

piece of paper.
paper. Then find more information about llocos and its beaches,
and try to guess which beach Carlos Angeles is talking about by
pertaining to the poem's imagery.
imagery. Compare and contrast the beach you
have envisioned and drawn versus the beach Carlos Angeles has written
about. How are they similar and different? Share your output with the
rest of the class.
Thebattering
by the poem is of
about
the arestless
coastline
sea.inSomehow
Ilocos that
Somehow, haspersona
, the been weathered away
of the poem is

able to relate it with one's situation in life. The line, "It is the sea pursues a
habit of shores," has many possible interpretations. Can you discuss with
your partner a possible interpretation that you have for that last line?
Now, can you guess the rhyming scheme of the poem? The poem has
Now,
four quatrains, with the last one offset by only one line that concludes the
poem quite well. Which lines rhyme with each other? How does this
rhyming scheme add to the beauty of the poem?
Another element of poetry used frequently is the idea of a speaker. The
speaker in the poem is the voice that talks to the reader.
reader. Sometimes, it refers
to itself as "I" or "me" or, sometimes, in the third person (she, he, his, her).
You should also note that the speaker is not necessarily the poet. The poet
may have a different persona in mind while writing the poem and may have
not taken the situations in the poem from his or her life experiences.
The structure of the poem is the arrangement of words and lines, either
together or apart. It also refers to the way the interdependent parts of it are
organized to form a whole poem.
Word order is
is either the natural or the unnatural arrangement of words
in a poem. A poet may use a word grammatically or not—often called as
poetic license —and may invent words too. Sometimes, as is common in
Filipino writers who write in English, Filipino poets use local words to add
more locality to a given poem. If the Filipino word also does not have a
direct English translation, then the poet may use the Filipino word and
italicize it for emphasis.
Filipino
of the poetry,
country, although
stands on its greatly
own wheninfluenced by to
it comes theitsprevious
unique colonizers
elements.
There is a certain voice that Filipino poetry offers—one which a fellow
Filipino like you can relate to, especially when you apply these in real life
situations.

Fig. 2.2. Marjorie Evasco

Source: http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/sites/default
http://www.southbankcentre.co .uk/sites/default
/files/parnassus/Poets/PHILIPPINES----
Evasco,-Marjorie-1-(1).jpg
Close Reading of Filipino Poetry

The concept of organic Big Idea
unity was established by the
New Criticism school of According to the New Criticism
thought. It says that all the school of thought, poetry must have
interdependent parts of a “organic unity”— everything must be
literary selection must add whole for it to be complete. This
up to create one whole. In concept means that all parts must be
literature, all the parts and accounted for and discoverable. In
aspects of a literary selection poetry,, this can be done through close
poetry
must contribute to one whole reading.
so crucially that if one part
or aspect went missing, the
literary selection cannot be complete or may not have the same meaning
anymore. To understand the organic unity of a poem, you must use the
process of close reading. Close reading is a way for you to analyze the
poem by carefully reading and rereading a text until you have found its
interpretation.
When you close read Filipino poetry, what must you look out for? You
may try to find the context of
of the poem—when it was written, the setting in

which it was written, the reason why it was written—for you to better
understand its idea. You may also look at its interdependent elements, as
was discussed previously, so that you may find visual clues to its meaning
through its rhyming scheme, overall structure, word order, and the like. You
may also try to identify who the persona is and who the persona is
dedicating the poem to. Again, the persona does not necessarily have to be
the author—it can be any face in local society, someone who fits the
descriptions in the poem quite well.
Try to close read this poem by Marjorie Evasco entitles “Is It the
Kingfisher?”
Marjorie Evasco was born in Bohol on 21 September 1953. She writes
bilingually in English and Cebuano-V
Cebuano-Visayan,
isayan, and is considered one of the
country’s earliest feminist poets. She has received numerous awards for her
poetry,, and in 2010, she received the prestigious South East Asian Write
poetry Write
Award (SEA Write). She is currently a professor emeritus og De La Salle
University—Manila.

Reflect Upon
Are there different ways that one may communicate with his or her
God? How can your relationship with God be reflected in your daily life?

The poem "Is It the Kingfisher?" analyzes the relationships one has with
anature.
Supreme
YouBeing,
shouldinread
a tropical islandpoems
and reread where such
everything seems to
as Evasco's clear through
understand
the depth of its meaning. The questions asked in the Reflect Upon section
are guide questions to help you closely read the poem. This time, try
reading the poem out loud with proper pronunciation and enunciation in
front of the class. If you have formed your own interpretation of the poem,
try reading it in line with your interpretation by putting emphasis and
feelings on the words and lines which you think are important to its central
message.
Another poem that is made for poetry recitation is Jose Garcia Villa's
"First, A Poem Must Be Magical."
Jose Garcia Villa is a National Artist for Literature who introduced the
reversed consonance rhyme scheme and the comma poems that used the
punctuation mark in poetry in innovative ways. He received the
Guggenheim, Bollingen, and the American Academy of Arts Big Idea
Letters Awards. Furthermore, he is credited to be a proponent of
experimentation and invention in poetry.
Recite this poem out Big Idea
loud with feelings, emotions,
We are created as different
proper pronunciation,
pronunciation
enunciation. Do you , think
and people, but we should always respect
your interpretation of the each other's differences. Do not throw
poem changed when you hate at people for being different.
read it out loud? Why or
why not? Go to
http://www.seasite.niu.edu/tagalog/literature/Poem
http://www.seasite.niu.edu/tagalog/literature/Poems/Others/First_A_Po
s/Others/First_A_Po
em_Must.htm
http://www.org/wp-contentjuploads/2015/06/Jose-Garcia-Villa.png

Reflect Upon
How can a poem be magical for you? Can you name some
characteristics that make a poem special and find their symbolism in the
poem?
Watch this crash course on prejudice and discrimination found at
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PoiP2Zm6a14.
following questions: Then answer the
1. What is implicit bias? How does this lead to prejudice and

discrimination?

2. Based on what you have watched, how can prejudice and

discrimination be avoided?

Ask the same questions you posed when you read the previous poem.
Who is the persona of the poem, and what is he or she professing about
poetry? What is theshow

used to effectively mainthe
figure of speech
poem's usedIsinthere
meaning? the poem, andinnovative
anything how is it
about the way the poem is written? How did you feel when you read it out
loud? Did the poem change its meaning and impact once you read it out
loud as opposed to just reading it?
Reflect Upon
What can you say about Jose Garcia Villa's style of writing in "First,
A
thePoem
effectMust
of theBestyle
Magical" in termsappeal
in the overall of language? What do you think was
of the poem?

1. What is organic unity? How is it important in understanding the

meaning of a poem?

2. Why is there a need to read a poem out loud?

3. What makes Filipino poetry unique?

Track: Academic
As a writer for a popular regional magazine, part of your job is to
translate popular poems into your regional language. Your editor has
given you two poems to translate into your regional language and has
asked you to choose one. You must try to make your translation accurate,

understandable, and unified, for this will be sent to the author and will be
published in a special issue.

Extend Y
Your
our Knowledge
K nowledge
There are many online poetry journals by Filipinos that have become
a good avenue for both young and established poets to reach their
readers. One of the well-known ones is the High Chair Journal
(http://www.highchair.com.ph/) and Plural Prose Journal

(http://www.pluralprosejournal.com). These journals are free and also

feature essays and comics. Choose an issue and have fun reading it!
Essential Learning
Filipino poetry is unique in its own composition. Despite having been
colonized for hundreds of years by different countries, the Philippines
has set itself apart with its own unique brand of poetry that may tackle
themes ranging from love to isolation, racial prejudice, one's close
relationship with God, natural disasters, and so much more.
There are ways to interpret poetry such as discussing different
elements that are present. These elements include word choice, form, and
imagery. You may also look at its organic unity to see how a poem's
interdependent parts work together to create a beautiful piece of art. The
best
properway to understand
pronunciation
pronunciation, a poem, however
, enunciation, however,, is to
and feelings. read are
Poems it out loudmeant
always with
to be read out loud, even in these modern times. More importantly, this
sampling of Filipino poetry has made you realize that on a global scale,
Filipino writers can stand on their own.

Module
The Landscape of Philippine
3
Fiction
1. Appreciate the contributions of the canonical Filipino writers
to the development of national literature.
2. Infer literary meaning from literal language based on usage.
contexts and
en rich my discuss how they enhance the text’s
understanding. text’s meaning and
4. Produce a creative representation of a literary text by applying

multimedia skills.
If there is one thing Filipinos love, it is a good dramatic story. Filipinos

can easily find themselves in one of the characters whom they watch on TV: TV:
the optimistic little girl who is tormented by evil relatives; the poor rich girl
who has everything but can never be as optimistic as the poor protagonist;
and evenlines
wittiest the antagonist
in the TV whoshow.hasAside
a vendetta against
from this, everyone
Filipinos alsobutrelate
gets the
the
situations in
in the st
story
ory to certain parts of their lives, such as the
th e longing for a
lost parent or
parent or chil
child,
d, the death of a relative, or a dramatic lovelov e story that is
against the world. One of the most popular telenovelas in Philippine
television is Mara Clara. Did you watch this telenovela? Did you like the
story?

Fig. 3.1. Mara Clara

Source: http://www2.abs-cbn.com/Portals/O/Shows/showmain-
maraclara.jpg
No matter how much Filipinos see themselves and their situations in
popular TV shows, the fact remains that these are all products of fiction. A
fiction is a story that is entirely made up and is not true. At times, fiction
may resemble reality,
reality, but it is purely circumstantial. In Philippine literature,
there are many stories that have shaped the way Filipinos read and view
their surroundings. A good example is Jose Rizal’s books, Noli Me Tangere
and El Filibusterismo. These novels are a long and sustained critical story
about the Spanish rule. Another good example is through short stories such
as the ones in this module. These selected short stories have had an
extensive influence on Philippine literature and society. So don’t be
surprised if they have also influenced television and popular culture!
So, what are the common techniques used by these short stories? What
follows in this module are some of the best short stories written in
Philippine literature, a brief background about their authors, and more
information about the world of fiction.
Techniques of Fiction
Fiction, just like any Big Idea
good story, starts with a great
character. The character of

the story is the one you Fiction is an essential mark of

relate with, converse with, or storytelling that takes what appears to
listen to the thoughts of. This be real, speculative, and imaginative
character and the way he or into a cohesive story that connects
she changes as the story with readers. Fiction is essential
progresses become the because it may enhance your
driving force if fiction—the creativity and imagination, which can
reason that you as a reader influence other aspects of your life as
will be interested or well.
disinterested as you read.
The character may be kind,
rich, confusing, annoying, bratty, complicated, ever-changing, and so on. In
the end, the character of a short story still holds the key to whether the
fiction will be good or not.
Sometimes, characters also serve as symbols of a story. What is
symbolism in fiction? A short story may use a character, object, or event to
signify something else from its original meaning. A character may
symbolize a community or an event in history. Two characters interacting in
a story may symbolize the conflict or union between two different societies.
There are times when you may not be sure what the symbolisms in a given
story are. As the reader, you need to examine these symbols and come up
with your own interpretations.
Paz Marquez Benitez is a Filipina short-story writer who was an
influential figure to many Filipino writers in the contemporary era, such as
Loreto Paras Sulit, Paz Latorena, Bienvenido Santos, Manuel Arguilla, and
S. P. Lopez. In fact, National Artist Francisco Arcellana dubbed her “the
mother of us all,” as she was one of the very first Filipino short-story
writers to write in English. She authorized the first Filipino modern
English-language
English-langu age short story titled “Dead Stars.”

Fig. 3.2. Paz Marquez Benitez

Source: https://kahimyang.com/kauswagan/articles/972
/today-in-philippine-history-march-3-1894-
paz-marquezbenitez-was-born-in-lucena
paz-marquezbenitez -was-born-in-lucena-city-
-city-
quezon
Read “Dead Stars” by Paz Marquez Benitez.

Dead Stars
By Paz Marquez Benitez

Benitez
THROUGH
room, the open window
quietly enveloping the air-steeped
him, stealing outdoors
into his very passed
thought. into his
Esperanza,

Julia, the sorry mess he had made of life, the years to come even now
beginning to weigh down, to crush-they lost concreteness, diffused into
formless melancholy. The tranquil murmur of conversation issued from
the brick-tiled azotea where Don Julian and Carmen were busy puttering
away among the rose pots.
“Papa, and when will the ’long table’ be set?”
“I don’t know yet. Alfredo is not very specific, but I understand
Esperanza wants it to be next month.”
Carmen sighed impatiently. “Why is he not a bit more decided, I
wonder. He is over thirty, is he not? And still a bachelor! Esperanza must
be tired waiting.”
“She does not seem to be in much of a hurry either,” Don Julian
nasally commented, while his rose scissors busily snipped away
away..
“How can a woman be in a hurry when the man does not hurry her?”
Carmen returned, pinching off a worm with a careful, somewhat absent
air.. “Papa, do you remember how much in love he was?”
air
“In love? With whom?”
“With Esperanza, of course. He has not had another love affair that I
know of,” she said with good-natured contempt. “What I mean is that at
the beginning he was enthusiastic-flowers, serenades, notes, and things
like that—”
Alfredo remembered that period with a wonder not unmixed with
shame. That was less than four years ago. He could not understand those
months of a great hunger that was not of the body nor yet of the mind, a
craving that had seized on him one quiet night when the moon was
abroad and under the dappled shadow of the trees in the plaza, man
wooed maid. Was he being cheated by life? Love-he seemed to have
missed it. Or was the love that others told about a mere fabrication of
perfervid imagination, an exaggeration of the commonplace, a
glorification of insipid monotonies such as made up his love life? Was
love a combination of circumstances, or sheer native capacity of soul? In
those days love was, for him, still the eternal puzzle; for love, as he knew
it, was a stranger to love as he divined it might be.

Sitting quietly in his room now, he could almost revive the

restlessness of those days, the feeling of tumultuous haste, such as he
knew so well in his boyhood when something beautiful was going on
somewhere and he was trying to get there in time to see. “Hurry, hurry, or
you will miss it,” someone had seemed to urge in his ears. So he had
avidly seized on the shadow of Love and deluded himself for a long
while in the way of humanity from time immemorial. In the meantime,
he became very much engaged to Esperanza.
Why would men so mismanage their lives? Greed, he thought, was
what ruined so many. Greed-the desire to crowd into a moment all the
enjoyment it will hold, to squeeze from the hour all the emotion it will
yield. Men commit themselves when but half-meaning to do so,
sacrificing possible future fullness of ecstasy to the craving for
immediate excitement. Greed-mortgaging the future-forcing the hand of
Time, or of Fate.
“What do you think happened?” asked Carmen, pursuing her thought.
“I supposed long-engaged people are like that; warm now, cool
tomorrow. I think they are oftener cool than warm. The very fact that an
engagement has been allowed to prolong itself argues a certain placidity
of temperament—or of affection—on the part of either, or both.” Don
Julian loved to philosophize. He was talking now with an evident relish
in words, his resonant, very nasal voice toned down to monologue pitch.
“That phase you were speaking of is natural enough for a beginning.
Besides, that, as I see it, was Alfredo’
Alfredo’ss last race with escaping youth—”
Carmen laughed aloud at the thought of her brother’s perfect physical
repose—almost indolence—disturbed in the role suggested by her
father’s figurative language.
“A last spurt of hot blood,” finished the old man.
Few certainly would credit Alfredo Salazar with hot blood. Even his
friends had amusedly diagnosed his blood as cool and thin, citing
incontrovertible evidence. Tall and slender, he moved with an indolent
ease that verged on grace. Under straight recalcitrant hair, a thin face
with a satisfying breadth of forehead, slow, dreamer’s eyes, and
astonishing freshness of lips-indeed Alfredo Salazar’s appearance

betokened little of exuberant masculinity; rather a poet with wayward

humor,, a fastidious artist with keen, clear brain.
humor
He rose and quietly went out of the house. He lingered a moment on
the stone steps; then went down the path shaded by immature acacias,
through the little tarred gate which he left swinging back and forth, now
opening, now closing, on the gravel road bordered along the farther side
by madre cacao hedge in tardy lavender bloom.
The gravel road narrowed as it slanted up to the house on the hill,
whose wide, open porches he could glimpse through the heat-shrivelled
tamarinds in the Martinez yard.
Six weeks ago that house meant nothing to him save that it was the
Martinez house, rented and occupied by Judge del Valle and his family.
Six weeks ago Julia Salas meant nothing to him; he did not even know
her name; but now—
One evening he had gone “neighboring” with Don Julian; a rare
enough occurrence, since he made it a point to avoid all appearance of
currying favor with the Judge. This particular evening however, he had
allowed himself to be persuaded. “A little mental relaxation now and
then is beneficial,” the old man had said. “Besides, a judge’s good will,
you know;” the rest of the thought—“is worth a rising young lawyer’s
trouble”—Don Julian conveyed through a shrug and a smile that derided
his own worldly wisdom.
A young woman had met them at the door. It was evident from the
excitement of theIn Judge’s
welcome arrival. children Filipino
the characteristic that she way
wasformal
a recent and very
introductions
had been omitted-the judge limiting himself to a casual “ Ah, ya se
conocen?”—with the consequence that Alfredo called her Miss del Valle
throughout the evening.
He was puzzled that she should smile with evident delight every time
he addressed her thus. Later Don Julian informed him that she was not
the Judge’s sister, as he had supposed, but his sister-in-law, and that her
name was Julia Salas. A very dignified rather austere name, he thought.
Still, the young lady should have corrected him. As it was, he was greatly
embarrassed, and felt that he should explain.

To his apology, she replied, “That is nothing. Each time I was about
to correct you, but I remembered a similar experience I had once before.”
“Oh,” he drawled out, vastly relieved.
“A man named Manalang—I kept calling him Manalo. After the tenth
time or so, the young man rose from his seat and said suddenly, ’Pardon
me, but my name is Manalang, Manalang.’ You know, I never forgave
him!”
He laughed with her.
“The best thing to do under the circumstances, I have found out,” she
pursued, “is to pretend not to hear,
hear, and to let the other person find out his
mistake without help.”
“As you did this time. Still, you looked amused every time I—”
“I was thinking of Mr. Manalang.”
Reflect Upon
Have you ever been in a situation when you experienced a
miscommunication with another person’s name, just like what
happened to Alfredo and Julia? What did you do, or what will you do
if you ever get caught up in the same situation?

Don Julian and his uncommunicative friend, the Judge, were

absorbed in a game of chess. The young man had tired of playing
appreciative spectator and desultory conversationalist, so he and Julia
Salas had gone off to chat in the vine-covered porch. The lone piano in
the neighborhood alternately tinkled and banged away as the player’s

moods altered. He listened, and wondered irrelevantly if Miss Salas

could sing; she had such a charming speaking voice.
He was mildly surprised to note from her appearance that she was
unmistakably a sister of the Judge’s wife, although Doña Adela was of a
different type altogether. She was small and plump, with wide brown
eyes, clearly defined eyebrows, and delicately modeled hips-a pretty
woman with the complexion of a baby and the expression of a likable
cow. Julia was taller, not so obviously pretty. She had the same eyebrows
and lips, but she was much darker, of a smooth rich brown with
underlying tones of crimson which heightened the impression she gave of
abounding vitality.
On Sunday mornings after mass, father and son would go crunching
up the gravel road to the house on the hill. The Judge’s wife invariably
offered them beer,
beer, which Don Julian enjoyed and Alfredo did not. After a
half
Juliahour or would
Salas so, the go
chessboard would
out to the be brought
porch to chat.out;
Shethen
sat Alfredo
in the and
low
hammock and he in a rocking chair and the hours-warm, quiet March
hours-sped by. He enjoyed talking with her and it was evident that she
liked his company; yet what feeling there was between them was so
undisturbed that it seemed a matter of course. Only when Esperanza
chanced to ask him indirectly about those visits did some uneasiness
creep into his thoughts of the girl next door.
Esperanza had wanted to know if he went straight home after mass.
Alfredo suddenly realized that for several Sundays now he had not
waited for Esperanza to come out of the church as he had been wont to
do. He had been eager to go “neighboring.”
He answered that he went home to work. And, because he was not
habitually untruthful, added, “Sometimes I go with Papa to Judge del
Valle’s.”
She dropped the topic. Esperanza was not prone to indulge in
unprovoked jealousies. She was a believer in the regenerative virtue of
institutions, in their power to regulate feeling as well as conduct. If a man
were married, why, of course, he loved his wife; if he were engaged, he
could not possibly love another woman.

That half-lie told him what he had not admitted openly to himself,
that he was giving Julia Salas something which he was not free to give.
He realized that; yet something that would not be denied beckoned
imperiously, and he followed on.
It was so easy to forget up there, away from the prying eyes of the
world, so easy and so poignantly sweet. The beloved woman, he standing
close to her, the shadows around, enfolding.
“Up here I find-something—”
He and Julia Salas stood looking out into the she quiet night. Sensing
unwanted intensity, laughed, woman-like, asking, “Amusement?”
“No; youth-its spirit—”
“Are you so old?”
“And heart’s desire.”
Was he becoming a poet, or is there a poet lurking in the heart of
every man?
“Down there,” he had continued, his voice somewhat indistinct, “the
road is too broad, too trodden by feet, too barren of mystery.”
“Down there” beyond the ancient tamarinds lay the road, upturned to
the stars. In the darkness the fireflies glimmered, while an errant breeze
strayed in from somewhere, bringing elusive, faraway sounds as of
voices in a dream.
“Mystery—” she answered lightly,

lightly, “that is so brief—”
“Not in some,” quickly. “Not in you.”
“You have known me a few weeks; so the mystery.”
“I could study you all my life and still not find it.”
“So long?”
“I should like to.”
Those six weeks were now so swift—seeming in the memory,
memory, yet had
they been so deep in the living, so charged with compelling power and
sweetness. Because neither the past nor the future had relevance or

meaning, he lived only the present, day by day, lived it intensely, with
such a willful shutting out of fact as astounded him in his calmer
moments.
Just before Holy Week, Don Julian invited the judge and his family to
spend Sunday afternoon at Tanda where he had a coconut plantation and
a house on the beach. Carmen also came with her four energetic children.
She and Doa Adela spent most of the time indoors directing the
preparation of the merienda and discussing the likeable absurdities of
their husbands—how Carmen’s Vicente was so absorbed in his farms that
he would not even take time off to accompany her on this visit to her
father; how Doa Adela’s Dionisio was the most absentminded of men,
sometimes going out without his collar,
collar, or with unmatched socks.
After the merienda, Don Julian sauntered off with the judge to show
him what a thriving young coconut looked like—"plenty of leaves, close
set, rich green"—while

unending entertainment inthe
thechildren, convoyed
rippling sand left byby
theJulia Salas,
ebbing tide. found
They
were far down, walking at the edge of the water, indistinctly outlined
against the gray of the out-curving beach.
Alfredo left his perch on the bamboo ladder of the house and
followed. Here were her footsteps, narrow,
narrow, arched. He laughed at himself
for his black canvas footwear which he removed forthwith and tossed
high up on dry sand.
When he came up, she flushed, then smiled with frank pleasure.
“I hope you are enjoying this,” he said with a questioning inflection.

inflection.
“Very much. It looks like home to me, except that we do not have
such a lovely beach.”
There was a breeze from the water. It blew the hair away from her
forehead, and whipped the tucked-up skirt around her straight, slender
figure. In the picture was something of eager freedom as of wings poised
in flight The girl had grace, distinction. Her face was not notably pretty;
yet she had a tantalizing charm, all the more compelling because it was
an inner quality, an achievement of the spirit. The lure was there, of
naturalness, of an alert vitality of mind and body, of a thoughtful, sunny
temper,, and of a piquant perverseness which is sauce to charm.
temper

“The afternoon has seemed very short, hasn’t it?” Then, “This, I
think, is the last time-we can visit.”
“The last? Why?”
“Oh, you will be too busy perhaps.”
He noted an evasive quality in the answer.
“Do I seem especially industrious to you?”
“If you are, you never look it.”
“Not perspiring or breathless, as a busy man ought to be.”
“But—”
“Always unhurried, too unhurried, and calm.” She smiled to herself.
“I wish that were true,” he said after a meditative pause.
She waited.
“A man is happier if he is, as you say, calm and placid.”
“Like a carabao in a mud pool,” she retorted perversely
“Who? I?”
“Oh,no!”
“You said I am calm and placid.”
“That is what I think.”
“I used to think so too. Shows how little we know ourselves.”

It was strange to him that he could be wooing thus: with tone and
look and covert phrase.
“I should like to see your home town.”
“There is nothing to see—little crooked streets, bunut roofs
roofs with ferns
growing on them, and sometimes squashes.”
That was the background. It made her seem less detached, less
unrelated, yet withal more distant, as if that background claimed her and
excluded him.
“Nothing? There is you.”

“Oh, me? But I am here.”

“I will not go, of course, until you are there.”
“Will you come? You will find it dull. There isn’t even one American
there!”
“Well—Americans
“Well—Americans are rather essential to my entertainment.”
She laughed.
“Wee live on Calle Luz, a little street with trees.”
“W
“Could I find that?”
“If you don’t ask for Miss del Valle," she smiled teasingly.
“111 inquire about—”
“What?”
“The house of the prettiest girl in the town.”
“There is where you will lose your way." Then she turned serious.
“Now, that is not quite sincere.”
“It is," he averred slowly, but emphatically.
“I thought you, at least, would not say such things.”
“Pretty—pretty—a foolish word! But there is none other more handy
I did not mean that quite—”
“Are you withdrawing the compliment?”
“Re-enforcing it, maybe. Something is pretty when it pleases the eye
—it is more than that when—”
“If it saddens?" she interrupted hastily.
“Exactly.”
“It must be ugly.”
“Always?”
Toward the west, the sunlight lay on the dimming waters in a broad,
glinting streamer of crimsoned gold.

“No, of course you are right.”

“Why did you say this is the last time?" he asked quietly as they
turned back.
“I am going home.”
The end of an impossible dream!
“When?" after a long silence.
“Tomorrow. I received a letter from Father and Mother yesterday.
They want me to spend Holy Week at home.”
She seemed to be waiting for him to speak. “That is why I said this is
the last time.”
“Can’t I come to say good-bye?”
“Oh, you don’t need to!”
“No, but I want to.”
“There is no time.”
The golden streamer was withdrawing, shortening, until it looked no
more than a pool far away at the rim of the world. Stillness, a vibrant
quiet that affects the senses as does solemn harmony; a peace that is not
contentment but a cessation of tumult when all violence of feeling tones
down to the wistful serenity of regret. She turned and looked into his
face, in her dark eyes a ghost of sunset sadness.
“Home seems so far from here. This is almost like another life.”
“I know. This is Elsewhere, and yet strange enough, I cannot get rid
of the old things.”
“Old things?”
“Oh, old things, mistakes, encumbrances, old baggage." He said it
lightly, unwilling to mar the hour. He walked close, his hand sometimes
touching hers for one whirling second.
Don Julian’s nasal summons came to them on the wind.
Alfredo gripped the soft hand so near his own. At his touch, the girl
turned her face away, but he heard her voice say very low, “Good-bye.”

II
ALFREDO Salazar turned to the right where, farther on, the road
broadened and entered the heart of the town-heart of Chinese stores
sheltered under low-hung roofs, of indolent drug stores and tailor shops,
of dingy shoe-repairing
cubbyhole establishments,
where a consumptive bent over aand a cluttered
magnifying lens; goldsmith’s
heart of old
brick-roofed houses with quaint hand-and-ball knockers on the door;
heart of grass-grown plaza reposeful with trees, of ancient church and
convento, now circled by swallows gliding in flight as smooth and soft as
the afternoon itself. Into the quickly deepening twilight, the voice of the
biggest of the church bells kept ringing its insistent summons. Flocking
came the devout with their long wax candles, young women in vivid
apparel (for this was Holy Thursday and the Lord was still alive), older
women in sober black skirts. Came too the young men in droves,
elbowing each other under the talisay tree near the church door
door.. The gaily
decked rice-paper lanterns were again on display while from the
windows of the older houses hung colored glass globes, heirlooms from a
day when grasspith wicks floating in coconut oil were the chief lighting
device.
Soon a double row of Big Idea
lights emerged from the
church and uncoiled down Good-byes can be difficult
the length of the street like because we want to share a physical
a huge jewelled band space with the people close to us,
studded with theglittering

clusters where saints’ but at thething.
a natural same The
time,best
good-byes
thing to are
do
platforms were. Above the when people say good-bye is to
measured music rose the wave back and wish to see them
untutored voices of the again.
choir, steeped in incense
and the acrid fumes of
burning wax.
The sight of Esperanza and her mother sedately pacing behind Our
Lady of Sorrows suddenly destroyed the illusion of continuity and broke
up those lines of light into component individuals. Esperanza stiffened
self-consciously, tried to look unaware, and could not.

The line moved on.

Suddenly, Alfredo’s slow blood began to beat violently, irregularly. A
girl was coming down the line-a girl that was striking, and vividly alive,
the woman that could cause violent commotion in his heart, yet had no
place in the completed
completed ordering of his life.
Her glance of abstracted devotion fell on him and came to a brief
stop.
The line kept moving on, wending its circuitous route away from the
church and then back again, where, according to the old proverb, all
processions end.
At last Our Lady of Sorrows entered the church, and with her the
priest and the choir,
choir, whose voices now echoed from the arched ceiling.
The bells rang the close of the procession.
A round orange moon, “huge as a winnowing basket,” rose lazily into

a clear sky, whitening the iron roofs and dimming the lanterns at the
windows. Along the still densely shadowed streets the young women
with their rear guard of males loitered and, maybe, took the longest way
home.
Toward the end of the row of Chinese stores, he caught up with Julia
Salas. The crowd had dispersed into the side streets, leaving Calle Real to
those who lived farther out. It was past eight, and Esperanza would be
expecting him in a little while: yet the thought did not hurry him as he
said “Good evening” and fell into step with the girl.
“I had been thinking all this time that you had gone," he said in a
voice that was both excited and troubled.
“No, my sister asked me to stay until they are ready to go.”
“Oh, is the Judge going?”
“Yes.”
The provincial docket had been cleared, and Judge del Valle had been
assigned elsewhere. As lawyer—and as lover—Alfredo had found that
out long before.

“Mr. Salazar," she broke into his silence, “I wish to congratulate

you.”
Her tone told him that she had learned, at last. That was inevitable.
“For what?”
“For your approaching
a pproaching wedding.”
Some explanation was due her, surely. Yet what could he say that
would not offend?
“I should have offered congratulations long before, but you know
mere visitors are slow about getting the news," she continued.
He listened not so much to what she said as to the nuances in her
voice. He heard nothing to enlighten him, except that she had reverted to
the formal tones of early acquaintance. No revelation there; simply the
old voice—cool, almost detached from personality, flexible and vibrant,
suggesting potentialities of song.
“Are weddings interesting to you?" he finally brought out quietly
“When they are of friends, yes.”
“Would you come if I asked you?”
“When is it going to be?”
“May," he replied briefly, after a long pause.
“May is the month of happiness they say," she said, with what
seemed to him a shade of irony.
“They say," slowly, indifferently. “Would you come?”
“Why not?”
“No reason. I am just asking. Then you will?”
“If you will ask me," she said with disdain.
“Then I ask you.”
“Then I will be there.”
The gravel road lay before them; at the road’s end the lighted
windows of the house on the hill. There swept over the spirit of Alfredo

Salazar a longing so keen that it was pain, a wish that, that house were
his, that all the bewilderments of the present were not, and that this
woman by his side were his long wedded wife, returning with him to the
peace of home.
“Julita," he said in his slow, thoughtful manner, “did you ever have to
choose between something you wanted to do and something you had to
do?”
“No!”
“I thought maybe you had had that experience; then you could
understand a man who was in such a situation.”
“You are fortunate," he pursued when she did not answer.
“Is—is this man sure of what he should do?”
“I don’t know, Julita. Perhaps not. But there is a point where a thing
escapes us and rushes downward of its own weight, dragging us along.
Then it is foolish to ask whether one will or will not, because it no longer
depends on him.”
“But then why—why—" her muffled voice came. “Oh, what do I
know? That is his problem after all.”
“Doesn’t it—interest you?”
“Why must it? I—I have to say good-bye, Mr. Salazar; we are at the
house.”
Without lifting her eyes she quickly turned and walked away.
Had the final word been said? He wondered. It had. Yet a feeble
flutter of hope trembled in his mind though set against that hope were
three years of engagement, a very near wedding, perfect understanding
between the parents, his own conscience, and Esperanza herself-
Esperanza waiting, Esperanza no longer young, Esperanza the efficient,
the literal-minded, the intensely acquisitive.
He looked attentively at her where she sat on the sofa, appraisingly,
and with a kind of aversion which he tried to control.

She was one of those fortunate women who have the gift of
uniformly acceptable appearance. She never surprised one with
unexpected homeliness nor with startling reserves of beauty. At home, in
church, on the street, she was always herself, a woman past first bloom,
light and clear of complexion, spare of arms and of breast, with a slight
convexity to thin throat; a woman dressed with self-conscious care, even
elegance; a woman distinctly not average.
She was pursuing an indignant relation about something or other,
something about Calixta, their note-carrier, Alfredo perceived, so he
merely half-listened, understanding imperfectly. At a pause he drawled
out to fill in the gap: “Well, what of it?” The remark sounded ruder than
he had intended.
“She is not married to him," Esperanza insisted in her thin, nervously
pitched voice. “Besides, she should
should have thought of us. Nan
Nanayay practically
brought her up. We
We never thought
thought she would turn
turn out bad.”
What had Calixta done? Homely, middle-aged Calixta?
“You are very positive about her badness," he commented dryly.
Esperanza was always positive.
“But do you approve?”
“Of what?”
“What she did.”
“No," indifferently.
“Well?”
He was suddenly impelled by a desire to disturb the unvexed
orthodoxy of her mind. “All I say is that it is not necessarily wicked.”
“Why shouldn’t it be? You talked like an—immoral man. I did not
know that your ideas were like that.”
“My ideas?" he retorted, goaded by a deep, accumulated
exasperation. ’’The only test I wish to apply to conduct is the test of
fairness. Am I injuring anybody? No? Then I am justified in my
conscience.
that I am
it? It may be right.
wrong, Living with it
and again a may
man to whom she is not married—is
not.”

“She has injured us. She was ungrateful." Her voice was tight with
resentment.
“The trouble with you, Esperanza, is that you are—" he stopped,
appalled by the passion in his voice.
“Why do you get angry? I do not understand you at all! I think I

know why you have been indifferent to me lately. I am not blind, or deaf;
I see and hear what perhaps some are trying to keep from me." The blood
surged into his very eyes and his hearing sharpened to points of acute
pain. What would
would she say next?
“Why don’t you speak out frankly before it is too late? You need not
think of me and of what people will say." Her voice trembled.
Alfredo was suffering as he could not remember ever having suffered
before. What people will say—what will they not say? What don’t they
say when long engagements are broken almost on the eve of the
wedding?
“Yes," he said hesitatingly, diffidently, as if merely thinking aloud,
“one tries to be fair—according to his lights—but it is hard. One would
like to be fair to one’s self first. But that is too easy, one does not dare—”
“What do you mean?" she asked with repressed violence. “Whatever
my shortcomings, and no doubt they are many in your eyes, I have never
gone out of my way, of my place, to find a man.”
Did she mean by this irrelevant remark that he it was who had sought
her; or was that a covert attack on Julia
J ulia Salas?
“Esperanza—" a desperate plea lay in his stumbling words. “If you—
suppose I—” Yet how could a mere man word such a plea?
“If you mean you want to take back your word, if you are tired of—
why don’t you tell me you are tired of me?" she burst out in a storm of
weeping that left him completely shamed and unnerved.
The last word had been said.

Why is the story entitled “Dead Stars”? What does the title
symbolize?
III
AS Alfredo
settling over theSalazar leaned
lake, he against iftheEsperanza
wondered boat rail to watchattribute
would the evening
any
significance to this trip of his. He was supposed to be in Sta. Cruz
whither the case of the People of the Philippine Islands vs. Belina et al
had kept him, and there he would have been if Brigida Samuy had not
been so important to the defense. He had to find that elusive old woman.
That the search was leading him to that particular lake town which was
Julia Salas’ home should not disturb him unduly Yet he was disturbed to
a degree utterly out of proportion to the prosaicalness of his errand. That
inner tumult was no surprise to him; in the last eight years he had become
used to such occasional storms. He had long realized that he could not
forget Julia Salas. Still, he had tried to be content and not to remember
too much. The climber of mountains who has known the back-break, the
lonesomeness, and the chill, finds a certain restfulness in level paths
made easy to his feet. He looks up sometimes from the valley where
settles the dusk of evening, but he knows he must not heed the radiant
beckoning. Maybe,
Maybe, in time, he would cease even tto o look up.
He was not unhappy in his marriage. He felt no rebellion: only the
calm of capitulation to what he recognized as irresistible forces of
circumstance and of character. His life had simply ordered itself; no more
struggles, no of
his capacity more stirring detachment
complete up of emotions that got aa man
he derived nowhere.
strange solace.From
The

essential himself, the himself that had its being in the core of his thought,
would, he reflected, always be free and alone. When claims encroached
too insistently,
insistently, as sometimes they did, he retreated into the inner fastness,
and from that vantage he saw things and people around him as remote
and alien, as incidents that did not matter. At such times did Esperanza
feel baffled and helpless; he was gentle, even tender, but immeasurably
far away, beyond her reach.
Lights were springing into life on the shore. That was the town, a
little up-tilted town nestling in the dark greenness of the groves. A
snubcrested belfry stood beside the ancient church. On the outskirts the
evening smudges glowed red through the sinuous mists of smoke that
rose and lost themselves in the purple shadows of the hills. There was a
young moon which grew slowly luminous as the coral tints in the sky
yielded to the darker blues of evening.
Theripples
golden vessel on
approached the .landing
the dark water.
water Peculiarquietly, trailing acame
hill inflections wake
to of
his long
ea
ears
rs
from the crowd assembled to meet the boat-slow, singing cadences,
characteristic of the Laguna lake-shore speech. From where he stood he
could not distinguish faces, so he had no way of knowing whether the
presidente was there to meet him or n not.
ot. Just then a voice shouted.
“Is the abogado there? Abogado!”
“What abogado?" someone irately asked.
That must be the presidente, he thought, and went down to the
landing.
It was a policeman, a tall pock-marked individual. The presidente had
left with Brigida Samuy—Tandang “Binday”—that noon for Santa Cruz.
Señor Salazar’s second letter had arrived late, but the wife had read it and
said, “Go and meet the abogado and invite him to our house.”
Alfredo Salazar courteously declined the invitation. He would sleep
on board since the boat would leave at four the next morning anyway. So
the presidente had received his first letter? Alfredo did not know because
that official had not sent an answer. “Yes,” the policeman replied, “but he
could not
Antonio so write because
we went wefind
there to heard
her.”that Tandang Binday was in San

San Antonio was up in the hills! Good man, the presidente! He,
Alfredo, must do something for him. It was not every day that one met
with such willingness to help.
Eight o’clock, lugubriously tolled from the bell tower, found the boat
settled into a somnolent quiet. A cot had been brought out and spread for
him, but it was too bare to be inviting at that hour. It was too early to
sleep: he would walk around the town. His heart beat faster as he picked
his way to shore over the rafts made fast to sundry piles driven into the
water.
How peaceful the town was! Here and there a little tienda was still
open, its dim light issuing forlornly through the single window which
served as counter. An occasional couple sauntered by, the women’s
chinelas making scraping sounds. From a distance came the shrill voices
of children playing games on the street—tubigan perhaps, or “hawk-and-
chicken.”
pitying The thought of Julia Salas in that quiet place filled him with a
sadness.
How would life seem now if he had married Julia Salas? Had he
meant anything to her? That unforgettable red-and-gold afternoon in
early April haunted him with a sense of incompleteness as restless as
other unlaid ghosts. She had not married—why? Faithfulness, he
reflected, was not a conscious effort at regretful memory. It was
something unvolitional, maybe a recurrent awareness of irreplaceability.
Irrelevant trifles—a cool wind on his forehead, far-away sounds as of
voices in a dream—at times moved him to an oddly irresistible impulse
to listen as to an insistent, unfinished prayer
prayer..
A few inquiries led him to a certain little tree-ceilinged street where
the young moon wove indistinct filigrees of fight and shadow. In the
gardens the cotton tree threw its angular shadow athwart the low stone
wall; and in the cool, stilly midnight the cock’s first call rose in tall,
soaring jets of sound. Calle Luz.
Somehow or other, he had known that he would find her house
because she would surely be sitting at the window
window.. Where else, before
bedtime on a moonlit night? The house was low and the light in the sala
behind
saw herher threw
start her head
of vivid into unmistakable relief. He sensed rather than
surprise.

“Good evening," he said, raising his hat.

“Good evening. Oh! Are you in town?”
“On some little business," he answered with a feeling of painful
constraint.
“Won’t you come up?”
He considered. His vague plans had not included this. But Julia Salas
had left the window, calling to her mother as she did so. After a while,
someone came downstairs with a lighted candle to open the door. At last
—he was shaking her
her hand.
She had not changed much—a little less slender, not so eagerly alive,
yet something had gone. He missed it, sitting opposite her, looking
thoughtfully
thoughtfully into her fine dark eyes. She asked him about the home town,
about this and that, in a sober, somewhat meditative tone. He conversed
with increasing ease, though with a growing wonder that he should be
there at all. He could not take his eyes from her face. What had she lost?
Or was the loss his? He felt an impersonal curiosity creeping into his
gaze. The girl must have noticed, for her cheek darkened in a blush.
Gently—was it experimentally?—he pressed her hand at parting; but
his own felt undisturbed and emotionless. Did she still care? The answer
to the question hardly interested him.
The young moon had set, and from the uninviting cot he could see
one half of a star-studded sky.
So that was all over.
Why had he obstinately clung to that dream?
So all these years—since when?—he had been seeing the light of
dead stars, long extinguished, yet seemingly still in their appointed places
in the heavens.
An immense sadness as of loss invaded his spirit, a vast
homesickness for some immutable refuge of the heart far away where
faded gardens bloom again, and where live on in unchanging freshness,
the dear, dead loves of vanished youth.
Source: http://www.sushidog.com/bpsslstories/stars.html

Activity:
Choose one of the main characters-Alfredo, Julia, or Esperanza.
Think as if you were this character, and then fill in the empathy table.
This can help you empathize with the character and understand him or
her more deeply.
Name of Character
What are you

thinking?
What are you

feeling?
What are you

seeing?
What are you

saying?
What are you

doing?
“Dead Stars" is a short story that encapsulates perfectly how characters

in fiction respond to the choices they make, what they do to attain these

choices, and how they deal with the consequences of their actions. What
was the choice that Alfredo had to make, and how did this choice make him
feel? What did Esperanza want, and why did she not get it?
Part of fiction especially in short stories, is the challenge to the main
characters: what do they want, and what do they do to get it? What is the
intention of the character? This intention sets the plot for the short story,
wherein you see how well-rounded the protagonist is and what he or she is
capable of doing just to get what he or she desires. Depending on the
outcome of the story, the character may either triumph or fail, and seeing
how the character reacts to these changes also sets the tone for the climax,
until the short story is concluded.
Short stories also express a lot of irony in life situations. There are three
kinds of irony that you will encounter in short stories. The first one is
verbal irony, when what is said by the character is not what he or she
originally meant. The second is situational irony, when the actual outcome
of a situation (say, the conclusion) is different from the expected outcome.
This is also known as the twists and turns in a story. Finally, there is the
dramatic irony, which is when the readers know more than the characters in
the story
s tory..
A short story that explores what a sad little girl wants is Merlinda
Bobis’s “The Sadness Collector.” Read and discover how six-year-old Rica
deals with her desires—and the problems and ironies that come along with
it.
Merlinda Bobis is a dancer, visual artist, and writer who was born in
Legaspi City, Albay. She completed her post-graduate degrees from the
University of Santo Tomas and the University of Wollongong in Australia.
She writes in English and Filipino (Tagalog and Bikolano). She tackles
themes of diaspora, immigrant cultures, and magic realism in her fiction.
She has won numerous awards for her literary works, more recently the
Philippine National Book Award for Fish-Hair Woman in 2014. She
currently teaches at the Wollongong University.

Fig. 3.3. Merlinda Bobis

Source: http://resources3..com.au/images/2012/08/02
http://resources3..com.au/images/2012/08/02/1226439/1291
/1226439/12913
3
5-120804-rev-bobis.jpg
And she will not stop eating, another pot, another plate, another
mouthful of sadness, and she will grow bigger and bigger, and she will
burst.
On the bed, six-year-old Rica braces herself, waiting for the dreaded
explosion—
Nothing. No big bang. Because she’s been a good girl. Her tears are not
even a mouthful tonight. And maybe their neighbours in the run-down
apartment have been careful, too. From every pot and plate, they must have
scraped off their leftover sighs and hidden them somewhere unreachable.
So Big Lady can’t get to them. So she can be saved from bursting.
Every night, no big bang really, but Rica listens anyway.
The house is quiet again. She breathes easier, lifting the sheets slowly
from her face—a brow just unfurrowing, but eyes still wary and a mouth
forming the old silent question—are you really there? She turns on the
lamp. It’s girlie kitsch like the rest of the decor, from the dancing lady
wallpaper to the row of Barbie dolls on a roseate plastic table. The tiny
room is all pink bravado, hoping to compensate for the warped ceiling and

stained floor. Even the unhinged window flaunts a family of pink paper
rabbits.
Are you there?
Her father says she never shows herself to anyone. Big Lady only
comes when you’re asleep to eat your sadness. She goes from house to
house and eats the sadness of everyone, so she gets too fat. But there’s a lot
of sadness in many houses, it just keeps on growing each day, so she can’t
stop eating, and she can’t stop growing too.
Are you really that big? How do you wear your hair?
Dios ko, if she eats all our mess, Rica, she might grow too fat and burst,
so be a good girl and save her by not being sad— hoy hoy, stop whimpering, I
said, and go to bed. Her father is not always patient with his storytelling.
All quiet now. She’s gone.

Since Rica was three, when her father told her about Big Lady just after
her mother left for Paris, she was always listening intently to all the night—
noises from the kitchen. No, that sound is not the scurrying of mice—she’s
actually checking the plates now
now,, lifting the lid off the rice pot, peeking into
cups for sadness, both overt and unspoken. To Rica, it always tastes salty,
like tears, even her father’s funny look each time she asks him to read her
again the letters from Paris.

She has three boxes of them, one for each year, though the third box is
not even half-full. All of them tied with Paris ribbons. The first year, her
mother sent all colors of the rainbow for her long, unruly hair, maybe
because her father did not know how to make it more graceful. He must
have written her long letters, asking about how to pull the mass of curls
away from the face and tie them neatly the way he gathered, into some
semblance of order, his own nightly longings.
Reflect Upon
Where does Rica’s sadness come from? When you feel sadness, what
do you do to cope with it?

It took some time for him to perfect the art of making a ponytail. Then
he discovered a trick unknown to even the best hairdressers. Instead of
twisting the bunch of hair to make sure it does not come undone before it’s
tied, one can rotate the whole body.
body. Rica simply had to turn around in place,
while her father held the gathered hair above her head. Just like dancing,
really.
She never forgets, talaga naman, the a unties whisper among
themselves these days. A remarkable child. She was only a little thing then,
but she noticed all, didn’t she, never missed anything, committed even
details to memory.
memory. A very smart kid, but too serious, a sad kid.
They must have guessed that, recently, she has cheated on her promise
to behave
home and drunk,
late and save Big
andLady. But
refuses only the
to read on old
nights when
letters herParis—indeed,
from father comes

she has been a very good girl. She’s six and grown up now, so, even if his
refusal has multiplied beyond her ten fingers, she always makes sure that
her nightly tears remained small and few. Like tonight, when she hoped her
father would come home early, as he promised again. Earlier, Rica watched
TV to forget, to make sure the tears won’t amount to a mouthful. She hates
waiting. Big Lady hates that, too, because then she’ll have to clean up till
the early hours of the morning.
Why Paris? Why three years-and even more? Aba, this is getting too
much now. The a unties never agree with her mother’s decision to work
there, on a fake visa, as a domestic helper—ay naku, taking care of other
people’ss children, while, across the ocean, her own baby cries herself to
people’
sleep? Talaga naman! She wants to earn good money and build us a house.
Remember, I only work in a factory ... Her father had always defended his
wife, until recently,
recently, when all talk about her return was shelved. It seems she
must extend her stay, because her employer might help her to become
“legal.” Then she can come home for a visit and go back there to work
some more—
The lid clatters off the pot. Beneath her room, the kitchen is stirring
again. Rica sits up on the bed—the big one has returned? But she made sure
the pot and plates were clean, even the cups, before she went to bed. She
turns off the lamp to listen in the dark. Expectant ears, hungry for the
phone’ss overseas beep. Her mother used to call each month and write her
phone’
postcards, also long love letters, even if she couldn’t read yet. With
With happy
snaps, of course. Earlier this year, she sent one of herself and the new baby
of her employer.
Cutlery noise. Does she also check them? This has never happened
before, her coming back after a lean meal. Perhaps, she’s she’s licking a spoon
for any trace of saltiness, searching between the prongs of a fork. Unknown
to Rica, Big Lady is wise, an old hand in this business. She senses that
there’s more to a mouthful of sadness than meets the tongue. A whisper of
salt, even the smallest nudge to the palate, can betray a century of hidden
grief. Perhaps, she understands that, for all its practice, humanity can never
conceal the daily act of futility at the dinner table. As we feed continually,
we also acknowledge the perennial nature of our hunger. Each time we
bring food to our mouths, the gut-emptiness that we attempt to fill
inevitably contaminates our cutlery,
cutlery, plates, cups, glasses, our whole table. It

is this residual contamination

contamination,, our individual portions of grief, that she eats,
so we do not die from them—but what if we don’t eat? Then we can claim
self-sufficiency, a fullness from birth, perhaps. Then we won’t betray our
hunger.
But Rica
cajoled, was ordered,
tricked, not philosophical at four
then scolded years old,
severely when
before sheshe had toher
finished be
meal, if she touched it at all. Rica understood her occasional hunger strikes
quite simply. She knew that these dinner quarrels with her father, and
sometimes her aunties, ensured dire consequences. Each following day, she
always made stick drawings of Big Lady with an ever-increasing girth, as
she was sure the lady had had a big meal the night before.
Mouth curved downward, she’s sad like her meals. No, she wears a
smile, she’s
she’s happy because she’s always full. Sharp eyes, they can ssee
ee in the
dark, lightbulb eyes, and big teeth for chewing forever. She can hardly
walk, because her belly’s so heavy, she’s pregnant with leftovers. No, she
doesn’t walk, she flies like a giant cloud and she’s not heavy at all, she only
looks heavy.
heavy. And she doesn’t want us to be sad, so she eats all our tears and
sighs. But she can’t starve, can she? Of course, she likes sadness, it’s food.
Fascination, fear and a kinship drawn from trying to save each other.
Big Lady saves Rica from sadness; Rica saves Big Lady from bursting by
not being sad. An ambivalent relationship, confusing, but certainly a source
of comfort. And always Big Lady as object of attention. Those days when
Rica drew stick drawings of her, she made sure the big one was always
adorned with pretty baubles and make-up. She even drew her with a Paris
ribbon to tighten her belly. Then she added a chic hat to complete the
picture.
Crimson velvet with a black satin bow. Quite a change from all the
girlie kitsch—that her mother had dredged from Paris’ unfashionable side
of town? The day it arrived in the mail, Rica was about to turn six. A
perfect Parisienne winter hat for a tiny head in the tropics. It came with a
bank-draft for her party
party..
She did not try it on, it looked strange, so different from the Barbies and
pink paper rabbits. This latest gift was unlike her mother,
mother, something was
missing. Rica turned it inside out, searching-on TV, Magic Man can easily
pull a rabbit or a dove out of his hat, just like that, always. But this tale was

not part of her father’s repertoire. He told her not to be silly when she asked
him to be Magic Man and pull out Paris-but can she eat as far as Paris? Can
she fly from here to there overnight? Are their rice pots also full of sad
leftovers? How salty?
Nowadays,
won’t have to her fatherthe
answer makes sure he especially
questions, comes home late each
about night,insothe
the baby he
photograph.. So he need not to improvise further on his three-year-old tall
photograph
tale.
There it is again, the cutlery clunking against a plate—or scraping the
bottom of a cup? She’s
She’s searching for the
the hidden mou
mouthfuls
thfuls and plat
platefuls
efuls and
potfuls. Cupboards are opened. No, nothing there, big one, nothing—Rica’s
nothing—Rica’s
eyes are glued shut. The sheets rise and fall with her breathing. She wants
to leave the bed, sneak into the kitchen and check out this most unusual
return and thoroughn
thoroughness.
ess.
That’s the rice pot being overturned—
Her breaths make and unmake a hillock on the streets—
A plate shatters on the floor—
Back to a fetal curl, knees almost brushing chin—
Another plate crushes—
She screams—
The pot is hurled against the wall—
She keeps screaming as she ruins out of the room, down to the kitchen
—
And the cutlery, glasses, cups, more plates—
Big Lady’s angry, Big Lady’s hungry, Big Lady’s turning the house
upside down—
Breaking it everywhere—
Her throat is weaving sound, as if it were all that it never knew—
SHUT UP—!”

Big Lady wants to break all to get to the heart of the matter, where it’s
the saltiest. In the vein of a plate, within the aluminum bottom of a pot, in
the copper fold of a spoon, deep in the curve of a cup’s handle—
Ropes and ropes of scream—
“I SAID, SHUT UP!”

Her cheek stings. She collapses on the floor before his feet.
“I didn’t mean to, Dios ko po, I never meant to—”

Her dazed eyes make out the broken plates, the dented pot, the shards of
cups, glasses, the cutlery everywhere—
He’s hiccupping drunkenly all over her—
“I didn’t mean to, Rica, I love you, baby, I’ll never let you go—" His
voice is hoarse with anger and remorse.
“She came back, Papa Big Idea
—”
Diaspora is currently an ongoing
“She can’t take you away
situation in the Philippines, as many
from me—”
migrant Filipinos leave the country to
“She’s here again—” work in more progressive nations for
“Just because she’s their families. Economically,
’legal’ now—” migration is a good thing, as it brings
“She might burst, Papa in revenuesHowever,

government. for theon Philippine
a familial
—” level, migration also brings families
“That whore—!" His apart—for better or worse.
hands curl into fists on her
back.
Big Lady knows, has always known. This feast will last her a lifetime, if
she does not burst tonight.

Source: Bobis, Merlinda. White turtle. Sydney: Spinifex, Inc 1999.

What do you find “ironic” in the short story? Do you agree with the
decisions that were undertaken by Rica’s father to shield her from the truth
regarding her mother?

Another big element of fiction is the world created by the writer. This
world, as imagined by the writer, may be fictional or real depending on the
choice of setting. The characters move in this world—they interact, talk,
win, lose, leave, or stay in this world. In fiction, more often than not, these
world and those in them have meanings or symbolisms, too. For example, a
place may not just be a place—it was chosen by the writer because it fits
perfectly the situation the characters are going or will be going through.
Things inside the world—such as a vase, a letter, a picture, a mirror—may
mean more than mere objects. They may symbolize an important part of the
story or may serve as objects of remembrance or memories for the
characters.
may be an Ifallegory
the whole
. A story
goodisexample
a symbolism forissomething,
of this then thenovel,
George Orwell’s story
Animal Farm , which has symbolisms for the animals in the barn and even
the barn itself.
The Plot Structure of Fiction
Aristotle once declared that for a story to be considered a story, it must
have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Plato agreed to this, and adhered to
the idea of an organic unity in fiction—the interdependent parts of a story
are all needed to create a whole. If one part is lost, the story cannot stand on
its own. Eventually, in the 19th century, a German novelist by the name of
Gustav Freytag realized that plots of stories and even novels have common

patterns which can be summarized in a diagram. This is what he came up

with:
Fig. 3.4. Gustav Freytag came up with a diagram showing the patterns involving plot structure.
The pyramid above summarizes, albeit comically, what the different

parts mean. To refresh your memory
memory,, here is a brief breakdown of the
following parts of the pyramid:
The exposition is the beginning of the story, wherein the writer sets the
scene by introducing the characters, describing the setting, and sometimes
will give a brief background of the story.
story. It is also here, before the next part
of the Freytag pyramid, that something happens to begin the action. This is
called the inciting incident —small
—small events and telltale signs that tell you
that the conflict is about to begin. It is also sometimes known as “the
complication” of the story.
The rising action is when the complication begins to show itself on the
characters,
become moresetting, and events in the story. This is when the story starts to
exciting.
exciting.
The climax is the event with the greatest tension in the story. This is
when the characters know the truth, act on their impulses, make rash
decisions or decide to do something, and so on. This part usually signals
how the story will end.
The falling action is the result of the climax, and it is the part when
things start falling into place for the characters. Reaching the conclusion of
the story, the story reaches a premature resolution of the conflicts,
problems, and issues that were raised in the previous parts
parts of the story
story..

Finally, the denouement is a French term that means the “ending.” This
is where the story reaches its final conclusion and the writer starts to get
ready to tell the ending by way of explaining a finality,
finality, a flashback, a peace
treaty, or anything to make the story complete. It also will include an
explanation of what had happened and how characters think or feel about
this.
Of course, the Freytag pyramid does not always apply to every single
short story ever written. There are some short stories, especially modern
ones, which will lack or miss out on one part of the pyramid and are still
considered as stories. However, in learning about literature, it is always best
that you start with the Freytag pyramid so as to comprehend the deeper
features of the story and its key elements—those that make it an effective
and satisfying read.
Fig.3.5. Cheeno Mario Sayuno
Cheeno Marlo Sayuno is a young writer of short stories for children

based in Cavite. He has won two awards from the Carlos Palanca Memorial
Awards for Literature in the category of children’s short stories in English
("The Magic Bahag") and in Filipino ("Si Tiya Salome"). He was also an
honorable mention at the Salanga Prize, which is awarded by the Philippine
Board on Books for Young People.

The next story is a short story for children. Read it and think of how
its key events reflect the elements of a Freytag pyramid.
The Magic Bahag
By: Cheeno Marlo Sayuno

“ Im-pa-pas-ta-kun-rag-sak. Ya-a-ay, e-la e-la-lay," Abeong sings
between sighs and whispers as the jeepney treads the rough roads
downhill. It is only in Pasil, his hometown, where he ever has had
friends, and now, they are leaving the place forever.
The song plays on Abeong’s head like a symphony trapped by a wall
that is his skull. He tries to sleep only to be awaken as the jeepney bumps
and jumps. He just then looks outside, but as the sun greets the day with
its rays thathim

is bidding warm the skin
goodbye, of thehim
teasing early- morning
even. travelers,
For him, he willhe feelssee
never like it
this
giant ball of warmth the way he sees it from mountainside Pasil. Whether
Tabuk will give him the same view, he does not know or care.
“Nana, do we really have to do this?" Abeong asks his mother,
holding tighter to her as the jeepney turns to a curve.
His mother sighs, “This is the only way. We can’t stay in Pasil
forever. There is a good opportunity for your father, and we cannot let it
pass.”
“Buttops.”
camote we’re alright, aren’t we? I’m OK with Tata’s hunt and the
“This is for the better.”

Abeong looks away, gazing at the view of the hillside, where trees
and roofs appear like patches of an unfinished Silanbituon blanket,
reminding him even more of Pasil. E-la-lay
E-la-lay,, ya-ay-i-lay. The voices of
his playmates resonate in his head again, bringing back their laughter
after Lindayaw, the youngest girl, would jokingly belt out the last line of
the song, even when she knows that singing is not her talent.
“But my friends, they have been my friends for years.”

“You will have more friends in Tabuk, don’t you worry," his mother
tells him as she ruffles his coconut-husk-like hair. “The school there is
big. You
You can have all the
the friends that yo
you
u want.”
“I don’t even want to go to school.”
“You know you have to," says his mother, clutching him closer to her.
His Nana’s embrace always gives him comfort, but this time, no
matter how he tries, Abeong cannot get Pasil out of his head. Everything
that he sees and hears reminds him of Pasil.
The huts clutching on the hillside remind him of the Binayon hut that
they have for a school, which twenty pupils filled with laughter in
chorus. It reminds him of the early mornings that they spent with Ms.
Legaspi, a teacher volunteer from Manila, when they would read tales
about the bullied skinny kid who saved the town or the engkantada from
the lake, who fell in love with the chieftain’
chieftain’ss son.
The chirping of the crickets echoes in his mind the same harmony
that used to be his only company during hide and seek, until someone
would found him camouflaged with a pool of dry leaves or hidden behind
a bunch of gabi plants. The cascading river reconnects him to the
splashes of water when he and his playmates would swim and catch fish
after class.
The tweeting of the birds now joins that of the crickets, humming in
his heart the songs he and his friends used to sing. In fact, the folk song
that they learned before he left keeps on resonating in his head.
Reflect Upon
Have you ever experienced migrating to another place or
transferring to a new school? How does it feel? If you have not
experienced it yet, how would you face this situation?

Abeong knows that he has to understand everything, as Nana told

him, but what can he do? He is starting to hate everyone
e veryone even more as the
view of Pasil becomes smaller and smaller
smaller.. He hates those men in orange
polo shirts who visited their village to recruit men who would work for a
construction project in Isabela, near the boundaries of Tabuk City. He
hates the elders of their little community who let the families decide of
their own accord. He hates his Tata for accepting the offer just because he
had no job other than hunting. When he can no longer see Pasil, tears
start welling up in his eyes; he rubs them off.
“Nana, do I have extra Big Idea
shorts that I can use for
school tomorrow?" Abeong For people outside a community,
asks his mother, who is wearables such as the bahag might
hanging washed clothes be seen as a costume. For people
that Sunday afternoon, a who are part of these communities,
week after they have however, these items are part of the
moved to Pasil. daily life and a symbol of their
culture.
“Well, yes," his mother
says, “but why? You can
wear your bahag. The
school allows pupils to wear it.”
Rumpling the front end of the bahag he is wearing, Abeong says, “I
don’t want to wear my bahag.”
“And why is that?" her mom faces him, hands on her waist, a little
taken aback.
“Nothing. I just don’t want them to laugh at me," he says, plucking
out a loose thread from his bahag.
“They will not laugh at you," her mother assures him as she hangs a
blanket on the
the clothesline.

“They would, just like in Ms. Legaspi’s stories. Just please let me
wear shorts, Nana.”
Abeong watches his bahag and T-shirt, hanging by the window,
fluttering as the wind blows from outside. He has been tossing and
turning on their
comfortable papag
in their for almost
makeshift an hour
bunkhouse. now, back
His banig as hehome
is not yet
would
still do a better job lulling him to sleep. Aside from that, he fears
tomorrow’ss first day of classes.
tomorrow’
“You have to sleep early, you know," his father speaks, sitting beside
him.
“I know, Tata. I close my eyes, and still, I can’t sleep," Abeong tries
closing his eyes even harder.
“Let me tell you, Abeong," Tata says, “you don’t have to worry about
tomorrow. But if you still do, then I think it’s time.”
“Time? For what?" Abeong’s forehead curls, puzzled by what his
father is trying to say.
His father rummages under their bed, reaching for a small box with
lizard-symbol prints and a padlock.
“Is that a present? New shorts?”
His father shakes his head. “This is a bahag. But mind you, this is not
an ordinary one. This was worn by my father and my father’s father and
my father’s father’s father. It has been passed down from one generation
to the next.”
As Tata opens the lock, Abeong pouts. He does not want to wear
bahag tomorrow,
tomorrow, let alone wear an old one. He thinks that the already-
threadbare bahag would be stinking because it was kept inside the box
for years, and Nana would have to wash it first. There is no way that he is
going to wear it. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
But the moment his father lifts the Kalinga bahag from the box,
Abeong marvels at it like it is a treasure from a huge chest all moldy and
damp after being taken from the depths of the engkatada’s lake. The
bahag is like no other; the red cloth glistens before Abeong’
Abeong’ss eyes, and

the patterns of black, white, and yellow play in that red stream. To him,
the old bahag is magical.
“It was when I wore this bahag that I started becoming the best hunter
in Pasil. I was a short boy and I was clumsy, not even able to catch a
chicken,"
bahag madehisme
father shares,
become his eyes
strong shining with
and confident. excitement,
There “but this
was a mysterious
magic spell that I cannot explain whenever I wear this. The same
happened to our forefathers when they owned this.”
“Wow," Abeong exclaims, his eyes widening. “And now, it is all
yours,” Tata
Tata says as Abeong reaches for the family treasure.
Abeong’s worry turns to thrill when he wakes up the next day. He
takes a bath right away, and wearing his new bahag, he rushes to school.
He feels an unexplainable energy flowing through his veins as he walks,
chin up and hands swaying, even galloping by the sidewalk. This bahag
is indeed magical, he tells himself.
“Good morning, my name is Mica," a little girl starts off the
introduction portion in their first subject.
“Hello. My name is Carlo." “I am Jessica.” “You can call me Maria.”
“I’m John.”
When Abeong’s turn comes, he stands chin up and walks to the front
like he is no new student.
“Hi, I’m Eon!" Abeong introduces himself using his new self-thought
nickname, thinking it can help him fit in and be cool.
During recess, Eon approaches a group of boys and girls laughing
while eating their snacks.
“I wannabe a hunter like Alim, that epic hero," Carlo says, showing
off his pint-size biceps.
“Well, I am the best hunter in Pasil," he butts in, “May I join you?” If
“Well,
not for the bahag, he can never talk to a big group like this, but he does
anyway. He does not feel shy at all.
“Hi, Eon," Maria says, “You did well in Math earlier. And also in
Science. You recite and recite. And now, you’re a hunter, too. You must

be the best kid in your hometown.”

hometown.”
“Well, we don’t have classes like this in Pasil; I only took a special
test so that I can be in grade five. In Pasil, we have a study group and we
sing and read. We even hunt sometimes," Eon answers, mimicking a
hunter ready to shoot with his imaginary bow and arrow.

“Wow, that’s fun! Can you tell us more about it?" Carlo says as their
other classmates gather.
Eon cannot believe that he can make a bunch of his classmates laugh
and listen to him on his very first day in school. He is an instant celebrity.
He cannot believe that he does not feel the slightest glint of
awkwardness. This bahag is indeed magical, he tells himself.
In the afternoon, during their PE class, the boys split into two teams
to play basketball. The girls cheer whenever one shoots, hoops or blocks
an opponent’s
opponent’s shot. Eon had barely played basketball before, but he finds
himself becoming an ace player, leading his team to victory. His
classmates rejoice and praise him as they lift and toss him up and down.
He is still shocked. This bahag is indeed magical, he tells himself.
Search online for a traditional song from the Cordilleras, the

Southern Tagalog, the Visayas islands, or from the tribes of Mindanao.
Together with your group mates, learn the song. Be ready to perform it
in class as a group.
“ Im-pa-pas-ta-kun-rag-sak. Ya-a-ay, e-la e-la-lay," the kids sing in

chorus as they walk home after class. With arms on the shoulder of
another forming one horizontal line, they laugh and sing on the top of
their voices. Eon knows the song; for him, it carries his best memories. It
reminds him of Bochok leading the song and Lindayaw ending it out of

pitch, sending everyone laughing.

laughing. Then they would start all over again as
they tried to perfect it.
It rekindles the memories of Pasil and all his friends there. But now,
Carlo and John are singing it louder, and the girls laugh because they are
out of tune.
shoulder, It alsoas makes
chanting loud ashim
theylaugh, andbahag
do. This so heis reaches for John’s
indeed magical, he
tells himself.
“Hey, are you going to wear bahag again tomorrow?" John asks Eon
before turning to a differen
differentt route home.
“Yes. Why? There’s nothing wrong with this. This is who we are,"
Eon says. I couldn’t believe I just said that, he tells himself, charging it to
the powers of his bahag.
“Well, nothing. See you tomorrow!" John runs to the others as they
disperse homeward. “He would still wear it.” “Come on, let’s wear ours,
too.” Eon hears the distant chatters of his classmates. He smiles and
walks away.
Upon reaching home, Eon runs to his father and mother, wanting to
share his story right away.
“Nana, Nana, I can’t believe it. I had a lot of friends already and I
recited in classes. I was always raising my hand and I got the right
answers! Can you believe it?" he says, hugging his mother.
mother.
“Tata! Tata! I was the best in class today. I even had lots of friends
and they listened to my stories! I was even the best player in basketball!"
he hugs his father. “Thank you for your magic bahag!”
Tata and Nana smile at him as he tells his stories. “That is not a magic
bahag, Abeong,”
Abeong,” his father admits.
admits.
“It was you who has the magic," Nana follows.
Abeong did not say anything for a while. Then, he smiles and hugs
his parents again, this time even tighter.
That night, he takes out all his notebooks and lays them on his bed.
One after another, he changes the name written on each of them to his
real name. He does not need to be Eon after all.

The next day, Abeong bathes early, humming his classmates’ chant.
He takes out a fresh bahag from his drawer and wears it. He rushes to
school, feeling the energy flowing through his veins as he walks, chin up
and hands swaying, even galloping by the sidewalk.
He seeswalking
the people the sunearly
greeting
that the day with
morning, andits
herays
feelsthat
likewarm the skin
this giant of
ball of
warmth welcomes him to his new home.
Source: Sayuno, C.M.M. (2014). The Magic Bahag . Lampara
Publishing House.
Activity:
Following the Freytag pyramid, create your own pyramid using
Cheeno Marlo Sayuno’s story, “The Magic Bahag.” Share what you have
created with your group mates. Based on your discussions, create the
Freytag pyramid on a slide presentation so that you can present your
consolidated findings in class.
The Cultural Center of the Philippines is hosting a theater festival.

Your theater company, where you are a performer, will be joining this
year’s festival with a musical adaptation of F. Sionil Jose’s “The God
Stealer.” So, your director wants the whole company to divide into

groups and pick a scene from the story. You can go to

http://gabrielslibrary.blogspot.com/2010/04/god-stealer-fransico-sionil-
jose.html to read the
the play.
play. Y
You
ou will perform your chosen scene in musical
musical
form. Make sure that you have rehearsed well your short showcase. Also,
ensure that you are able to tell the portion of the story in such a way that
you still convey the message of the original literary piece. Be ready to
perform your scene in a showcase, where the best group will be part of
the cast to represent the theater company to the festival.
Your
Extend Your Knowledge
K nowledge
The short stories in this module are only a sampling of the rich
Filipino short stories that you may enjoy. Most of them may be found in
your school library. If not, they are also available online through these
websites:
Best Philippine Short Stories
(http://sushidog.com/bpss/ap
(http://sushidog.com/bpss/appendix.htm)
pendix.htm)
Kathang Pinoy (http://kathangpinoy.blogspot.com/p/philippine-
short-stories.html)
Essential Learning
Philippine fiction, as shown through the following short stories, puts
a prime on the characters and how they interact with the world around
them. These characters show the best and worst of being a Filipino—
from gender issues, to diaspora of being far away from home, effects of
being left behind by a parent, colonial mentality,
mentality, and so much more.
These characters, no matter who they are, all represent a part of you as a
Filipino student. These are your attitudes, words, thoughts, and actions
on paper. This is who you are and who you will be in.
More importantly, short stories of the Philippines tell that no matter
how life changes for the Filipinos, the tenacity to survive will always be
there. It is interesting to see that the characters in the short stories were

always in uncomfortable situations, yet they always survived in the end.

This is an important Filipino trait that teaches you, dear student, to
always persevere no matter what the difficulty ahead may be. Like the
short stories you have read, you will also reach your denouement—good
or bad, there will still be a conclusion, one that can get you up on that
pyramid and start all over again.

Module
In an Ocean of Emotions:
4
Philippine Drama
1. Appreciate the contribution of the canonical Filipino writers
to the development of national literature.
2. Explain the relationship of context with the text’s meaning.
3. Situate the text in the context of the region and the nation.
4. Choose appropriate multimedia forms of interpreting a literary
text.
5. Do self- and/ or peer-assessment of the creative adaptation of
a literary text, based on rationalized criteria, prior to
presentation.
The History of Philippine Theater
Philippine
precolonial theater began
indigenous drama.justThese
like any other genre
constitute of verbal
rituals, literature—with
jousts or
games, and
and songs
songs and
and dances praising their respective
respective gods. Eventually,
when the Spania
Spaniards
rds came, these indigenous dramas w were
ere discarded and
were changed
changed int
into
o ma
mainly
inly two categories: the comedy o orr komedya and the
zarzuela or sarswela. These were dramas that were used to capture the
imaginations and hearts of the Filipinos, whom the Spaniards have just
colonized. Aside from providing entertainment to the people from the
pueblos (and also capturing their affection), these also serve as teaching
tools for the religion that they brought with them, which is Christianity
Christianity..
Before the stage plays began though, there were also predramatic forms
present in Philippine theater before. There were loas, declamaciones, and

oraciones (or declamations and orations) that usually involved only one
person and were not as dramatical as a stage play.play. They were usually done
during the arrival or installation of a holy relic in the country back then.
Eventually, the komedya was developed into different kinds. One of the
most popular
loves, and warsones is the moro-moro
of Moors , which
and Christians. aremore
Two playskinds,
that depict the lives,
indigenized by
the Filipinos, are the comedia de capay espada or secular comedy and the
comedia de santo or religious comedies. Some of these comedies are still
found in the country, namely, Parañaque City and Iligan City.
The zarzuela is a type of Big Idea
theater that is musical in
nature—it is both spoken The theater is a product of the
and sung. The first zarzuela collaboration among writers, artists,
in the Philippines was staged performers, creators, directors,
in 1878 or 1879 and was musicians, and other purveyors of art.
written by Francisco Asnjo Imagine the amount of work exerted
Barbieri in 1855, entitled to stage a play or a musical! So we
Jugar Con Fuego (Play with should appreciate theater
Fire). Even Jose Rizal wrote performances, and watch them with
his own zarzuela, entitled the respect that they deserve.
“Junto Al Pasig” and was
staged in 1880. In 1893,
because of its popularity
popularity,, the Teatro Zorilla was inaugurated as the home of
zarzuelas. Of course, Filipinos also indigenized the zarzuela and called it
the sarswela. It became a mix or music, prose, dance, dialogue, and a
discussion of contemporary subjects.
Nowadays, Philippine theater has changed and incorporated many
modern elements to keep it relevant to its growing audience. It still attacks
contemporary issues and portrays the real lives of Filipinos here and
abroad. But it also went back to some of its roots such as music and dance.
More recently, Liza Magtoto’s Rak of Aegis and its unprecedented success
showed that Filipinos are still craving for plays that feature not only
contemporary and important issues, but also fun, music, and dance.
The playwrights’ group called Writer’s Bloc has been actively inviting
young playwrights to also have their unpublished plays staged in a

professional setting, namely,

namely, the Cultural Center of the Philippines or CCP.
CCP.
These playwrights have been annually staging the Virgin
Virgin Labfest, an avenue
for new playwrights to submit their plays and have them staged with
professional directors, actresses, and props. The event has also
revolutionized modern Philippine theater because not only does it open up
the stage for braver and more current issues, it also keeps Philippine theater
alive and relevant. Now, every year, the Virgin Labfest attracts a diverse
group of audiences and the plays that are part of it run to a sold-out crowd.
The class will be divided into two groups, and each group will be
divided into four smaller groups (the characters plus the narrator) for a
reader’s theater performance of “The World Is an Apple” by Alberto
Florentino. You can access the script at
https://ischoolsericsonalieto.wordp
https://ischoolsericsonalieto.wordpress.com/2012/0
ress.com/2012/03/23/the-world
3/23/the-world-is-an-
-is-an-
apple-by-alberto-s-florentino/. As you may already know, a reader’s
theater is a group technique of storytelling, where readers read from a
script according to assigned parts. The teacher will be assigning the parts
of the play that each of the group will perform, while the respective
groups can decide which character they want to assume. Make sure that
you focus on expressive voices and gestures in your performance.
What are the types of Philippine theater performances in the past and at
present? Name as many as you can. Summarize the information that you

have gathered here and from other references in a table.
Sample Images
Types of Theater Notable or Links to
Description
Performance Examples Video
Performances

Fig. 4.1. Layeta Bucoy

Source: http://lifestyle.inquirer.net/214517/layeta-bucoy-5-time-
http://lifestyle.inquirer.net/214517/layeta -bucoy-5-time-
palanca-winner-is-also-a-star-trek-i-
palanca-winner -is-also-a-star-trek-i-love-lucy-fan/
love-lucy-fan/
Another play that deals with contemporary social issues is The Adopted
Healthy Baby by Layeta Bucoy.
Layeta Bucoy is a multi-awarded playwright who has won five Palanca
awards for Ellas Inocentes in 2007, Doc Resurreccion: Gagamutin ang
Bayan in 2009, El Galeon de Simeon in 2011, and The Adopted Healthy
Baby in 2015, which are all in the Filipino One-Act Play category, as well
as Ang Repleksyon ni Ms. Trajano in the Filipino Teleplay category in

1998. She has also staged many plays, adaptations, and children’
children’ss musicals,
such as Walang Kukurap; Kleptomaniacs; adaptations of Titus Andronicus
and Bona; Uod, Butete, at si Myrna; Melanie; and Prinsipe Munti
Mun ti, which is
an adaptation of The Little Prince, among others. She teaches theater and
writing at the University of the Philippines Los Baños, where she is also a
University Artist.
Read one of the works of Layeta Bucoy, and discuss the

contemporary issue that the play wants to convey.
convey.

The Adopted Healthy Baby
By Layeta Bucoy

Characters:
Mila, late 50s, Chemistry professor
Howell, late 20s, Chemistry assistant professor, very fat, gay
Mila’s office. There are two desks: one near the door,
Mila’s door, and one near
the window. The desk near the door is Mila’s desk. Her bag — big hand
bag which carries folders and large envelopes — is on the desk. The
other desk is filled with piles of papers — some are in folders and
envelopes, while some are loose sheets. Howell’s bag is on this desk with
several books, and picture frames. An old metal filing cabinet with four
drawers stands next to the desk. Beside it is a book shelf filled with thick
Chemistry books. Toward the end of the office is a sink with a counter.
The sink is flunked by an old refrigerator and a little plastic rack with
plates, glasses,
prototype rcups,
oasterspoons
coffee roaster and an,forks,
old, bigand foldedarehand
thermos towels.
on the sink’ss A
sink’ small
counter.
counter.

There are boxes all over the floor. Some of them are empty and some
of them are filled with books, bounded manuscripts, papers in folders and
envelopes. Mila is placing the things on the desk near the window in the
empty boxes. Howell is trying to open the locked topmost drawer of the
filing cabinet. The other three
three drawers are already
already open.
Howell: We won’t be able to carry this out if all the drawers are not
empty, Ma’am. (Tries to carry the filing cabinet ) Look,
Ma’am. It’s really heavy. My fats and muscles combined
won’t be able to carry this out. won’t be able to carry this
out.
Mila: We’ll ask the janitors to help us.
Howell: They’re in the auditorium.
Mila: We only need a few minutes.
Howell: There’s a stage play, Ma’am.
Mila: The play can go on for a few minutes without them.
Howell: They’re doubling as technicians.
Mila: Then we’ll have to carry everything out ourselves.
Howell: You’ll just hurt yourself, Ma’am.
Mila: I’m not a weakling.
Howell: But your floor is too shiny. (Fixes his hair while using the
floor as a Imirror)
My God! can seeIt’s
mytoo shiny,
open it can double as a mirror.
pores.
Mila: You’re exaggerating.
Howell: It’s really shiny, Ma’am. And shiny floors are slippery.
Mila: We’ll ask the students at the lobby to help us then.
Howell: There may not be any student loitering at the lobby at this
hour, Ma’am.
Mila: It’ss the finals week, Howell. Some of them are conducting
It’
study groups at the lobby.
Howell: What if they’re watching the play?

Mila: They’re Chemistry majors, Howell.

Howell: Chemistry majors are not banned from watching stage
plays, Ma’am.
Mila: Yes. But they should be studying for their finals instead of
watching a play.
Howell: What if they were required to watch the play?
Mila: Why would they be required to watch a play in the finals
week?
Howell: For the 20 pesos per ticket cut, Ma’am. Even Ma’am
Cora, our very own Institute director requires students to
watch plays. Ma’am Cora got nine thousand last sem. That
was just for one play alone. Four sections of large class.
She was even thankful for doing it. She was able to pay
for her granddaughter’s therapy, she said. The one with
ADHD, remember? The little girl in pig tails who barged
in here, dragging her big rag doll while singing ( imitates
the child ) “So darling, darling, stand by me! Oh stand by
me! Oh stand, stand by me, stand by me!”
Mila: She was singing Cora’s favourite song.
Howell: (Continues running around and singing) “Whenever
you’re in trouble, won’t you stand by me, oh stand by me,
oh stand now, stand by me.” ( He deliberately slips.) You
don’t want to be like her.
Of course I don’t want to have ADHD.
Howell: I mean, you don’t want to slip like her, Ma’am.
Mila: That’s why we’ll ask help from those students who may
be conducting study group
groupss at the lobby.
lobby.
Howell: (Stands up, approaches Mila) The little girl is under
therapy now. Thanks to her grandmother who required her
classes to watch a play.
Mila: Cora’s always been corruptible.

Howell: She’s just being compassionate, Ma’am.

Mila: Requiring Chemistry classes to watch a play? That’s not

being compassionate. That’
That’ss being greedy with the 20
pesos per ticket cut.
Howell: She wasn’t only thinking about her granddaughter. She
was also trying to help the theatre students.
Mila: She never cared about theatre or its majors. She was in it
for the money.
Howell: So what, Ma’am? She earns, they earn. Everybody’s
happy.
Mila: It’s not right.
Howell: Because there’s money involved?
Mila: Yes. The plays staged here have nothing to do with
Chemistry.
watch thoseChemistry teachers
plays because they require their
get a cut for students to
each ticket
they sell. They don’t even talk about those plays in class
or in our meetings.
Howell: But there’s no damage done, Ma’am. The students are not
complaining.
Mila: Because they’re given bonus points.
Howell: From writing reaction papers and appreciating theatre.
Mila: We’re talking of Chemistry classes, Howell. Even bonuses
should have something to do with Chemistry.

(Beat. Mila continues boxing things. Howell starts boxing things, too.)

Howell: Now I understand why people call you rigid.
Mila: Because I always do the right thing.
Howell: Your formal complaint against Ma’am Cora was dismissed
by the Dean.
Mila: Dean Ramos also requires his classes to watch plays.

Howell: In support of theatre.

Mila: He’ss a statistician.
He’
Howell: Anyone can support theatre.
Mila: He’s also doing it for the money.

Howell: What if the money he gets helps in waking his wife up
from her coma?
Mila: It still won’t make it right.
Howell: Ma’am Mendoza required her classes, too.
Mila: She always had a soft heart. Those theatre students must
have shed a tear or two.
Howell: You did not file any complaint against her.
Mila: Because she didn’t do it for the money.

Howell: It becomes right then when it’s done out of pity.
Mila: (Looks at Howell for a while) I’m not falling for your pity
party,, Howell. I know what you want. I’m not giving you
party
the key.
Howell: She’s dead, Ma’am. No one is going to use her research.
I’m the only one who needs it. It’s hand written. The only
copy. I’ll publish it under my name. No one will ever
know but us. Please, Ma’am. Give me the key.
Mila: I won’t allow you, Howell. That drawer is to remain
locked. Now, why don’t you go to the lobby and see if
there are students loitering there?

(Beat. Howell goes out. Mila continues boxing things. Her cell phone
rings. Its ringing tone is an ordinary one taken from the common list of
ringing tones in cell phones. Mila gets her cell phone from her bag. She
answers the call.)
Mila: Hello? Yes,

Mendoza’s Dad... ...
things Yes,No, we’re
but Val stillhe’s
texted boxing Ma’am
still caught in

the traffic. An hour more, maybe ... No, Benjie is not with
me. He’s still in the lab ... He can’t force organometallics
to catalyse even if it’s for his thesis ... No, don’t wait for
us. You have to take your medicines by seven. Eat your
dinner now ... Don’t start with your fish bone story. You
haven’t had a fish bone pulled from your throat since
Benjie was born ... No, Val won’t join us for dinner. It’s a
three-hour drive. He has to start back home after he gets
his mother’s stuff ... I don’t know about Howell ... Now,
stop with your excuses, Dad. We’ll have meat once your
arteries are de-clogged ... Of course I won’t bend. I don’t
care if you hate fish. It’s what’s good for you now. And I
already told Manang to spy on you. So don’t you dare go
out to have meat. (Laughs a little) She’ll drag you back to
the house with all the might of her sumo wrestler weight
... Dad, Dad, listen. You know I have to keep you alive ‘til
we visit Mabel and Marnie at Texas next year. We’ll take
Benjie with us then show them where they were all
conceived ... (Laughs a little) Now don’t be coy, Dad.
Come on. Have fish for dinner, take your medicines, I’ll
be home in an hour
hour.. Bye, Dad.

(Mila terminates the call, returns her cell phone to her bag. She tries
to carry the filing cabinet. She gives up after two attempts. Then, she
starts pushing it. Howell enters.)
Howell: Just three students.
Mila: Three is fine.
Howell: All girls.
Mila: (Pushes the filing cabinet) We don’t need to carry this
after all.
Howell: The girls said they’re going to a party.
Mila: It’s a party, Howell. They can be a little late.
Howell: They were also required.

Mila: Even attending parties are required now?

Howell: Dean Ramos required them.
Mila: He must be desperate.
Howell: Do you
who’s in know
a comahow much
alive, does it cost to keep someone
Ma’am?
Mila: I know about your mother, Howell.
Howell: But do you know how much I pay for just to keep her
alive?
Mila: You’re not the only one who has—
Howell: Where will I get the money when I lose my job?
Mila: You want to keep your mother alive by doing something
wrong.
Howell: What choice do I have?
Mila: Find another job. Find two jobs if that’
that’ss what it takes.
Howell: I’ve been teaching here for ten years now.
now.
Mila: Then find another teaching job.
Howell: Schools aren’t hiring now.
Mila: There are other jobs.
Howell: Teaching Chemistry is the only thing I know.
(Mila does not reply. She continues boxing things. Howell tries to pull
the topmost drawer of the filing cabinet once more.)
Mila: You’re wasting your time. That’s an old filing cabinet.
Things were different before. Things were built to outlive
their owners. That cabinet is durable because it’s strong.
No amount of pulling can make you open that locked
drawer.
Howell: Give me the key, then.
Mila: I won’t allow you to steal.

Howell: You were quiet the whole time.

Mila: You weren’t stealing before.
Howell: About the other wrong things.
Mila: They weren’t wrong.

Howell: An Educ. graduate of some far flung provincial college
hired to teach Chemistry here. I wasn’t even a Chem.
major. I was an Educ. grad who had English for a major
and Chemistry for a minor. And do you know why I got
hired here? (Does to Mila what he describes) I knelt
before Ma’am Mendoza and cried. “Ma’am! Please accept
me! I have nowhere else to go! I don’t even have money
to go back to our province! We are so poor, Ma’am!
Please accept me!” I hugged her waist. “Ma’am! Please
pity me! Please pity
pity me!”
Mila: (Detaches herself from Howell) Get hold of yourself,
Howell.
Howell: I got in because of pity.
Mila: Ma’am Mendoza saw your potential in your teaching
demo.
Howell: (Stands up) She used her influence as professor emeritus
to get me in because she pitied me. Everyone knew that.
Mila: She told me a different thing.

Howell: Because she knew you’d ask for qualifications instead of a
sob story
s tory..
Mila: You already survived teaching here for ten years. She was
right. You had potential.
Howell: (Goes to his bag, gets lecture notes) And you know how I
survived? Because of her. Again. (Gives lecture notes to
Mila) Look at my lecture notes. I knew nothing about
Organic Chemistry. Even my students knew I knew
nothing about it. They were bullying me in class, making
fun of my incompetence. You heard about the complaints I

got in the student eval. Ma’am Cora didn’t want to renew

me. But Ma’am Mendoza asked her to give me another
sem. She promised to guide me.
Mila: And she guided you with these notes. Nothing wrong with
that.
Howell: Read those notes, Ma’am. Read them thoroughly. They’re
not lecture notes. They are scripts. Ma’am Mendoza wrote
me scripts. Even jokes and answers to questions students
may raise are there. All I had to do was memorize those
scripts, deliver them, and voila! They got me through
years and years of student evaluations.
Mila: (While browsing through the lecture notes) These are but
guides, Howell. Suggestions. Ways you can handle your
classes.
Howell: She fed me everything.
Mila: You were still the one who faced your classes.
Howell: Everything I told them did not come from me.
Mila: She told you what to say but you were still the one who
said those things. You were still the one who taught your
students. Did she hold your classes for you?
Howell: She allowed me to own her words.
Mila: Lecture notes are different from a research paper.

Howell: But she was generous.
Mila: Not to the point of allowing you to publish her research
output under your name.
Howell: But that’s the only way for me to keep my job.
Mila: You only believe that because you refuse to look for other
options.
Howell: (Searches his bag) Have you read the memo?
Mila: What memo?

(Gets a memo from his bag, shows it to Mila) They’re

Howell: streamlining now. K-12. They already got rid of the
Filipino Department. Language Center? Ha! Just a way to
quash the Filipino Department. Only the tenured Filipino
professors were saved. I thought I’d be safe here in
Chemistry. But look at Dean Ramos’ memo. Only tenured
faculty members are to remain next school year. I’m up
for tenure this sem, Ma’am. But they’re asking for a
publication in a refereed journal. How can I get
published? That journal which Ma’am Cora edits even
rejected me.
Mila: Then submit to other journals.
Howell: I already did. It’s the same thing. Rejection after rejection.
Mila: Fine tune your research.
Howell: I’ve been revising it for the whole year. One journal said
it’s not credible. Another said the conclusion is not valid.
Ma’am Cora told me it’s sophomoric, not even at par with
an ordinary undergrad thesis. If Ma’am Mendoza didn’t
become bed-ridden this year, she would have fed me with
a research paper, got me published, and I’ll be done with
my tenure.
Mila: She didn’t give you the key, Howell. She gave it to me.
Howell: (Kneels before Mila,

Please, Ma’am. cries) That’s
Have mercy on me.why I’m begging
My mother is stillyou.
in a
coma. My younger sister dropped out of college. My older
brother lost his wife. I’m taking care of him and his three
children. I have no one to run to. All my relatives are
poorer than me. This job is the only thing I have. This job
is the only thing that can make us all survive. (Embraces
Mila’s waist and sings) “So darling, darling, stand by me!
Oh stand by me! Oh stand, stand by me, stand by me!”
Mila: (Distances herself from Howell) Stop it, Howell. Stop it.
You’re making a fool of yourself.
Howell: (Still on his knees) You want me to sing a different song?

Mila: I want you to stop making a fool of yourself.

Howell: But that’s how I’ve been surviving here, Ma’am. Being a
fool. Making people laugh. Running errands. All these
things, all these things belonging to Ma’am Mendoza, I
was the one who transferred all of these down here. She
had a lot of adopted babies here. But I was the only one
she asked to carry all her things here.
Mila: She didn’t trust her other babies with her things. She
trusted you. You were her favourite, her adopted healthy
baby..
baby
Howell: And I wasn’t her adopted healthy baby for nothing.
(Imitates Ma’am Mendoza while slowly getting up and
going through her things) “Kindly take this to the Dean’s
office, Howell ... Have these manuscripts bounded,
Howell ... Please encode this for me ... Can you get me
some water? ... Some food . . .” And all I said was “yes,
Ma’am ... yes, Ma’am ... yes, Ma’am.”
Mila: You resented the small favours she asked you?
Howell: I did not resent them, Ma’am. I’m just telling you that no
one here took me seriously. Not Dean Ramos, not Ma’am
Cora, not you, and not even Ma’am Mendoza. All of you
are nice to me because you think that I’m nice. Funny at
times. (Stands on top of one of the desks and sings and
dances with much gusto) “So darling, darling, stand by
me! Oh stand by me! Oh stand, stand by me, stand by
me!” (Goes down from the desk) Do you know how many
times Ma’am Cora and our other colleagues asked me to
entertain them whenever they felt bored?
Mila: Howell, that’s just your way of getting along with our
colleagues.
Howell: I’m so funny that they allowed me to take my master’s in
some diploma mill.
Mila: Ma’am Mendoza wanted you to study here.

But I begged her. I had to study near our house so I can

Howell: take care of my mother. Her health was already declining
during that time. It wasn’t the whole truth, Ma’am. I was
scared. I knew I wasn’t too bright.
Mila: Point is, you still earned a master’s degree.

Howell: From a diploma mill.
Mila: You still earned it.
Howell: Ma’am Mendoza got her Ph.D. from Cornell, you got
yours from Texas, Ma’am Cora got hers from Australia,
our colleagues are lining up at the Office of International
Linkages to get scholarships abroad. Tell me, Ma’am. Was
it right to allow me to get my master’s from some obscure
college you haven’t even heard of?
Mila: The university welcomes different philosophies, different
perspectives coming from different schools. Including
those coming from what you label as obscure colleges.
Howell: My thesis is garbage.
Mila: Don’t say that.
Howell: That’s why I couldn’t get any of its part published.
Mila: Howell, listen now. Yes, you are nice. You’re funny.
People here know that. But you’re one of Ma’am
Mendoza’s adopted babies. She didn’t take just about
anyone under her wings. Cora is not one of her adopted
babies. She found herher lacking in brilliance.
brilliance. She only chose
the brilliant ones. She used to say, “birds of the same
feather flock together.” She didn’t want to flock with the
mediocre. She chose you for even if you haven’t realized
it yet, you are brilliant.
( Howell
Howell searches through some of the boxes. Mila continues boxing
things. Howell then goes to the book shelf, looks for a particular book.
He finds it, gets the book from the shelf and shows it to Mila.) Howell:
Remember this?

(Opens the book ) Oh, yes. Lipase-catalyzed irreversible

Mila: transesterifications. Ma’am Mendoza was so proud of this.
Howell: Authored by her other babies, Owen and Ritzel.
Remember them?
Mila: Yes, I do. (Takes one of the framed pictures from the desk
near the window, shows it to Howell ) This is Owen, right?
He was really skinny then. And this is Ritzel? The one
who resigned after calling Cora a leech sucking the dean’s
ass in one of the faculty meetings?
Howell: (Takes the book ) They authored this. On their own. Mere
instructors at that time. But they were already able to
author a book.
Mila: (Still looking at the picture) Your office at the third floor
was really nice. Ma’am Mendoza used to tell me she kept
on decorating it with you. She really loved it there. Third
floor. Big windows. Lots of fresh air. Far from the noise of
the students who loiter the lobby. Diabetes could be so
cruel. If her right leg did not get amputated, she would
have loved to stay in your office instead of transferring
here.
Howell: You’re not listening, Ma’am.
Mila: Your contemporaries were able to author a book when
they were As
published. stillsimple
siminstructors.
ple as that. Now, it’s your time to get
Howell: Owen and Ritzel, they’re really brilliant. You, Ma’am.
You’re Ma’am Mendoza’s adopted baby, too. And no one
will question your brilliance. But me? I’m just nice and
funny.
Mila: For someone your size, you keep on belittling yourself.
Howell: But it’s true, Big Idea
Ma’am. She
never saw has Just
itslikeown
other set
fields,ofthe jargon:
theater
any

brilliance in terminology that is common to

me. Birds of people in the same
same field.
the same
feather flock
together. Yes, I also heard her say that. Several times,
Ma’am. And each time I’d ask her what kind of feather
she saw on me, she’d just laugh and say—
Mila: Yours is the most special.
Howell: She told you?
Mila: Yes. Several times.
Howell: Then you know it’s not the feather of brilliance?
Mila: A different kind of brilliance. Not the brainy type. But
more special. The reason why she gave me the key.
(Beat. Mila goes to the refrigerator, opens its door and takes a
pitcher of water
water.. She takes a glass from the plastic rack and pours
p ours water
in it. Howell goes back to boxing things from the book shelf)
Howell: She didn’t want me to transfer all these books here. She
said they should stay in our office so I could read them all.
Mila: If you’re thirsty I have cold water and orange juice here.
Howell: (Skims through the pages of a book ) I tried reading each
one of these.
Mila: Or maybe you want coffee?
Howell: I didn’t understand any of these books.
Mila: You’re a funny guy, Howell. Self-pity doesn’t suit you.

(Mila starts roasting coffee beans in the prototype coffee roaster. The
sound from the roaster catches Howell’
Howell’ss attention. He approaches the
roaster.)
Howell: Is this Sir Ben’
Ben’ss roaster?
Mila: Just a prototype.

Howell: Your husband is a genius.

Mila: You sent your sister to check on this last week.
Howell: Hilda was raving about this. She said it’s perfect for small
scale roasting, perfect for a small coffee shop.
Mila: She said she wanted to have one.
Howell: And that Sir Ben’s introducing this to the market.
Mila: Yes, he’s calling it Benjie’s roaster.
Howell: And what about Marnie and Mabel?
Mila: What about them?
Howell: Sir Ben’s naming this after your youngest child. Marnie
and Mabel may get jealous.
Mila: Oh, they’ll have their own products named after them.
Howell: Because they’re brilliant.
Mila: What do you mean?
Howell: They’re both pursuing their PhDs at Texas A&M, where
you and Sir Ben both got yours.
Marnie was summa. Mabel was magna. And Benjie…
Mila: Benjie is extended. You can say it. I’m not ashamed of it.
Howell: You’re favoring your weakest child.

Mila: We don’t consider him weak.
Howell: But compared to his sisters—
Mila: We don’t practice favoritism, Howell.
Howell: Then you’re not like Ma’am Mendoza.
Mila: She didn’t play favorites, too.
Howell: But she did, Ma’am. She did.
Mila: Val was a year ahead of me at Philippine Science. Vito
was a year younger. I did not recall them mentioning that
their mother was playing favorites.

( Howell
Howell goes to the desk near the window. He gets the framed picture
Mila showed him a while ago.)
Howell: And then there’s Vic, the black sheep.
Mila: ( Approaches
Approaches Howell, looks at the picture) She didn’t call
him black sheep.
Howell: But she wanted to.
Mila: How could you have known that?
Howell: Only his picture was on her desk. See? ( Points at the
picture) That’s him, right? She talked about Val and Vito.
How proud she was of the two. She even showed me the
news clipping she framed. The one in the business section
where Val was mentioned as Unilab’s new VP. And Vito.
Who won’t be proud of Vito? Topped the med board,
became one of the few neurosurg
neurosurgeons
eons in the country.
country. She
hang the framed news clip about Vito topping the med
board on the wall behind her desk. Framed news clippings
for the two. And just a framed picture of Vic. He’s her
black sheep, Ma’am.
Mila: You’re over reading her actions.
Howell: But true! Vic is already in his forties. And still he is—
Mila: Trying to find himself.

Howell: As a call center agent?
Mila: What’ss wrong with being a call center agent?
What’
Howell: Would you allow Benjie to be one?
Mila: If that’s what he wants.
Reflect Upon

Do you post family-related conversations, photos, and information

on your social networking accounts? Why or why not? What do you
think are the repercussions of doing so?

Howell: (Takes cell phone from his pocket ) Do you have a Face
book account?
Mila: Marnie wants me to open one.
Howell: (Uses his cell phone) We’re friends on FB.
Mila: Friends?
Howell: It means I can access her wall. There’s a wall you know,
on FB. Anyway, here’s her wall, where she posts her
thoughts. (Shows cell phone to Mila )
Mila: She already told me about this. ( Reads
Reads from the cell
phone) “Call center agent, hmmm. Worth trying. But my
mom won’t let me. Hehe Mothers know best.”
Howell: She already got the Fulbright grant when she told me she
wanted to try working in a call center.
Howell: That’s it, Ma’am. Fulbright grant versus working in a call
center. You chose the Fulbright grant for her. If Ma’am
Mendoza had her way, she’d choose a Fulbright grant over
working in a call center for Vic.
Mila: Howell, as parents we are not dictatorial. I never even
encouraged my children to take Chemistry. I used to tease

my husband. “Dad, our children like me more. They’re all

into Chemistry. No one took engineering. No one
followed your footsteps.”
Howell: But you’ll always help Benjie.
Mila: In whatever way I can. He’s my son. I’ll help him even
from my grave.
Howell: Just like Ma’am Mendoza.
Mila: Parents help their children, Howell.
Howell: She was still paying for Vic’s house rent.
Mila: You wouldn’t know that.
Howell: Oh I know for a fact, Ma’am. She asked me to deposit the
checks a couple of times.
Mila: All right. You win. So Ma’am Mendoza’s been helping
Vic ‘til the day she died. So she may have considered him
a black sheep for the longest time. So I may find myself
helping Benjie ‘til I die. So he may not be an achiever like
his sisters. Parents do not abandon their weakest child.
Parents help the weakest most.
Howell: Exactly! (Gets the book authored by his friends) And
unlike Owen and Ritzel, I don’t and won’t have this.
Owen is already teaching at the National University of
Singapore. Ritzel is taking her post doctorate at
Luxembourg. And nice, funny me is still here, trying to
get published, trying to get tenured, trying not to lose his
job. Don’t you see it, Ma’am? I’m the weakest. And as
you said, parents help the weakest most.
Mila: I’m not your parent.
Howell: Ma’am! My God! You know I didn’t mean that. I’m
Ma’am Mendoza’s adopted healthy baby. She’s my
surrogate mother in the university. She’d want to help me
the most. She’d

Ma’am. I’m herwant
weakest
that.adopted
She’d baby.
want Give
me me
to the
get key,
her

research paper. She’d want me to use it, publish it under

my name and solve my problems. If you want, I can just
be co-author. I’d still have her name there. I won’t own it
totally. Just give me the key, Ma’am. Please, give me the
key.
Mila: I’ll make you a cup of coffee.

(Mila goes to the roaster and starts making coffee.)

Howell: ( Exasperated
Exasperated ) Ma’am! Please understand! I’m not like
Owen who immediately got a scholarship at NUS. Not
like Ritzel who stormed out of this university, and then got
a grant from Ford. I can’t apply for scholarships. My
grades are not impressive. I did not even graduate from a
prestigious school. There’s
There’s no future for me in the
academe once they kick me out of this university.
Mila: ( Approaches
Approaches Howell with a cup of coffee) Try this. The
beans are from Batangas.
Batangas.
Howell: You know what your problem is, Ma’am? You don’t
listen. People call you rigid for you don’t listen to anyone.
I’m even surprised how Ma’am Mendoza endured having
you for an officemate. I told her to choose another office
here in the first floor. Any other office. You think you
were assigned to this big office with its own sink and a
refrigerator because people here love you? No one likes
you, Ma’am. They say you’re a difficult person. No one
wants to deal with you. No one wants to be your
officemate. They assigned you to this office, at the farthest
end of the first floor so they won’t see you. I even offered
to carry Ma’am Mendoza to the third floor, to our office,
every single day when her right leg was amputated so she
wouldn’t have to share this office with you. And I wasn’t
the only one who offered her that. There were others.
Even her babies don’t like you. You don’t know anything

about compassion. You don’t have the ability to pity

anyone. You just don’t listen! (Gets the cup, throws it on
the floor )

( Beat.
Beat. Mila and
a nd Howell stare at each other.
other. After a while, Mila starts
to pick up the pieces of the broken cup. )
Mila: If this were a stage play, your rant may have ended with
me bitch slapping your face. ( Laughs
Laughs a little) I’m also
capable of using expletives. I can listen to people. I have
feelings too.
Howell: (Gets a grip of himself ) I’m sorry, Ma’am. (Starts picking
up the pieces of the broken up) I’m just so desperate. You
don’t understand how desperate I am. (Slumps on the floor
and cries)
Mila: (Continues picking the pieces of the broken cup) I know
how desperate you are. I’m not naïve. (Takes the pieces of
the broken cup to the sink, gets a hand towel from the rack
and wipes the spilled coffee off the floor )I
)I know poverty.
We didn’t start off rich, you know. My parents were both
illiterate. They sold fish at the market. Ben’s parents were
poor too. Both public elementary school teachers. It
wasn’t easy for both of us. We were the eldest. He had six
siblings. I had four. I don’t know how we were able to
send them all to school with our measly salary from this
university. But we did. We succeeded. And we did not
need to steal.
Howell: (Still crying ) I tried, Ma’am. I tried.
Mila: (Takes the hand towel to the sink, opens the refrigerator’s
door and gets a pitcher of cold water. She pours the water
in a glass and takes the glass of water to Howell )
Here, have some water.
Howell: (Takes the glass and drinks up ) Hilda. My sister. She
dropped out of college. She said she wanted to stay with
our mother in the hospital. I thought she wanted to take

care of her. But I caught her, several times. She was

staring at a wall. She was standing in front of a wall. And
she was just staring at it. I shook her, even slapped her
face. She said she didn’t remember anything. She didn’t
know why she was staring at the wall.
Mila: She seemed all right when she was here last week.
Howell: There was this coffee shop in our province. The only
coffee shop we knew. We’d pass by the coffee shop when
we were kids. We’d stare at the glass door. We’d see
people in nice clothes, sipping their coffee, eating cakes.
They looked so relaxed and happy. Then the guard would
shoo us away, like flies with his cudgel as his fly swatter.
Hilda would cry. “I just want to look inside! I just want to
look!” I’d promise her that someday, I’ll work hard and
will give her a coffee shop. She’ll have her own coffee
shop. She would stop crying. I told her last week. I
already have the money. She can have her own coffee
shop. She believed me. After she took a look at your
husband’s coffee roaster, she never stared at the wall
anymore.
Mila: But do you really have the money?
Howell: I can’t even buy the smallest tube of pore minimizing
cream.
Mila: She’ll be more devastated if she’ll find out the truth.
Howell: That’s why I cannot lose my job, Ma’am. Once I get
tenured, I can apply for a loan. I’ll use the money as
capital for a small coffee shop. With your husband’s
roaster, I’ll have a chance to keep my sister’s sanity.
Mila: And your mother?
Howell: The hospital allows promissory letters from faculty
members here.
Mila: You’ll bury yourself in debts.

Howell: If I lose my job here, I’d rather be buried literally. I’d

rather die.
( Howell
Howell cries once more. Mila takes the glass to the sink. She looks at the
roaster..)
prototype coffee roaster
Mila: You know, I can just give this to you.
Howell: Thank you, Ma’am. But I need more.
Mila: I can ask Cora to help you get published.
Howell: (Gets up, goes to the filing cabinet ) When she rejected my
research, I told her I was conducting another one.
Something that will help us battle the El Niño.
Mila: That sounds promising.
Howell: Evaporation suppressants.
Mila: (Gets excited, approaches Howell ) That’s nice, Howell.
Imagine how the insufficiency of irrigation water has
always been a major constraint to crop production. Even if
we collect rainfall in reservoirs, evaporation rates in
reservoir areas are so high especially during the dry
season that it would be nice to come up with evaporation
suppressants to improve the value of our reservoirs.
Howell, you’re a genius.
Howell: But I don’t know what hydrogenolysis
hydrogenolysis to use to synthesize
hexadecanol.
Mila: Continue researching on it.
Howell: You really think I came up with that idea on my own? I
don’t know anything about evaporation suppressants.
( Pulls
Pulls the topmost drawer ) Everything is in here. Here!
Mila: You can start researching on the idea.
Howell: I’m an idiot, Ma’am. You really want to hear that, don’t
you? I’m not like you who repeatedly got published in the
American Journal of
cabinet’s drawers, getsChemistry. ( Pulls
Pullsand
sheets of paper onereads
of the filing
topmost

sheet, throws the sheets of paper in the air,

air, then gets more
sheets of paper and repeats the process) Enol esters as
acylating reagents… glycerol derivatives… carboxylic
acids… sucrose-organic acid units... cross-linked enzyme
aggregates of lipase... ( Pulls the whole drawer and
harshly empties all its contents on the floor ) I tried to
study them all. (Goes to the book shelf, gets books and
throws them all on the floor ) I read and read and read.
And the only research output I came up with was that
garbage of a thesis which received a passing mark because
they liked the food I served them during my defense!
Based on what you have read so far, what anti-plagiarism rules can
you remember? List them with your group mates. Present your findings
in front of the class.

(Beat. Howell and Mila sit on different chairs, not looking at each
other.)

Mila: Howell—
Howell: Sorry, Ma’am.
Mila: You depended so much on Ma’am Mendoza.
Howell: She never failed me.

Mila: She was bed-ridden, losing her eyesight, joking about still
feeling her amputated right leg, and she was still thinking
of you.
Howell: She knew I was desperate.
Mila: When Val and his brothers decided to confine her in the
hospital, they only wanted family members, relatives, and
very close friends to see her. She looked so fragile in her
bed, I thought the air could break her body into pieces.
She said she wanted her friends to visit her, her babies, but
she didn’t want to argue with her children.
Howell: I wanted to visit her.
Mila: Her children didn’t know you. She mentioned you to them
but all they wanted were people they knew. V Val
al called me
up, told me about his mother’s condition. He asked me to
see her for I’m the only one they knew here.
Howell: Because you went to Philippine Science High School with
them.
Mila: Yes. And so I went to the hospital. We talked about a lot
of things. Where our college is going, where our institute
is headed to, Dean Ramos, Cora, you. She was concerned
about you. She wanted to help you. She mentioned about
the research she did. The one on evaporation suppressants.
Howell: You knew all along.
Mila: She did not discuss it with anyone. She did not even ask
for a grant or any sort of funding. She conducted the
research on her own, funded it from her own pocket.

Howell: But she mentioned it to me. I remember she was so

excited when she came to our office. She was holding a
manila envelope close to her chest, still panting from
having climbed three floors, she told me, “Howell, I was
right. Writing with your hands is better than typing. I did
it. Evaporation suppressants from locally available
components. You’ll encode this someday, ok?” Then she
placed the manila envelope
e nvelope inside that drawer and locked
it.
Mila: She said you kept on asking her about that research, even
after she transferred here.
Howell: I was honest with her. I told her about my desperation. I
told her it was the only way I could get published.
Mila: What did she say?

Howell: That she’ll give me the key to the drawer.
Mila: And you were surprised when I told you I have it.
Howell: I was scared, Ma’am. If it had been Ma’am Cora, or even
Dean Ramos, I knew I had a chance. But you, Ma’am. I
even entertained thoughts of murdering you.
Mila: (Gets key from her bag ) I don’t want to die for this.
Howell: I wouldn’t murder you, Ma’am.
Mila: ( Approaches
Approaches Howell ) She showed me this key, then she
said, “Mila, give this to Howell.”
Howell: (Turns to Mila) She did?
Mila: She wanted you to have this. She wanted you to have her
research paper. Use it, solve your problems. Anyway,
she’ll ask you to encode it if she were still with us.
Howell: I used to encode for her. She never liked using computers.
Lectures, exams, syllabi, letters, researches, everything
was hand written.
Mila: But not the one on evaporation suppressants.

Howell: She said you didn’t want me to encode it for her.

Mila: Because she already told me about your request.
Howell: But she wanted me to have it.
Mila: Yes, she did.

Howell: Then give me the key, Ma’am.
Mila: Tell me first, why she called you her adopted healthy
baby..
baby
Howell: (Stands up) Isn’t it obvious?
Mila: She wasn’t referring to your size.
Howell: Then what was she referring to?
Mila: Your heart.

( Beat.
Beat. Mila gets the framed pictures, looks at them one by one.
Howell approaches Mila.)

Howell: The key, Ma’am. Please.
Mila: Even if I tell on you after you get it published, I won’t
have any proof that you stole it. Would I, Howell?
Howell: Just this once, Ma’am. I promise you, just this once.
Mila: She never said you were brilliant in Chemistry. ( Picks up
one picture frame) She used to say you were miles behind
Owen and Ritzel. But you were her favorite.
Howell: I need to get the manuscript before Val arrives.
Mila: Don’t you want to know why you were her favorite
adopted baby?
Howell: I’m nice and funny. I already know that.
Mila: Takes Howell’s

(visited her in thehand
) When
hospital, Cora mether
performed a car accident
favorite songyou
to

cheer her up after her operation.

Howell: I was just trying to help.
Mila: When Dean Ramos’ wife first went into a coma, you went
around the campus, knocking at every faculty office’s
door, asking for donations.
Howell: There’s nothing wrong with that.
Mila: I’m not saying it’s wrong. What I’m saying is that you
have a good heart, Howell. Ma’am Mendoza saw that in
you. To her your heart is pure. So pure that she believed it
is healthy. And that’s the brilliant feather she wanted to
flock with.
Howell: I’ll still honor her as the co-author of the research, Ma’am.
I’m not going to steal it completely.
Mila: Owen and Ritzel offered you to be co-author of their
book. But you refused. Ma’am Mendoza heard you say
that you cannot stomach taking credit for something you
did not do. That was the exact time Howell, when you
became her favorite adopted
adopted baby.
baby. That was the exact time
when she thought of calling you her adopted healthy baby.

(Beat. Howell sits on the chair once more. Mila continues boxing
things.)
Howell: How would I know there’d be such a thing as K-12? That
schools won’t hire teachers for a time? That my mother
will slide into a coma? That Hilda will snap. That my
sister-inlaw will die and leave my brother depressed? That
I’ll have to take care of my nephews? That I have to take
care of all of them?
Mila: You were able to resist the temptation once, Howell. You
can resist it again. You’re a good person. Remember that.
Howell: Last
knewweek, at her
if I was burial.
crying I was she
because so ashamed.
was beingI no longer
buried or

because I thought my last chance of getting published was

being buried with
with her.
her.
Mila: Then I told you about the key.
Howell: You didn’t tell me she wanted me to have it.
Mila: I wanted to prevent you from doing the wrong thing.
Howell: I know what I’m going to do is wrong, Ma’am. I know it’s
dishonest, maybe even a crime. But there’s K-12, schools
are not hiring teachers. There’s my tenure. Hilda. My
mother. My older brother and his motherless children.
Mila: You’re making them dependent on you in as much as
Ma’am Mendoza made you dependent on her.
Howell: ( Approaches
Approaches Mila) Just give me the key, Ma’am. She
wanted me to have it. It’s not yours, it’s mine. (Grabs
Mila’ss arm) Now give me the key.
Mila’

(Howell tries to get the key from Mila’s hand, Mila fights him. Mila
slips, she falls on the floor
floor.. Howell continues to take the key from her
her..
Mila continues to fight him. Mila’s
Mila’s cell phone rings. Hearing it makes
them stop wrestling each other. Beat. Howell stands up. Mila goes to her
bag, gets her cell phone. The key is still with her
her.)
.)
Mila: s(Talking over her cell phone) Hello? Yes, Val... No, don’t
park at the back. There’
There’ss a new parking lot in front of the
building. We’re on the left wing ... No, not near the lab.
They did some renovations. Just park in front and I’ll
fetch you there ... Yes, I’m on my way now. (Terminates
the call, faces Howell as she fixes herself ) You know why
Benjie got extended?

(Howell does not reply.)

Mila: He plagiarized for his thesis. I was the one who told his
panelists. He plagiarized my dissertation. My very own
son, a plagiarist. I couldn’t stomach it. I even told his
panelists that I’d understand if he got expelled. But
Ma’am Mendoza was his adviser. She whose heart easily
pitied anyone. She said expelling him was too harsh. She
talked to his panelists and they agreed that they’ll fail him
on his thesis and will write unfinished experiment as
reason. When I say I always do the right thing, I mean
that, Howell.
Howell: But there are people, Ma’am who—
Mila: I don’t care about motivations. As you say, people call me
rigid.
Howell: How about compassion, Ma’am? A little understanding?

Mila: My moral compass is clear. Right or wrong. Nothing in
between. I don’t
don’t care if I’m not well liked.
liked. I know I have a
lot of enemies. But I’ll still file complaints against people
who are doing the wrong things. ( Approaches
Approaches the filing
cabinet ) And I thought I could prevent one from
committing a mistake. But I may be wrong. ( Places the
key on top of the filing cabinet ) You are right. This key is
yours. Use it, open the drawer. Get the manuscript.
Publish it and seize to be the adopted healthy baby Ma’am
Mendoza was so proud of. Or you may ignore the key,
continue boxing her things, wait for me and Val.
Howell: You’re really giving it to me?
Mila: I’m giving you a choice.
Howell: You have faith in me.
Mila: I realized that at the end of the day, doing the right or the
wrong thing is a matter of choice. Who am I to prevent
you from doing what you want? I’m just a Chemistry
professor.. I can do nothing.
professor nothing.

(Beat. Mila leaves. Howell looks at the key for a while. He takes it
and uses it to open the locked drawer. After several attempts, he still
couldn’t open the drawer. He throws the key.)
Howell: That witch! She gave me the wrong key!

(Howell repeatedly kicks the cabinet, shakes it, then hits it hard with
his hands. Out of frustration, he grabs things from the desk and pounce
them on the drawer’s lock. His cell phone rings, it’s ringing tone is
“Stand By Me.” He takes his cell phone from his pocket, looks at the
caller ID, throws his cell phone on the desk. He continues to kick, hit,
and shake the filing cabinet. He screams. Lights fade out as the song
“Stand By Me” from Howell’s cell phone gets louder.)

END

Guide Questions:
1. What are the problems that Howell was going through?

2. Did Ma’am Mendoza want Howell to use her research for his
tenure? Why do you think so?

3. If Ma’am Mendoza left the key to the drawer to you, would you
have given it to Howell, even though you know about his
problems? Why or why not?

4. What are the effects of the K-12 curriculum to elementary,

elementary, high
school, and college students and teachers, as well as parents?

Creative Presentation of a Play

Similar to how a poem is meant to be recited out loud, a play is meant to
be staged and performed. Despite staging an amateur play,
play, there are still

processes to it that you must follow for your play to be successful. In the
end, the audience will be the one to evaluate you and tell you if they truly
like what you have prepared for them. Here are the steps that you can
follow in staging an amateur play.
1. Find a play. Go through your library, old school books, or even the
internet to look for a play that you may like to stage. For an
amateur play,
play, you may stage one-act plays that will be easy to
manage and execute. If you are lost for a play you want to stage,
you may want to try Rene O. Villanueva’s short one-act plays such
as Kumbersasyon, Tatlo-T atlo, and his wildly famous May Isang
Tatlo-Tatlo
Sundalo. These are simple one-act plays that have only one setting:
it may be a classroom, a living room, or a bedroom.
2. Find a group who you want to work with with. Find a group of at least
10 of your classmates who are willing to work with you. Make sure
that they have their own expertise that they can bring to help you
stage your play: acting,
ac ting, lighting, preparing, and making props,
taking charge of the sound system, and directing.
3. group mates. Make sure to not
Assign specific tasks to each of your group
overassign or underassign tasks; assign them to those you think are
the best in that particular task. As for you, you may be the director
if you wish or the leader who will oversee all the proceedings of
the production.
4. Make a time line of what you want to accomplish. If your teacher
gives you one month to stage a play, then draw or write a time line
of what you want to accomplish every week. For example, for the
first week, you want to hold auditions for the final cast. For the
second week, you have your round-table reading of the final script
and the props people start making the props. For the third week,
you have daily practices, and the sounds or lights people start
assembling their equipment for the play. The fourth week is the
final and/or dress rehearsals before the performance day
day..
5. Stick to your plan. If in case something goes wrong with your plan,
always have a backup plan or a plan B. The key to a successful
presentation is to always be ready for
for anything th
that
at may happen.

Finally, enjoy the presentation! It is also recommended that you

Finally,
6. give your audience an evaluation sheet, so that you know what you
can improve on for the next presentation. You may research an
example of an evaluation sheet on the Internet. After your
presentation, discuss
discuss the comment
commentss in the evaluation
evaluation sheets with
the rest of your team as a post-evaluation step of the presentation
presentation..
Your Knowledge
1. There are many opportunities to watch plays or be part of plays in

the country. The website
http://www.philippineconcerts.com/upcoming-theater-plays-and-
musicals/ offers information about upcoming plays and ways to
purchase your tickets
tickets in advance. Also,
Also, http://www
http://www.broadwayworld
.broadwayworld..
com/philippines/
com/philipp ines/ has all the latest news about the Philippine theater
scene—from the plays themselves, the actors, directors, and where
they would be playing next.
2. If you do want to try your hand out in acting, one of the most
famous theater groups is the Philippine Educational Theater
Association or PETA. Visit its website at http://petatheater.com/ to
learn about their upcoming plays, acting workshops, and so much
more.
Essential Learning
Philippine theater takes its roots from precolonial and colonial
history.. It has been shaped by the various influences of what people think
history
constitute entertainment: rituals, songs, dances, comedy, drama, and so
much more. From here, local theater has evolved to be the form it is
today: a modern way to present and mirror Philippine society, on the
stage.
You should
Philippine also for
literature, acknowledge
it is in the that theater hasofplayed
dramatization a big part
these written in
works
that the general audience are reached and enlightened about current
contemporary issues that they are experiencing as of that particular

moment in history.
history. Plays are largely historical, in that sense. They portray
the current struggles and triumphs of the Filipino people at that specific
time, era, date, and event. Plays can be reminders of your history and
more. Plays can

is happening awaken
around the how
them, consciousness of the Filipino
they can participate in it,people of what
or what they
can do about it.

Module
Archipelagic Life, or Creative
5 Nonfiction

2. Analyze the figures of speech and other literary
lit erary devices in the
text.

contexts and show how they enhance
e nhance the text’s meaning and
enrich the reader’
reader ’s understanding.
4. Explain the relationship of the context with the text’s meaning.
Archipelagi
Archipelagicc Nonfiction
One of the most popular Big Idea
genres of literature in the
Philippines has always been We all live storied lives because
the essay also known
known as we do things in a sequential
sequen tial manner.
creative nonfictio
nonfictionn. The essay Our lives can be likened to
to a plot of a
is often defined
defined as a short story unveiling one actionaction after
piece of writing on a another. When we tell personal stories
particular subject. to other people, we also narrate in a
Sometimes, it is also defined sequential manner, just like in fiction.
as an account of historical, Creative nonfiction is basically that—
personal, and academic telling the stories of our lives in
events. However, the written form.
definition
be of anthat
vague and essay can also
it overlaps
with that of the always popular short story. Because of this, the essay is
sometimes seen as a literary genre that is of lesser form than poetry and
fiction.
Generally speaking, the essay takes the same passion, craft, and artistry as
any literary genre. It is also known to be immensely popular, because
newspapers nowadays still bear essays in the form of editorials, columns, and
bylines. Some of the most popular newspaper columnists who are known to
write in the essay form are Conrado de Quiros of the Philippine Daily
Inquirer , Jessica Zafra of the Philippine Star and
and Business World , and, more
recently, Patricia Evangelista and Shakira Sison of the online news portal
Rappler. In publishing, Carlos Bulosan’s America is in the Heart has has always
been a staple for creative nonfiction. In this work, he writes about his
migration to the United States and the painful life he has lived there, and yet,
ends the whole memoir with a declaration that America will always be in the
“heart.” Another famous essayist is Carmen Guerrero-Nakpil, who has also
defined the essay as something that “what no other forms of writing seems
willing to be.”
What, then, is an essay for you? Have you ever written an essay for
school? Was it difficult to write or was it easy for you to accomplish? Did
you focus on only one subject or quite a lot within one essay?
An essay can take many forms, but there is one main requirement, as
stressed by the country’s premiere essayist Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo: the
voice of the writer must ring clear, true, and fine all throughout the written
work. What is a writer’s voice? The writer’s voice is the distinctive style or
personality of a written work (an essay
essay,, in this case) that will separate it from
other written works. It is an important component of writing for it shows the
essay’ss personality as much as you would if you were the one telling the story
essay’
to someone else. It is one way to make the story truly “your own.”
Read the following essay and answer the questions that are asked
regarding the writer’
writer ’s voice.

Fig. 5.1. Ma. Elena Paulma

Source: https://fulbright.org.ph/wp-
content/uploads/2016/08/scholars2016-300x300-
maria-paulma.jpg
Ma. Elena Paulma is a Palanca first-prize winner for her short story
“Three Kisses” in 2010. She comes from Butuan City, Mindanao, and has
finished her bachelor’s degree in English (Creative Writing), master’s degree
in Comparative Literature, and doctorate in Creative Writing at the
University of the Philippines—Diliman. She is an Associate Professor and
the Vice President for Academic Affairs at the University of Science and
Technology of Southern Philippines, Cagayan de Oro. Her book of essays,
Southern Stories and Strays,” was published in 2017 by the UP Press.

And the Water Flows in Tiniwisan
By Ma. Elena Paulma

What I remember the most when I think of Tiniwisan is not the trill of
softly singing birds, the rush of coconut fronds, or mango, sampaloc and
baungon leaves in the breeze. Well there was that, and the silence which was
always there beneath the occasional trike, the momentary roar of passing
trucks whopping up a cloud of dust in their wake. But the constant sound that
lay like the endless silence beneath all the other sounds was that of the
rushing water coming from a huge pipe rising out of the earth.

Reflect Upon
What stories about your hometown do your parents or grandparents tell
you? Share them with the class.

The pipe had two short arms, and like a proud scarecrow minus a head, it
stood out against the flatness of the land and the rest of the world which was
sky. That water roared from the bowels of the earth it seemed, to gush out of
the pipes day and night, so cold and crisp and clear we would stand beneath
its force for what seemed like hours. Many came with their plastic gallons
and earthen jars for the potable water. We filled ours in no time, getting
ourselves drenched on purpose. These eternal water springs dotted the
landscape
wilder partsofatTiniwisan
the end, a from the Butuan
long long highway
way down the dirtintersection
road. down to the
Our elders would talk about running towards those then forested areas
during the Japanese occupation. One story is about this tree. Its roots formed
a cavern huge enough for all the brothers and sisters to hide in. Lolo would
cover them with wide anahaw or nipa leaves that grew near the river while
he went out and looked for food.
When they had no time to run that far, they hid in the dug-out made by
Lolo behind the old house. “That is why your Lola told us to never cut the
Dama de Noche that grows in front of the hole. It saved our lives many
times.” Mom never told me where they buried her baby sister who died
during one of the raids, having fallen from my mother’s arms as they ran.

Once, when the whole family tried to escape on a raft down the Agusan
River, they were apprehended by the Japanese. It was the blood coming out
of Lola who was in the throes of childbirth that turned the Japanese away.
In the books it says that in 1943, during the World War II Japanese
occupation, Butuan was razed to the ground when the guerilla forces attacked
the local Japanese garrison. My Lolo was one of those guerillas, or as my
Mom would tell it, he was suspected of being one of the guerillas because he
would distribute the harvest of his land and share portions of the slaughtered
pig to the families of those who had been captured. He was captured with his
brother and was held for months in a Japanese garrison. His brother died, but
Lolo survived.
When I was a child, my cousins and I used to stay at Lolo’s uma (farm)
for weeks during summer breaks. From the Butuan city proper, Tiniwisan is
several kilometers away, across the Magsaysay Bridge. Whenever we go to
the farm, we pass by houses below the highway level. There is more sky than
land, it seems. There are bright green rice fields, coconut trees like frozen
fireworks against too much sky, and on mild hills, clumps of fruit trees tr
trying
ying
not to outgrow each other. Above all these, sometimes, a flock of white
herons would rise in unison, painting white wings on blue sky, and only for a
moment.
There’s a gas station before a left turn onto a road which until now has
never been blessed with a single drop of cement. No sign marks the entrance
to Tiniwisan. The dirt road cuts like an intruder through emerald land
stretching out on both sides.
There’s this really long, bumpy, dusty ride, often the only sound and
movement amidst the silence of growing things, past stretches of rice fields, a
horizon of hazy trees, luminous green rice shoots growing close to the edge
of the road, coconut leaves slashing past and into the vehicle, then the line of
coconut trees that mark my grandparents’ land, and thick mango trees
guarding two houses from which the children would already be shouting and
running towards the coming vehicle.
When the engine stops, the quiet descends, even with all the children
clamoring to carry the pasalubongs, Mom’s “ Kuha ta’g butong!” which
means get someone to climb up the coconut tree for young coconuts, and
“ Amin!” as my nieces and nephews scramble to touch my hand to their
foreheads. I go to my aunts and
a nd uncles (I have nine on my mother s side, plus
their husbands and wives) to do the same, slapping hands with my thirty or so
cousins.
I can remember three figures already waiting by the door upon our
arrival: Lolo, Lola, and Auntie Lilia, the eldest aunt. She would say a secret
prayer under her breath, to me words of magic, whenever I touched her hand
to my forehead.
The boys would wake up long before dawn, and challenge each other to a
race towards a small bridge that spanned a brook down the dirt road. Before
the dew lifted and the gold began to settle on all things, they would come
back holding huge black beetles waving their spindly legs in the air and
sometimes large white worms collected from the inner hollows of coconut
trunks. These were placed on Lola’s fire and the smell of burning beetle or
sizzling worm would mingle with Lola’s rice coffee grains on the hot dry
pan. I have never tasted better coffee anywhere. The boys ate their beetles, or
their worms. The rest of us settled for Lolo’s law-oy, a collection of boiled
and salted winged beans, Ilocano saluyot , and camote tops, harvested from
behind the house. Next to my plate would be a saucer with vinegar and fish
sauce. Only Auntie Lilia knew that about me.
Then we would spread out to our different haunts. There were bike rides
to my uncle’s place further down the uneven road. My cousin had said the
first time, pointing with his finger, “It’s just over there, further down the
road.” From the way my bottom felt afterwards, it was much, much farther.
What was a short distance to those who lived among the fields was very far
to those of us who lived in the city.
Big Idea Lolo would let us ride on

the balsa (a raft-like bamboo
The planting and the harvest box) pulled by his carabao on
seasons in the rural areas are times his way to the fields. There
when we can see the bayanihan spirit was a rhythm to the planting
and unity among the townspeople. As of rice. First, the soil was
part of the young generation, you loosened and the paddies
should find opportunities to still filled with water. The
practice this spirit of community and neighbors would come and
togetherness today. there would be rows of them
bent down over the watery
mud, the bunch of shoots in

their hands becoming straight rows of green on the wet black earth. People
prayed for rain, not too much, for it would drown the seedlings, but just
enough for the shoots to turn from green to gold.
Harvest time gathered the people again in rows on the fields. The
threshers were taken out and the golden stalks would yield their golden seeds
to be milled and shoveled as white grain into sacks. The white grains were for
selling. The red rice (poor man’s rice) were eaten by the farmers. There
would be mounds of yellow stalks left behind in the fields. And then it was
time again to loosen the earth and fill the paddies with water. Thus, either the
rice fields were too muddy and wet, or too uneven and filled with itchy
brown rice stalks to play in.
in.
We preferred Lolo’s yard. We would climb up the huge pile of corn in the
small hut that housed the thresher and the araro. We would quarrel over who
would wield the sung kit (a long bamboo with a bent nail and a net) as we
peered up at the many fruit trees surrounding the house. My ate and I always
aimed for the sour fruits. My mouth still waters at the thought of the firm
green flesh that appeared after we crushed the hard brown shell of the
sampaloc, or the plates of tender green iba dipped in salt or eaten right out of
the tree.
The fruit we all sat down for was the crunchy green Indian mango dipped
in sauces of our choice — sugar, sugar with soy sauce, plain soy sauce,
vinegar, vinegar with sugar, or the smelly ginamos. The bamboo floor of
Lola’s kitchen would creak from the weight of all of us crowded around the
green piles on her wooden table. When the baungon (pomelo) tree that grew
beside the house bore fruit, my uncles would go to the end of the verandah,
reach out and pluck as many as was demanded. Afternoons found us
swinging on hammocks under the thick-leafed mango trees.
When the coconut leaves began to turn black against a purple pink sky, it
was time for us to turn in. Anyone making too much noise or running too fast
would do well to say “Tabi po,” to appease the disturbed spirits watching
from the shadows of the gathering dusk. Although the sky was always bright
at night when all the gas tapers had been put off, we slept early in Lolo’s
farm. Something huge had flown after Lolo one night while he was coming
home from a school program. Everyone knew it was a wakwak who who became
one of the neighbors by day. Once, encantos had lured Lolo away from the
house into the forest, but he was sensible enough to take off his shirt and put

it on inside out. He had felt like he had been gone for days but Lola said he
had just been gone an hour.
We would lie in a row on mats lining the sala’
sala’ss wooden floor. Lola would
open the lid of her wooden kaban and hand out carefully washed and starched
blankets and fresh pillows. We would squabble over the stiff and crinkly
blankets, all of them of white cotton edged with green cloth or embroidered
flowers and smelling faintly of camphor. Lolo would push at the sliding
wooden panels framing the large windows so that they closed edge to edge,
keeping away whatever lay outside in the dark. The tickling and the giggling
and the whispering would die down soon enough. The deep silence would
finally reign once more, along with the distant hum of flowing water.
As we grew up, our haunts would shift from Lolo’s yard to the basketball
court near the barangay hall, the school and the chapel. Especially during
fiesta time, there was always something going on at the basketball court:
basketball, volley ball, beauty
beauty pageants, and at night,
night, the baile or dance. They
would set up loud speakers as tall as a nipa hut. The houses all around
literally shook from the music that pounded at the night, scaring away
wakwaks with any bright ideas. No need to say “Tabi po” at this time.
The festivities always began on the bisperas or the day before the actual
Fiesta. We would wake up to the squealing of the dying pig, and the baying
of a hung goat. All of my uncles are great cooks and they would gather in the
kitchen, chopping the meat, downing cases of beer or Tanduay, and “tasting”
half of what was cooked. The goat, which is a family tradition, was the
specialty of the eldest, Uncle Au. On any family gathering, we always had
goat kilawin, papait and caldereta. The children would gather for the
program and the several uncles and a unties would be robbed of their pesos
after each game, song or dance. At night, we would take out the guitars and
the playing cards and we would sing and talk till dawn.
With the passing of years, the gatherings would become less frequent.
Lolo would die from old age. Lola, who refused to leave her bedroom after
his death, would follow a few years later. During the funeral rites, one after
the other of two coconut trees that seemed to grow from one root was felled.
They say Lolo and Lola had planted it.
The children, who used to sing “Jingle Bells” for a box of candies and
scramble for one peso coins thrown into the air, would grow up. Everyone
would go to college, have families, settle in other cities, or go abroad. We
came back less and less, preferring paved streets to the rough roads, the fast-
paced life to the slowness of the farm, the sophistication of cities to the
roughness that would always be Tiniwisan.
A cousin has died, and two aunts, and Auntie Lilia. All of them are buried
near Lolo and Lola in the cemetery that is reached through a muddy and pot-
holed road somewhere in the inner recesses of Tiniwisan. One of my cousins
would say, “How I wish we came together for reasons other than burying our
dead.” Sometimes, we would not see each other for years. Strange, but the
passing of a loved one
one always brings us back together
together..
There are things we have said about each other, things we have kept to
ourselves, things we have done and things we have failed to do. But it is
always the same every time we come together again.
There’s the sl
There’s slaughtered
aughtered goat (no, two, because one goat is just enough for
a snack) cooked in three ways by Uncle Au. Perhaps a goose from Auntie
Pine’s flock with her reluctant approval, roasted, no, burned to a crisp in a
bonfire by the kids and devoured before anyone could say “awan ti inapoy”
(“no more rice” in Ilocano). There’s the trip to the beach in Buenavista (a
town on the other side of Butuan). At night, we would awaken to the revving
of my uncle’s pick-up, and everyone would troop out for the “surprise” joy
ride through the silent streets of the city across the bridge. Back in the farm,
we would await the dawn while eating balot and peanuts in the verandah,
telling our stories.
The early morning would bring Nong Tano
Tano, the blind man who walks the
length of the Tiniwisan road with his basket of pan de sal . Like Uncle Au
who insists on walking on the rough earth barefoot, Nong Tano walks without
any guide, not even a walking stick. There are many of them here, men and
women who know the land well, by the touch of their hands as they push the
rice shoots into the ground, by the feel of the watery earth beneath their feet
as they move from one paddy to another.
Nowadays, we talk less Big Idea
about moving away in search
of “greener pastures.” More Traveling allows you to be
and more, as we sit on the immersed in different cultures. Make
stone railing of the verandah sure that, when you become young
watching the first light of professionals, you also consider if
dawn while the soft morning traveling is the best thing to do. Being
mist drifts away from the an adult means that you are now
ripening rice stalks, we talk capable of handling the financial
about coming back. And aspects (e.g., airfare, cost of
building a hut right there in accommodation) of your travels.
the middle of the rice fields. Travel if you can, but also learn when
And growing old here. And to be thrifty.
dying here. And being buried
on this land.
The water pipes are long gone, and there is talk of these lands being
converted into subdivisions like many rice fields have been. But where we
are, Dama de Naches still breathe at night and fill the air with their haunting
scent, and some of the mango trees still bear fruit and the coconut trees are
still standing, and the rice still grows on the same land my Lolo and Lola
tilled. And underneath all these, the deepest silence, as the water flows in
hidden springs beneath the earth.
If New York has “Ground Zero,” Davao City has its “Tree of Life,”
which is a marker to commemorate the bombing at the Davao night market
on 2 September 2016. Search for photos of both markers of devastation
and compare them. What do they have in common? Share your findings
with a classmate. Imagine that the classroom is the “Tree of Life” marker.
What would you like to say fir the victims? Write the drafts of your
message here. Then, write your message on sheets of paper and post then
on the bulletin board.

1. What is the purpose of the author in writing the essay?

2. What is the central message of the piece?

3. What can you say about the author’s childhood?

4. What is the central subject of the essay? Defend your answer.

5. What are the similarities and differences between the author’s

experience of culture and tradition in Tiniwisan and your own
experiences?

Based on Paulma’s essay, what do you think are the characteristics of a

creative nonfiction piece in terms of writing style? To answer this, write a
blog post titled “Top
“Top 10 Tips in Writing
Writing about Life.” In thinking of tips,
you might want to take note of Paulma’s way of sharing the story, her
supposed target audience, her use of language, her overall message, and
other elements that made the work an effective piece. Write the draft or
outline of your post here.

The art
historical of writing
events. essaysto inCristina
According the Philippines has beenscholarly
Pantoja-Hidalgo’s through essay,
many
“Breaking Barriers: The Essay and Nonfiction Narrative,” during the
Propaganda movement of the Spanish occupation, the illustrados and
katipuneros wrote essays that were designed to awaken their fellow
countrymen in the newspaper La Solidaridad . Their essays were written in
either Spanish or Filipino, depending on their target audience. These essays
were revolutionary in nature and were frequently formal ones.
Reflect Upon

What is your most memorable trip? What made it memorable? Where

do you want to travel in the future? Why did you choose this place?

The Commonwealth Period brought about the rise of the informal essay
in the country. An informal essay is an essay on any topic available and is
written in the author’s own unique style. However, it is always understood
that when an essay is being written, the author should have something
important to tell his or her readers and must say it well through the use of his
or her voice.
Eventually, in 1937, Alfredo Q. Gonzalez released the first ever single-
author book of familiar essays entitled The Call of Heights. It was preceded
by Dear Devices in 1933 as the first volume of familiar essays in the country
written in English.
After the war came the likes of Yay Panlilio-Marking and Carmen
Guerrero Nakpil, who were distinguished voices among the new essayists of
their generation. As the country progressed toward Martial Law, so many

popular publications such as the Philippine Free Press, Philippine Graphic,
Manila Tim es, and Manila Chronicle published essays that were also
Times
intertwined with journalism. During the Martial Law era, there was a great
suppression of essays
were exiled for in print or media;
their involvement a lot of essayists also went to jail or
in the revolution.
Nowadays, the EDSA Revolution has paved the way for essays to come
back in the limelight. The essays
ess ays that you now read in newspapers or online
are how essays have been written since the beginning of literature in the
Philippines: to write what one wanted and how one wanted.
Creative nonfiction before were stories that reflect ways of life. Now, it
also discusses timely issues and tells stories that news would not cover:
stories of struggle and hope, stories of the marginalized, and stories of
survival despite the times, to name a few. There has also been a spike in the
number of women essayists, and the academe and the media have become
avenues for publishing works on creative nonfiction.
Together with your group mates, think of as many topics for an essay.
Then ask a representative from each group to share one topic until the
groups have no topic left to mention. A topic mentioned by a group should
no longer be mentioned by other groups. The last group standing wins and
gets the chance to decide the topic, upon your teacher’s approval, for the
final essay for this module later.
Reflect Upon
The internet has also become instrumental in shaping essay writing.
What essays have you read online? What are the characteristics of these
online essays?

Fig. 5.2. Dr. Jose Dalisay, Jr.
One of the creative writers who went on to write columns in newspapers

is Dr. Jose Dalisay, Jr., who is more popularly known as Butch Dalisay in his
column “Penman” in the Philippine Daily Inquirer. Read his essay about the
position that writers should
should assume in today’s
today’s unfortunate times:
Dr. Jose Dalisay is a Filipino writer who has won several awards in
fiction, poetry, drama, nonfiction and screenwriting, including 16 Palanca
Awards. As an academician and a writer, he has been a Fulbright,
Hawthornden, David TK Wong, Rockefeller, and British Council fellow.
Born in Romblon, Butch Dalisay is the Vice President for Public Affairs of
the University of the Philippines System, maintains a newspaper column, and

is one of the big names in many literary festivals and creative writing
workshops. Fig. 5.2. Dr. Jose Dalisay, Jr.
Source: http://www.murphyreport.com/issue-01/pinoy-penman/

Literature in the Time of Tokhang
Tokhang
By Dr.
Dr. Jose Dalisay, Jr
Jr..
I was honored to be invited by the Writers Union of the Philippines (also

known as Umpil, the Unyon ng Manunulat sa Pilipinas) to give the keynote
speech at their annual congress last Saturday, April 29, at Ateneo de Manila
University. Here’s the first part of what I said, with the conclusion to follow
next week:
I’ve been asked to speak on the subject of “Literature in the Time of
Tokhang,” and I’m sure we will all agree that no topic could be timelier and
more troubling. I suspect that I was chosen to stand here today much less for
any eloquence than for the simple fact that, even peripherally, my family can
count personal losses in this sordid war. As many of you know, I wrote a
piece for Esquire magazine last year,
year, recounting a horrific moment that no
family should ever have to undergo. Let me just read a paragraph from that
essay:
“My wife Beng and I were in San Diego late this July,
July, visiting family and
taking in the harmless lunacy of Comic-Con, when we received the numbing
news that Lauren Kristel Rosales, the girlfriend of Beng’s nephew Gab, had
been shot dead by a man as she was
was taking ajeepney ride to work.
work. We
We found a
picture online of Lauren slumped face down on the floor of the jeep,
clutching her bag, and it was the most heartbreaking sight I’d seen, the pain
of which Beng’s wails could only scratch at. I’d come across ghastlier crime
scenes as a sometime police reporter, but this one hit home and hit hard; she
was someone we knew and cared for, someone who occasionally dropped by
with Gab and whom we shared Christmas lunches with. We had flown to the
US for a family vacation, and were flying home to a family funeral.”
Reflect Upon
Before reading this piece, what was your interpretation of the word
“tokhang ” based on how it is used in the media or online? What led to your
understanding of the term as such?

As if this wasn’t terrible enough, three months after Lauren was

murdered, her brother JR-a newlywed young man who had flown home from
his job in the UK to pursue his sister’s case-was himself shot dead by a
motorcycle-riding
to this day. gunman who remains unknown, like his sister’s assailant,
To be fair—a word that seems hopelessly inappropriate in these

circumstances—no one except the killers and their handlers can say for sure
if these murders were part of the government’s so-called war on drugs.
Neither was a drug user, and the police themselves would admit that neither
Lauren nor JR was on their list of suspects. But these murders happened in an
environment and in a manner that, as crime waves and police campaigns
typically do, anonymized both victims and perpetrators, and tossed them all
into a wide-mouthed meat grinder that crushed not only flesh and bone but
guilt and innocence together.

The term “tokhang” itself is a corrupted word, a portmanteau of the

Cebuano words toktok and hangyo, or “knock” and “plead”—the very
embodiment of courtesy and consideration, conjuring the image of a
uniformed policeman, his cap in hand, knocking on the door of a suspect’s
home and politely

has become seekingtheinformation
its opposite: or cooperation.
gentle knock In practice,
has become the kick of atokhang
booted
heel, the cap a gun, and the appeal a barked command.
As writers and storytellers, we have to marvel not only at the terminal
efficiency of this process, but also at the facility with which this brief
narrative arc has become a cliché—and like all cliches has left us
increasingly benumbed and unsurprised. In a sense, this is the true victory of
the war on drugs — the capture of the passive mind, and its habituation to
systematic terror
terror..
As our friend and fellow writer Fr. Albert Alejo put it, “Sanayan lang ang
pagpatay”—“Killing is something you get used to.” We’ve gotten used not
only to the killings, but to the stories about them, to the telling and to the
listening. And we all know by now how that basic story runs: Juan was a
drug addict, so the police went to arrest him, but he resisted arrest, and was
therefore shot and killed—probably the fifth or the sixth encounter of its kind
in a long day’s war waged by the noble agents of the law against crime and
evil.
In this situation, what can writers who have not surrendered their
conscience and their writerly inquisitiveness do?
mayWriters
overlap.come in many
In this formshere
audience and today
functions, which
are not at one
only time or poets,
fictionists, other
playwrights, and essayists but also journalists, editors, copywriters,
screenwriters, bloggers, and propagandists of all kinds and persuasions. What
unites us is the written word-and, increasingly these days, the visible image.
I often tell foreign Big Idea
audiences that we Filipinos
can be very proud of our Writing comes in different forms,
writers and literary resources. each with its own style and purpose to
We have one of the world’s the reader. However, whatever the
freest pressesno topic

media, where and and
social
no kind
there of
is writing
always you choose
a way to pursue,
to make your
personage is taboo.
But this is accompanied writing count and to write with a

by an awful irony: for all our purpose to fight and
and serve.
vaunted liberties, the
Philippines is also one of the
deadliest
based countriestofor
Committee journalists
Protect in the itworld—according
Journalists,
Journalists, to to
ranked second only theIraq
New in York-
2013.
2013.
We have only to think of Maguindanao to remember and to understand that,
politically,, it is the frontline journalist who takes the greatest risks and
politically
sustains the most grievous losses in the battle for the Filipino mind.
By comparison, we fictionists and poets have it easy. Politicians read
newspapers, not novels; bureaucrats and generals can’t understand Cirilo
Bautista and Gemino Abad (and I’m not sure I do, either). Creative writing
hardly pays us anything, but we can say whatever we want and reasonably
expect to stay alive and ambulant. Nobody in this country ever got killed or
imprisoned in recent
Filipino despot times because
been deposed because ofof aaplay
novel
or aorpoem.
a story. Neither on
Journalism, hasthe
a
other hand, can be a lethal enterprise, especially if you live and work far
away from the glare of the metropolis.
It’s worth noting, of course, that we have brought down three presidents
—Marcos, Estrada, and Arroyo—by means of media other than print. The
massive street revolt that drove Ferdinand Marcos away in 1986 was called
for on radio; the movement that hounded Joseph Estrada out of office in 2001
ballooned over SMS; Gloria Arroyo’
Arroyo’ss disgraceful behavior in 2005 went all
over the internet. I fearlessly predict that the next Philippine revolution—
whenever
but thatvideo.
by a viral will be
video . and for whatever cause-will not be sparked by a novel,
But again, between now and then,
t hen, what’
what’ss a writer to do?
Source: http://www.philstar.com/arts-and-
culture/2017/05/01/16954
culture/2017/05/01/1695436/literature-time-tokhan
36/literature-time-tokhang
g
1. What can you say about the recent killings happening in the country
today?

2. What do you think can a writer do in this unfortunate time?

3. Read the second part of the article at http://www

http://www.philstar
.philstar.com/arts-and-
.com/arts-and-
culture/2017/05/08/1697
culture/2017/05/08/1697681/literature-time-tokhan
681/literature-time-tokhang.
g. After reading the
two-part column article, what is the overall message that Dr. Dalisay
wants to communicate?

The Modern Essay

What is the modern essay of Filipinos? What do you read nowadays, and
what does it say to you? The modern essay of Filipinos has become more
experimental—it would usually take on an informal form. Some are brave
enough to tackle sensitive issues (such as Kat Alano’s essay on “rape,” or
Margarita Holmes and Jeremy Baer’
Baer ’s joint column that feature essays on love
advice), and some are also bold enough to call out and criticize Filipino
culture.
One thing is for sure: essays nowadays also tap on their readers for
interpretation. Your own beliefs, experiences, feelings, values, and morals all
take part of your interpretation of an essay. When the essay wants to say
something, it does so with your help as its reader because you will be the one
to decode its message.
Patricia Evangelista is a columnist and writer for various publications, but
most recently with the online news portal Rappler. She has been credited to
have changed the face of Philippine journalism and has sparked discussions
with her brave essays on Filipino culture, disasters, and events. She recently
received the NCCA’s prestigious Ani ng Dangal award for her journalism.
Go to the following link and try decoding the message in the essay “The
Baby in the Backpack” by Patricia Evangelista:
http://www.rappler.com/move-ph/ispeak/49484-the-baby-in-the-backpack.
Think about where you were and what you were doing before, during , and
immediately after Typhoon Haiyan. Ask yourself, “What is my reaction to
this essay?”
Fig. 5.3. Patricia Evangelista

Source: http://www.rappler.com/b
http://www.rappler.com/bulletin-board/83766
ulletin-board/83766-patricia-
-patricia-
evangelista-ani-ng-dangal (accessed on 14 February 2015)

Reflect Upon
Imagine what Evangelista is describing in her introduction. If you were
where she was, how it would have felt seeing the corpse inside the
backpack?

Big Idea
Personal pronouns are never used in news articles. But
for opinion articles, “I” is used in columns and personal
essays, just like what Evangelista did. When “we” is used in
an editorial article, “we” refers to the whole newspaper. The
editorial is the piece that showcases the whole paper’s stand
in an issue.
Under a government agency, you are working for a task force in charge
on information dissemination on disaster preparedness. You are divided
into teams who are tasked to create various infographics, with each group
assigned to work on the following:
1. How typhoons come to be
2. Typhoon warning signals
3. Preparing before a typhoon
4. What to do during a typhoon

5. Survival tips
6. Post-typhoon rehabilitation
7. Preventing impacts of disaster
Evangelista’s article hopefully inspires you to help others be more

informed. Further, it lets you be aware of what the consequences of a
disaster are. Conceptualize a well-crafted infographic that is appealing,
informative, and inspiring on a particular disaster. Focus on safety and
preparation. The head of the agency will be judging if your infographic
will be used for the final national campaign rollout.
Reflect Upon
The article is not merely an essay about disaster. What do you think is
it about? What did you learn from the essay?

1. Based on the essay that you have read, what can you say about the
Filipino culture in the face of a calamity?

2. What is the role of essay writing and journalism in shaping the mindset
of the country?


As a respected person in your chosen field, you found yourself in a

room full of equally successful individuals in different fields. You are in
this room because of a major magazine’s invitation. The editor in chief of
the magazine enters the room announces that you are part of this year’s
Persons
create a of the write-up
short Year. Youofhave
yourbeen requested to take
accomplishments. Thea magazine
photo of yourself
will be
using your photo and the write-up in the special issue.
Aside from the featured photo, the magazine also needs to decide who
will be featured on the cover. You have been requested by the editor in
chiefto write an essay about a topic (to be decided by the winning group in
What Have I Learned So Far on on page 82). Make sure that you incorporate
your own experiences in discussing the topic, and come up with an essay
that is informative, timely, creative, and enticing to read. Your 1 ooo-word
essays will be judged by the editor in chief, and the winning piece will be
the main article of the magazine and the writer will be on the cover.
Criterion Points
Accuracy of information 15
Creative writing skills 15
Coherent discussion of content 10
Organization of ideas 10
Total 50 points
Essays are available online for your perusal at the Rappler website

website
(www.rappler.com). Some of its essays are written by Palanca award-
winning writers such as Shakira Sison (who has won the first prize for
English Essay in the 2013 Palanca Awards with her work, “The Kraukauer
Table”) and Patricia Evangelista. Some great writers also publish their
essays in Rappler.com, such as poet Rebecca Añonuevo. You may also find
essays in the online portals of the Philippine Daily Inquirer

(www.inquirer.net) and Philippine Star (www.philstar.com).
(www.philstar.com).
Essential Learning
Essays, just like any Philippine literary genre, deserve their place in the
Philippine literary canon. The essay is one of the most personal and
insightful pieces of written work that has been around since the era of
Spanish colonization. We should also note that the essay has changed
throughout the years and has become a vessel for various thoughts and
ideals of Filipino writers and their culture at the time of their writing. It has
been a way for revolutionary propaganda to be shared with common
citizens and for national consciousness to be awakened.
The essay has developed itself into two kinds—the formal essay and
the informal essay. Whether the essay is formal or informal, it should have
a distinct voice that is able to tell what the written work wants to say
clearly. Aside from this, the essay is now an effective way to relate
experiences and stories on a more personal note, whether it is political,
cultural, or social.

Module
Remapping of Philippine
6 Literature through Criticism

Philippine literary history from precolonial to contemporary
contemporary..
3. Differentiate the various 21st century literary genres and the
ones from the earlier genres or periods citing their elements,
structures, and traditions.
4. Do self- and/or peer-assessment or the analysis of a literary
work based on rationalized criteria, prior to presentation, how
they enhance the text’s meaning and enrich my understanding.
Literary Criticism
If in the previous module the essay was mentioned as a genre
considered to be an “underdog”
“underdog” of literature, what then of literary
lit erary criticism?
Though of ten
ten ignored
ignored and
and sometimes seen as necessary but not a part of the
literary genre,
genre, criticis
criticism
m plays a vital role not only in litera
literature
ture but in the
culture itself. It has set the mode for certain eras and their particular
tendencies: the Victorian Era and its romanticism, the Renaissance and its
humanist people, and the postmodern era and experimentation with art, to
cite a few examples. Criticism, often intertwining both literary and cultural,
has set the mode for most of the culture that has been lived before you were
born and the
the culture you will
will be living in the future.

What, then, is literary criticism? Some will say it is the “reasoned”

consideration or analysis of literary texts and their themes or issues. It may
also be an argument about a literary work, which will be proven using the
text and the culture or context the text was written in or for. There is one
general agreement among critics, however, when it comes to any kind of
critique: it has to be “practical.” Criticism is meant to see what has not been
seen before, to say what has not been said before, and to change what needs
to be changed. It interprets meaning in text and judges the text’s quality so
that it may bring forth new ideas, new realizations, and necessary changes
in society.
One of the earliest works of criticism is Plato’s argument against the
consequences of poetic inspiration in his writing entitled “The Republic.”
Up until now, this text is used to guide critics on how a text can be
interpreted or what other modes of interpretation can be done.
Read a discussion on “The Republic” at

http://www.iep.utm.edu/republic/ or look for other online references
about the text. Then when you go to class, write on a piece of paper or
sticky note your answer to this question: “How can a text be
interpreted?” Your class president will be facilitating the posting of these
notes on the board, and you will help each other out in grouping similar
ideas together. Finally, one representative from the class will report the
ideas arising from the activity, while another students writes on the board
the final answers to the question.
Functions of Literary Criticism
There are many functions of literary criticism, and they vary depending
on the text itself or the context where it is being performed. Literary
criticism may be the simple review of books that you often read online or in
local newspapers, or a systematic theoretical discussion of a story’s impact

on society.
society. These reviews usually determine if a book will be widely sold or
acclaimed, though at times they do not serve as a precedent to the best
seller’s status of the book. Criticism in everyday newspapers may also
summarize the worth of a book, or support or deconstruct a publisher’s
claim about a given book.
Another function of literary criticism is to reevaluate any given text.
This is to shed new light or to give new meanings to old texts. Sometimes,
literary criticism lets you see the function old texts in modern society. The
literary critic becomes a scholar who works through old drafts and
manuscripts, and edits all of them so that they may be reevaluated. This,
when accomplished, may bring old texts to the new public’s
public’s attention.
Literary criticism may also be used to invoke discussions, reassess
society, and redefine culture based on a literary text. These kinds of
sustained criticism may be found in bimonthly or even annual magazines or
journals, which oftentimes have specialized topics. These kinds of
criticisms are usually available to the academe, although some do end up in
daily papers or mainstream magazines.
It is also common for criticism to dip its toes into social and political
arguments, especially if the literary work is social or political in nature.
Because literary criticism is highly interdisciplinary in nature, it is not
afraid to transgress boundaries to argue a point and it also bravely follows
where the literary text goes. Some forms of critical work done in the
Philippines
workers have dealt
(OFWs); with the following:
the marginalization the abuse
of women of overseas
and/or members foreign
of the
lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) community; the
environmental degradation
degradation and injustice; and even postcolonial theories that
dispute the years of colonization in which the country has endured.
This much, however, is true about criticism: critics may be seen as
lawgivers when it comes to books, stories, poems, and the like. They may
pass judgment based on their informed critical lenses and can make or
break a writer.
writer. Even if writers, in the truest sense of the word, are owners of
their own work (and are copyright holders, too), critics may still persuade
the public to place their own judgments on the work, according to how they
see fit. That is how powerful criticism is in society.
What is the difference between a writer and a critic? What are their
respective purposes and functions? Differentiate these two persons using a
table.
Writer Critic
Read the literary essay titled “Reading Rizal as an Alien: Sexual

Anxiety and Gender Trouble in the Once and Future Nation” by Thomas
David Chaves at
http://journals.upd.edu.ph/index.php/lik/article/view/5847/5213. This
essay is a literary criticism of the Jose Rizal trouble in five speculative
fictional works. You will be divided into groups and will be assigned to
one story mentioned in the abstract of the paper: (1) “The Flight” by Adel
Gabot, (2) “The Pepe Report” by Ian Rosales Casocot, (3) “Turtle
Season” by Timothy Montes, (4) “Rizal” by Eliza Victoria, and (5)
“Totems” by Catherine Torres. Your task is to summarize and present in
front of the class what the author said about the story assigned to you.
Hopefully, you will understand how literary criticism is done by
analyzing as a class a critical essay. You can also search for the stories
yourself so that you can understand more the critique to these stories.
Write your draft here.
Read the following literary criticism by Laurence Marvin Castillo. Try

to pinpoint its purpose as a critical text.
Laurence Marvin Castillo is an educator, essayist, and literary critic. An
assistant professor at the University of the Philippines Los Baños, Mr.
Castillo has published critical essays and research works in many journals
such as Kritika Kultura, Philippine Humanities Review
Review,, Inquire:
Inq uire: Journal of
Comparative Literature, and Likhaan Journal . He has written book chapters
for A Reader in Philippine Film: History and Criticism, Salita ng Sandata:
Bonifacio’ss Legacies to the People’
Bonifacio’ People’ss Struggles, and Bright Sign, Bright Age:

Critical Essays in Philippine Studies. He has also won a Palanca Award in

the sanaysay category in 2013.
Fig 6.1 Laurence Marvin Castillo
Villa’s Specters: Transcolonial and Paternal

Hauntologies
in Footnote To Youth: Tales Of The Philippines And
Others
By Laurence Marvin Castillo
Castillo
Jose Garcia Villa’s sole short story collection Footnote to

Youth: Tales of the Philippines and Others was released in
1933 as his pronounced effort to penetrate the American
modernist canon. Villa’s literary move was principally
characterized by his aestheticist self-fashioning as a
“beautiful soul” whose artistic practice transcended his
native roots and biographical specificities. This essay
suggests that, despite this self-fashioning, the collection
ushers in the ghosts of the historical and personal realities
that he sought to obscure. First, the essay argues that Villa’s
intense devotion to the apolitical and ahistorical tenets of
aestheticism, or the doctrine of art for art’s sake, was in itself
conditioned by his biographical circumstances and historical
location within the American colonial milieu, particularly by
his rebellion against his own anti-American father and
against the paternity of his country. Second, it elaborates

how Villa’s attempt at paternal surrogacy in the United
States fed him to the discursive operations of ethnocentrism
inherent in American modernism, and how his choice to
work within the mimetic genre of fiction rendered his
disavowed ethnic identity bare and vulnerable to the
predations of modernist racism. Third, employing Derrida’s
Derrida’s
notion of hauntology, the essay analyzes the collection as
conjurers of the transcolonial and paternal specters that
haunted Villa’s artistic practice.
Keywords: Jose Garcia Villa, hauntology, colonialism,
art for art’
art’ss sake, modernism
In 1933, Charles Big Idea

Scribner’s Sons published
Jose Garcia Villa’s Footnote In research journals, an abstract
to Youth: Tales of the usually introduces an article or essay.
Philippines and Others. The This is a short description of what the
fisrt Filipino-authored study is all about in a nutshell, the
collection of short stories to objectives that were undertaken, the
be released in the United theories used, the methods executed,
States (US), the book and the general results.
consisted of twenty-one
short stories set in the
Philippines and the US, most of which initially saw print in several
American periodicals. The publication of the collection came three years
after Villa arrived in the United States, with the intention of leaving behind
a relatively successful literary career in the Philippines and penetrating the
American literary scene. While the collection was rejected by several
publishers and later on greeted with lukewarm critical and commercial
response in the US, its publication was celebrated back home as an event
that beckoned Villa’s entry into the American modernist canon.
Footnote to Youth ?also marked Villa’s final foray to fiction. In his
essay “The Making of Jose Garcia Villa’s Footnote to Youth,” Jonathan
Chua while tracing the book s publication history analyzes how it was
published and received within a modernist racialized framework set within
the colonial relations between the US and the Philippines. Weaving through
correspondences, documents pertinent to the publication of the stories, and
the stories in the collection, Chua argued that Villa’s work is positioned in
“an ambivalent situation which both challenges and reinforces the colonial
condition” (2013-2014, 30). In so doing, he suggested that Villa’s attempt to
penetrate the American literary circle by fashioning himself as a universal
writer and contemporaneously erasing his socio-political roots was
eventually foiled by the collection’
collection’ss publication.
From this suggestion, this paper argues that the collection works to
usher in the presence of historical realities and biographical specificities
that Villa endeavored to obscure. The release of these “ghosts” operates
according to the deconstructive notion of hauntology introduced by Jacques
Derrida in The Specters of Marx. Hauntology, or “the logic of haunting
(Derrida 1994, 10), is a modality in which the absence of the unwritten,
silenced, or dead returns to haunt the ontological structure that renders the
presence of the written,
written, articulated, and alive.
It is necessary to mention here that the hauntological workings in
Youth operated within the context of transcolonial politics. The
Footnote to Youth
term transcolonial suggests that “the delineated boundaries of influence by
colonial empires were not as fixed as one might believe” (Taylor- Garcia
2011,13). The specters in the short story collection are in fact contingent on
the conditions of transcoloniality that afflicted Villa’s milieu, here
manifested in the transitions, overlaps, and confluences of the American
and Spanish colonial powers in the early twentieth century Philippines, and
in the colonialist politics that hounded him and positioned him as migrant
colonial subject upon his movement to America.
This essay will present the historical and biographical “conditions of
possibility” for Villa’s
illa’s adherence to a deliberately apolitical and ahistorical
literary practice, the historical cartography of the discursive operations of
ethnocentrism in modernism during his arrival to America, and finally an
analysis of the collection as conjurer of the transcolonial and biographical
specters that haunt Villa’s artistic practice—paternal trauma and his
inarticulated engagement with the confluent symbolic powers of the
Spanish and American colonizers.
The Ghosts of Villa’s Self-fashioning
Villa’s historical exorcism constituted a self-fashioning move informed

primarily by the idea that the artist and his practice are divorced from
history, a notion integral to the “art for art’s sake” dictum. He openly
dismissed the socio-political function of art, particularly literature, extolling
above all the work’s aesthetic virtue and its eternal and universal value. He
rejected the integrality of literary practice to the nationalist cause,
announcing that “the nation is merely adjectival to true art: the noun is art
and ever the universal humanity that it contains” (Villa 2002, 168). When
berated by his colleague Salvador Lopez for “having been unmoved by the
‘stress of times,’” Villa responded, “I do not mix my politics and economics
with my art…I do not believe the economic readjustment of society to be
the function of literature” (ibid., 178).
Reflect Upon
What does the phrase “art for art’s sake” mean?
Villa’s aesthetic purism must be understood as a disposition haunted by

his personal engagements with his socio-political milieu. When Villa was
born in 1908, the Philippines had been relinquished by Spain to the new
imperial master, the US via the Treaty of Paris. With the country’s recovery
from more than three centuries of Spanish colonialism subsequently
replaced by a new colonizer, the country was positioned within a
transcolonial phase. Villa would have been undoubtedly well-acquainted
with the political climate of the era, as his father, Col. Simeon Villa, served
as physician to Gen. Emilio Aguinaldo, the president of the First Philippine
Republic. As recorded in his diaries, the older Villa was part of the
company that joined Aguinaldo’s odyssey during the Filipino-American
War to escape from American forces before his eventual capture in Palanan,
Isabela. According to Agustin Espiritu (2005, 76), Colonel Villa was
profoundly anti-American, resenting
resenting the US invasion
invasion ofthe cou
country
ntry..
Villa grew up in a time when Filipinos were engaged in fierce anti-
imperial and nationalist resistance against the American military and
civilian forces—Macario Sakay’s Tagalog Republic, the Moro resistance
forces, the Colorum insurrectos, the Sakdalista, to the then newly-
established Communist Party of the Philippines. As the brutality against the
subversive natives intensified, Manuel Quezon and other members of the
Philippine oligarchy sought to assert independence through parliamentary
and legal ways, before eventually succumbing to compromises with the
Americans (San Juan 2010, 15-16). The struggle for independence also
found expression in literary productions, as signaled by the emergence of
seditious nationalist works in various genres—political plays of Aurelio
Tolentino, poetry of Fernando Ma. Guerrero and Cecilio Apostol, novels by
Lope K. Santos and Faustino Aguilar. Subsequently, these expressions of
nationalist resistance were contained by the invasive Americanization
throughout the country, particularly through public education (Villa 2002,
10).
Public education system exposed the students to Western culture, with
literature studied in relation to the history and culture of the Anglo-Saxon
world (Hosillos 1968, 39). This consequentially conditioned Filipino
sensibilities to regard Filipino literary works with disdain, dismissing their
historically conditioned qualities as didactic and propagandist. Along with
the entry of the New Critical framework which focused on literature’s
autonomy from history, the Filipino student’s literary taste was habituated
according to Western aesthetic standards. In addition, the mode of
American instruction taught Filipino writers a new language, and
subsequently, a new direction for literary practice. As such, the emergence
of Filipino writers in English like Villa shifted the imperatives of literary
practice from commitment to nationalism to the emulation of Western
literature and the endorsement of Western literary aesthetics. Nationalist
sentiments were exorcised from the province of literature, so to speak.
While Villa
apotheosis of thecanepistemic
indeed be regarded as what
reengineering” Chua refers
of colonial to as(Villa
education the
2002, 12), his assimilation to American culture could have been possibly
furthered by his estranged relationship with his anti-American father.

Staunchly antipathetic toward his son’s literary interest, Colonel Villa
pressured him to pursue a medical profession. The younger Villa
Villa submitted
to his father’s will and enrolled in a degree in medicine, and then in law,
without abandoning his literary practice by persistently writing fiction. In
the University of the Philippines (UP), he, together with other students,
founded the UP Writers” Club, which adhered to the credo “art shall not be
a means to an end but an end it itself.” From 1927 to 1929, Vi Villa
lla vigorously
contributed to the literary section of the Philippines Herald , and gradually
established his reputation as an influential voice of his generation.
However,, in 1929, a Manila court charged him of obscenity for the series of
However
poems “Man Songs,” published in Herald and and a short story “Appasionata”
which appeared in Philippine Collegian. Most controversial in the “Man
Songs” series was “Song of Ripeness,” particularly with its vivid
comparison of coconuts
about a seductress to a woman’s
who permits young men breasts.
to see “Appasionata”
her naked body is a storya
through
peephole. Conceding to the charges for the newspapers’ sake, Villa paid a
fine of 50 pesos, but eventually had to face a special disciplinary committee
of the university, headed by Jorge Bocobo, dean of the School of Law. Villa
defended himself in a statement invoking literary license and expressing
that there is no connection between art and morality. Villa deemed that
“Philippine audiences had misunderstood him,” and were too blinded by
conventional morality to appreciate his artistic vision (Espiritu 2005, 76-
81). Subsequently, Villa was suspended for one year. During the same year,
he was awarded first prize Philippine Free Press literary contest for the
short story “Mir-i-nisa,” and used the prize money to migrate to the United
States in 1930 and search for greater opportunities as a writer.
These personal predicaments, along with the epistemic conditioning
brought about by his exposure to American culture, constituted “conditions
of possibility” (San Juan 2010, 14) that elicited his direct disavowal of what
he perceived was the “philistine, Victorian society of colonial Philippines”
(ibid., 6), his rebellion against his father, and his cultivation of the
American dream. Epifanio San Juan, Jr. writes that “his rebellion against
god and surrogate authorities, against literal and symbolic patriarchs, and
his refusal to belong to any physical/real country may be an expression of
his fear, dreams and hope of liberation from all family entanglements and
sociopolitical constraints” (ibid., 19). Villa’s act of rebellion was clearly an
expression of the artist’s bourgeois tendency to alienate himself from

historical and political realities and to search for a metaphysical self, “a
spirit that the human body and worldly reality cannot fully realize” (ibid.,
23). Governing this tendency is the idea that “the singular identity of the
poet transcends time and space, biographic particulars, sociohistorical
specificity” (San Juan 2009, 18). This is particularly evident in his bio-note
in Edward O’Brien’s selection Best Short Stories of 1923:
Born in Manila, Philippine Islands. His father is a physician, and
wanted him to follow a medical career. He finished his pre-medical course
but could go no further ….. Was expelled from the University of the
Philippines in 1929 because it was claimed, he says, that his writing was
immora.....He is very unacademic because he believes academism cramps
the soul. As for the Philippines, he cannot stand the old-maidishness of its
outlook on things. (O’Brien 1932, 293)
As Chua (2013-2014, 23) points out that the bio-note, which belied
certain facts in Villa’s life, signifies a self-fashioning move to romantically
construct the author as “a victim of the establishment,” “a rebel against
convention,” and “a vanguard.” His movement to America then was an
effort to establish that he did not belong to his country, that his artistic
“spirit” transcended the socio-historical realities of his country in particular
particular..
In the words of San Juan: [Villa] struggled to fashion in words and deeds ‘a
beautiful soul’ not in Europe or North America but somewhere in between,
in the ‘occult zone of instability’ (to quote Fanon) inhabited by diasporic
artists, exiles, émigrés, deracinated or déclassé intellectuals wandering the
arcades of the metropoles’ culture-industry and subterranean art-world.
(San Juan 2010,6)
Eventually, Villa’s “beautiful soul” would be haunted by the specters of
his socio-historical subjectposition when he moved to America, where the
seemingly distant colonial realities of his renounced country loomed like a
ghost over the ethnocentric logos of modernism.
The Colonial Specters of Modernism

Arriving
attended for in
two1930, Villa
years, andentered
foundedthea University
short-livedofmimeographed
New Mexico, which he
quarterly
publication called Clay: A Literary Notebook , which published the early
works of William Saroyan, William Carlos Williams, and Eugene Joffe

(Hosillos 1968, 120-121). His attempt to enter the American literary circle
was however conditioned by the economic and cultural atmosphere that
blanketed American society
society..
Reflect Upon
Why is it necessary to talk about Villa’s life and experiences? Do
these affect his work? Why or why not?
The America that Villa set foot on was being tormented by the damages
of the First World War and plagued by the enormous economic slowdown
during the third decade of the century. The period of his arrival was also
marked by the
pensionados ormassive entry
scholars whoof came
Filipinos in the
from the United States,
local elite sometowere
allied the
American colonial government, some were self-supporting students like
Villa, while the others were blue-collar workers hired to supply labor force
in plantations and canneries. These laborers arrived in the US only to
experience oppressive labor conditions propelled by racism, inciting them
to engage in labor activism. This situation was contemporaneous with the
labor unrest back in the Philippines where American colonial intrusion
translated to the oppressive restructuring of the local economy. With the
closure of canneries, harsh wage cuts, oversupply in plantation labor, and
attempts to repatriate Filipino laborers during the Great Depression, the
plight of the migrant laborers severely worsened. By the late 1920S and
early 1930s, white hatred toward many Filipinos, whose growing
population presented them as competitors for labor

labor,, became widespread.
Single Filipino men were regarded as sexual threats to white and Mexican
women in taxi-dance halls, and violent race riots intended to push Filipinos
away from several communities broke out (Espiritu 1995, 11-13).
Racism likewise saddled Villa’s attempt to penetrate a highly
competitive literary market that was also suffering from the economic
crash. Villa, who was then virtually unknown in America and had to
compete with established authors, encountered extreme difficulty in
publishing his short stories in American periodicals. Despite his signifying
moves to present himself as universal writer, Villa could never escape the
haunting of his ethnicity. Ironically, his ethnicity conditioned his publishing
potential in ambivalent terms. While Kyle Crichton cited his ethnic
background as one factor for the rejection of his works in Scribner’s
magazine, the ethnic flavor of some of his stories attracted editors oflittle,
noncommercial magazines. Even more difficult was looking for a
publishing house that would be willing to release his first collection of
stories. Scribner turned down the manuscript of Footnote to Youth several
times, until Villa himself volunteered to shoulder the production expenses
(Chua 2013-2014,13-19).
The presence of this racialized violence confirmed the specter of
colonialism that hounded modernist thought. Instituted on the liberal
philosophy that emerged during the nineteenth century,
century, modernism served
as the West’s response to the political and economic upheavals during the
early decades of the twentieth century. Owing to the Reformation
movement’s dismantling of feudalism and clericalism, and the consequent
discourse that invoked the scientific individual, not God, as the mover of
history, the Western world steered toward the path of scientific progress and
massive industrialization. In the United States, the impact of the First World
War and the rapid economic growth followed by the subsequent economic
slowdown during the Great Depression intensified the impulse to build
industries, engage in massive urbanizing projects, and embark on
technological ventures. Amidst the speedy operations of industrialization
and technologization that enabled Western powers to expand their economic
and political exercises across non-Western territories, modernism as a
philosophical, political, and cultural framework
philosophical, framework responded to the imperative
of constructing the modern Western self against the rest of the world—an
epistemological procedure founded on an ethnocentric ethos that was

haunted by the oppressive reality of colonialism.
From its construction in the feudal imagination as the Christian
imperative to save the “native heathens from the evils of their godless
primitivity,”
primitivity,” colonialism was rediscursified by modernism as a remedy to
what the West perceived as the backward, uncivilized, traditional character
of non-Western societies. Supplemented by the invasive discursive
proliferation of the
the dichotomy between
between the modern and traditional, the West
West
was constructed in the global imaginary as the center of progress. It was on
this modernist imaging of the Western self as the purveyor of civilization
that the imperialist discourses of “benevolent assimilation” and “manifest
destiny” instrumentalized by the Americans in colonizing the Philippines
were predicated.
The ethnocentric
practice, which wasethos naturally
likewise foundaltered
severely its waywith
in thethe
realm of artistic
entry of the
modernist age. With the diminution of feudalism, Western artistic practice
was finally freed from the tradition of patronage. The artist was able to
pursue individual practice, and hence, to engage in artistic experimentation
and personalization (Barrett 1997, 20). Moreover, the imperative to create
something new surfaced as a response to the changing capitalist market.
The modernist artist was promptly disposed to differentiate his/her work
from “cheap” popular cultural artifacts consumed by the emerging mass
urban society, and to contemporaneously pursue an artistic practice that
would never be carried away by the commodifying climate of the period.
Such disposition explains the supervening alienation of the artist from the
currents of the political and economic situation. The doctrine of
aestheticism or “art for art’s sake” thus burgeoned, and the view of “art (or
what is sometimes called ‘high art’) as a source of esoteric value, separate
from the everyday values of commercialism, morality,
morality, and any other sort of
instrumental or practical purpose” proliferated (Carroll 2000, 352). In
literature, this doctrine found its critical vanguard in the emergence of the
new critical framework. This mode of literary analysis was responsible for
defining the Western canon on strictly formal, literary grounds. The project
of American cultural imperialism in colonies like the Philippines
propagated these twin doctrines, hammering in the minds of the native
intellectuals the superiority of Western literature and alienating them from
their own literary traditions. So to speak, aesthetic standards valorized by

the West were universalized as parameters of literariness through the
pedagogical and cultural workin
workings
gs of colonizatio
colonization.
n.
Villa’s artistic practice was definitely founded on these accepted
doctrines of modernist literature. He in fact turned to Western literary
figures for inspirations in his creative and critical ventures. Two of whom
were reputedly highly influential in Villa’s literary career: Sherwood
Anderson whose Winesburg, Ohio (originally published in 1919) convinced
Villa that he wanted to be a writer, and Edward O’Brien, Villa’s patron who
included his stories in his annual anthology of best short stories and whose
critical appraisal of artistic merit influenced the young author in his
subsequent critical work (Chua 2013–2014,14).
2013–2014,14).
Ultimately,, despite his attempt to craft universal literature by employing
Ultimately
experimentations
like Anderson, his and emulating
first bid for the literary
literary techniques
fame of Westernsince
failed, especially writers
he
chose a literary genre that rendered him vulnerable to the discursive
violence of modernist racism-the short story. The genre necessitates the
evocation of a fictional world, “a unique system separate from, although
dependent on the cultural- historical reality in which it is created and with
which it holds more or less obvious affinities” (Ronen 1994, 15). This
mimetic quality ofthe short story was not diminished by modernist
innovations, and was even highlighted with the introduction of realism and
the decline of romanticism. Any attempt to completely exorcise socio-
historical specificities in fiction was thus bound to fail because narration is
integral to the genre’s mechanism of expressing temporal and spatial reality.
As such, the genre is one of “the immanent forms that somehow fail to
achieve rising to the level of transcendence” (San Juan 2009, 18) on which
Villa’s illusion of transcendent artistic destiny was parasitically reliant. In
Footnote to Youth, Villa transcribed his metaphysical explorations on the
meaning of human life in identifiable contexts—the rural outskirts of
colonial Philippines and the desolate spaces of Depression-era America.
How these mimetic worlds evoked in the stories serve as haunting spaces of
Villa’s exorcised history will be explored in the succeeding portions of this
essay.
Tales of the Haunted Fatherland
In his introduction to the collection, O’Brien remarked that Villa’s

literary practice was “deeply rooted in the country life of the Philippine
Islands” (in Villa 1933, 3). Villa naturally made maximal use of local
ethnographic details as the setting of twelve of his stories in the service of
creating a literature of universality. Nevertheless, while his works were
propelled by an overt lack of political agenda, these ethnographic
constructions brought
brought forth historical specters that he tried to bury under his
obsessive adherence to aestheticism.
The agrarian landscape of the rural country against which Villa imposed
his existentialist narratives is rendered by him in passionate and romantic
descriptions. The tales of the Philippines are indeed brimming with ornate,
carefully observed images of the tropical countryside— from the ground
“broken up into many fresh wounds and fragrant with a sweetish earthy
smell” in the title story, to the field of flowers that “was like a mantle of
gold and white … a lake of flowers … revealing dimples of all colors” in
“Yet Do They Strife.” These are in fact spectral traces of Euro-Hispanic
literature that proliferated during the colonial period and wielded an
influence on the country’s literary productions until the first half of the
American colonial era (Lumbera and Lumbera 1997, 89), the eventual
haunting of which O’Brien recognized when he remarked “the strong
Spanish sense of form and color” in the collection (in Villa 1933, 3).
The spectral mood of Spanish costumbrismo hovers over Villa’s
Philippine stories, smoothening the overall texture of their narrative styles
even when they are set in different temporalities spread out across
Philippine history. “Malakas” and “Kamya,” for instance are set in the
distant past. The first is a folkloric love story apparently situated in the
precolonial period as evinced by non-Christian character names that are
visibly borrowed from the local creation legend, and, as Timothy Yu (2006,
33) pointed out, by its narration that echoes “the style of a traditional oral
performance” even while evincing the narrative aesthetics of Spanish
romanticism. The latter period of their early colonial conquests in Manila is
also a tale of tragic love temporally structured within a few decades before
the entry of Spanish colonial power, signified by the mention of Rajah
Soliman who refused to submit to Spanish sovereignty during their early
colonial conquests in Manila. The rest of the stories are populated by
characters bearing Christian names and structured on Catholic temporal
signifiers (e.g., Christmas and Easter Sunday) that situate them within the
later colonial epochs.
The reality of Spanish colonialism likewise prowls the countryside of
Villa’s imagination through the spectral ushering of the Spanish reduccion
system. From this spatial technology of colonial power emerged the
epistemological production
production of identities according to the territorial binary of
urbanity versus rurality. The reduccion discourse ramified the enduring
view of the countryside as the space of the tulisanes and the barbarians,
owing to the fact that the rural landscape is usually the setting of colonial
resistance and agrarian struggles. That the stories of Manila-bred Villa are
remarkably silent and oblivious about this reality could affirm the workings
of reduccion discourse in segregating the more “civilized” city dwellers
from the rural “barbarians.” Rehearsing his romantic evocation of the
countryside from his position as cosmopolitan outsider exposed to the
cultural ramifications of American colonialism, Villa appropriated his
visioning of the countryside from Sherwood Anderson whose works
exposed the “dichotomy of cosmopolitan/provincial” (Yu 2006, 37) in a
manner that privileges character development over plot structure. Attended
by his poetic evocation of the pastoral landscape to universalize the
narrative milieu, Villa adopted the Andersonian narrative mode with the
intention of focusing on universal themes rather than on the material
realities of his characters.
In the story “Footnote to Youth,” which Leopoldo Yabes (1997, xxiii)
distinguished as “a remarkable example of the Anderson story transplanted
to Philippine soil,” a young farmer Dodong asks for his father’s consent to
marry the barrio lass Teang. Eventually, Dodong encounters the hardships
and sorrows of married life and regretfully realizes that his early marriage
has taken his youth away from him too soon. Soon, he finds himself in his
father’s position when his eldest son, BIas, decides to marry his childhood
sweetheart. Whipped by years of embitterment and disillusionment over his
fate, Dodong muses, “Youth must triumph … now. Love must triumph …
now. Afterward … it will be Life” (Villa 1933, 21). Here, the capitalization
of the first letters of the words Youth, Life, and Love throughout the story
distills universal themes/ideals from the ethnographic specificities
occupying the narrative. The emphatic positioning of these ideals as
extracted from the rural backdrop, while framed to clearly articulate Villa’s
existential statement on the oppressive cycle of human life only highlights

the dialectics of the human condition and the socio-economic reality that
contains it. In fact, the distillation of these ideals does not really serve to
obscure the story’s ethnographic background. What is achieved instead is
these ideals acquiring meaning from, within, and through the rural context.
As such, while Villa clearly resorted to abstractions and philosophical
musings to give shape and weight to the forfeiture of Dodong’s youth, he,
owing to the exigencies of narrative worlding, also rendered these ideals
visible and concrete in the episodes of peasant life—early marriage,
unbridled childbirth, domestic travails, and hardships of farm work. It is
precisely through such narrative and semantic operation that one may fully
interpret “Footnote to Youth” as a story of a young man’s confrontation
with the oppressive cyclicality of peasant life in the agrarian countryside.
As the reader further moves through Villa’s provincial stories, one
encounters characters similar to Dodong in that their existential ruminations
are distilled from the material contradictions that afflict peasant life.
Nevertheless, as in the case of the title story
story,, these ruminations cannot fully
disavow the historical and economic base they are situated in. In fact,
Villa’
illa’ss consistent representation of rural life as an oppressive cycle of birth,
youth, marriage, and death is attuned to the repetitive rhythms of agrarian
activity in the countryside.
In the second story “The Fence,” Villa made use of the titular image to
describe the oppressions wrought by this rural order. A woman builds a
fence to isolate herself from the neighbor impregnated by her estranged
husband, and in the process, condemns her son Iking to incurable solitude
within the confines of their nipa hut. The omniscient narrator alludes to this
exile as a behavior corollary of the feudal religion.
His mother would pray. Could she pray? His soul asked…
He stood motionless. And then he saw the fence - the fence that
his mother had built and strengthened - to crush his soul. He ran
weakly, groggily, to it - allured by its forbidding, crushing
sternness. (35-36) Moreover, the narrator mentions this detail in
the woman’s house: “A Biblia was on the table, but no one read
it; they did
narrative notthe
with know howof
temper toaread” (35). morality
Christian More than imbuing
tale, the
this detail
temporally situates the story within the American occupation
when Tagalog translations of the bible were finally made

available to the Filipinos. The presence of the bible and the
mention of illiteracy in the story however release the specters of
Spanish colonialism, conjuring the theological and pedagogical
machinery of the earlier colonizers. Here, one could detect Villa
suggesting the link between rural backwardness and the
enduring feudal impositions of the Spanish colonizers.
Villa’s anti -Spanish suggestion could be understood both as an effect of
the anti -Spanish propaganda disseminated by the Americans toward the
end of the nineteenth century, and as a rebellion against the Voice of the
Father, as the elder Villa reportedly spoke Spanish and no English (Park
2013, 125). In his renunciation of rural life as a ramification of Spanish
colonialism, Villa then spectralized a preferable image that he himself was
familiar with—that of the city moving linearly toward the industrializing
direction of modernity. In an age when “to be ‘Fil-Hispanic” meant being
old-fashioned; (and) to speak English, to be ‘Americanized,” meant being
modern” (de la Pena 2008, 105), this is a modernity founded on the
American colonial order—a modernity that moves to exorcise the feudal
ghosts of the Spanish colonial system.
Nevertheless, in the eyes of Tona, a mother abandoned by a man who
fathered her child in the story “Death into Manhood,” this modernity,
signified by the public school where she enrolled her son Berto, by the Red
Cross pin her son wore, and finally by the cine (moviehouse) to where he
decides to take his girlfriend Maria, is a cause for trepidation, akin to her
own fear toward her son’s eventual journey to manhood. Fearing that Berto
might eventually become like his father, Tona approaches Maria’s mother,
telling her to convince her daughter never to go out with her son again.
Here, Tona’s anxiety to accept the movement of time—its vertical passage
toward modernization—is depicted as a traumatic consequence of the rural
cycle. This representation of the rural psyche is undoubtedly consistent with
Villa’s perception of the conservatism and backwardness of his country of
origin.
In this story and in “The Fence,” one would notice that Villa’s rural
female
contrast,characters are afflicted
his male characters areby
thea ones
counter-
whoprogressive rural mindset.
leave the countryside In
for the
city, similar to Anderson’s George Willard in Winesburg, Ohio whose
eventual departure from the small town of Winesburg embodies the

possibility of escape from the snares of rural life. After the death of their
infant, Ponso in a “Given Woman” suddenly decides to leave Flora, a
servant woman with whom he lived, to go to the city. Even though unsure
why he should leave, he decides to find a surrogate who would be willing to
live with the submissive Flora before he takes off. With the city functioning
as a signifier historically haunted by the political and economic
ramifications of modernity, Ponso’s impulse to embark on this journey
clearly suggests his infatuation with the cosmopolis, yielding to which
entails that he must abandon Flora. In the eyes of Ponso, the woman is the
antithesis of the city.
The image of the woman as staple rural presence likewise finds
expression in “Valse Triste” wherein the narrator’s Uncle Berto remembers
Tinang, the woman whom he was forced to abandon in San Diego in order
to follow to his father’s wishes and study in Manila. When he returns to the
barrio years later, the lovers cross paths again and the woman confesses to
him that she killed their unborn child. Shocked by her crime, he bids her a
sorrowful goodbye, leaving Tinang to realize from this brief reunion that
the beloved boy who abandoned her has finally transformed into a man.
Evidently, these stories usher in specters of the patriarchal order prevalent
in rural familial dynamics, primarily by constructing women as domestic
fixtures in rural territories. The female characters in the rural stories are in
fact commonly represented in proximal reference to their nipa huts. In
contrast, the men are itinerant, capable of moving from the cyclical trap of
the countryside to the linear progress of the city. In the case of namesakes
Berto in “Death into Manhood” and Uncle Berto in “Valse Triste,”
modernity signifies manhood. The masculinization of young Berto’s body
becomes his mother’s temporal marker for the entry of modernity
(signified, among others, by the cine) in their rural community. In the eyes
of his abandoned lover in the rural village of San Diego, Uncle Berto’s
sojourn in the city and his implied encounter with the cosmopolitan realities
of Manila turn him into a man. The urban versus rural binary is hence
rendered in heteronormative significations. The city is rendered as
masculine space, headed toward the phallic direction of modernity, while
the countryside is feminized territory, confined in the cycle of domestic
conservatism. Haunting this heteronormative binary is Villa’s transcolonial
disposition, in which the backward, feudal patriarchy imposed by the
Spanish colonialism is contemptuously contrasted with the favored white

male norm of US modernity.
Complementing Villa’s transcolonial imagination of patriarchy is the
spectral image of the repressive father that looms over the countryside.
From the spectral father who may possibly haunt his son in “Death into
Manhood” to the violent fathers of “Resurrection,” “Story for my Country”
and “Yet Do They Strife,” Villa’s regression from his estranged relationship
with his father is hauntologically intertwined with the suffocating
entrapments of rural life. In some stories, the desire for the ideal father
becomes figured in the image of the national hero Jose Rizal. In the “Story
for My Country,” a boy named Jose Rosal escapes from the brutal custody
of his father. Gazing at Rizal’s monument, the persona, Jose’s younger
brother soon imagines his lost brother as the national hero incarnate,
spectralizing his older brother in the Rizalian cult. Roughly continuing the
trope of escape is the closing story “Yet Do They Strife,” which tells of
another boy’s escape from his wife-beating father, leading him to an
eventual encounter with a wounded man. This episode is haunted by the
narrative of the meeting of Elias and Basilio in Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere
Tangere.
As noticeable in these two stories and the other Rizal narratives—”The
Son of Rizal,” “Daughter of Rizal,” and “The Man Who Looked Like
Rizal”—the national hero becomes positioned as a surrogate for inadequate
father-figures. In his essay “Unbecoming Rizal: Jose Garcia Villa’s
Biographical Translations,” Philip Holden (2009, 287) argues that these
stories insert the lives of ordinary Filipinos into the official biographies of
the national hero “to encourage readerly identifications with their subaltern
protagonists.”
Undoubtedly, these narratives conjure and echo the Philippine state’s
canonization of Rizal. It merits mention however that Rizal’s official
enshrinement in national consciousness is clearly a neocolonial project
endorsed by the US empire, as comprehensively exposed by Renato
Constantino in his essay “Veneration without Understanding.” In the hands
of the Americanized Villa, the national hero’s presence as the surrogate for
the brutal father and the proverbial fatherland—specters that condense in
the images
affirms the of domesticmystifications
hegemonic violence breaking
of theout
USinsponsorship
the rural space-merely
of Rizalian
heroism. The image of Rizal is therefore haunted by the phantom of the

“imperial Father.”
The haunting of American paternity, amplified by the insertion of the
anti -Hispanic and American-sponsored Rizal, in the Philippine stories
possesses Villa’
Villa’ss desire to sever his connection with his own country
country,, which
shelters the ghosts of Spanish colonialism, as well as his connection with
his own Spanish-speaking father. Consequently, the haunting mythified his
sojourn in America where he aspired to supplant his renounced paternity
with the imperial Father. Eventually, as the following analysis will
demonstrate, this attempt at surrogacy would usher in phantoms of the
disavowed fatherland.
Specters of the Homeland
In “Untitled Story,”
Story,” the narrator begins with an evocation of his father’s
cruelty: “Father did not understand my love for Vi, so Father sent me to
America to study away from her. I could not do anything and I left” (in
Villa 1933, 73). The father in this story is strikingly similar to the father in
“Valse Triste” who sends his son Berto away to Manila to preempt his
relationship with a country girl.
This story, together with the other two parts ("White Interlude” and
“Walk at Midnight: A Farewell") of the “White and Blue Flame” trilogy, as
well as the other two independent stories of a Filipino writer’s migrant
experiences ("Song I Did Not Hear” and “Young Writer in a New Country")
are filled with autobiographical details that conjure the specter of Villa’s
father. The narrator, similar to Villa, goes to study in New Mexico. His
venture to “the gorgeous purple flower” (80) of poetry is treated as a
rebellion against his father who disparages any form of artistic practice. In
one instance, the narrator muses “I had no money and I prayed to God to
send me money because I knew I could not get it elsewhere. But God never
answered” (96), referring to an episode when Villa’s father declined to give
financial support to his impoverished son in America (Espiritu 2005, 76).
Despite his move to encode his narratives in the stylistic mystifications of
modernist experimentations particularly evinced in the psalm-like
numbering of paragraphs, the stories visibly resist this poetic erasure of
mimesis and release the ghosts of Villa’s history.
The ghost of the father is a bisemic image in these stories - more than a
personal figure, it spectralizes the abandoned home
home country.
country. Every ushering
of the father’s ghost evokes the narrator’s distant memory of the country-
from the thwarted love affair to anecdotes of domestic cruelty. In fact, this
phantom is evoked through romantic significations transplanted from the
pastoral landscape of
of the country
country.. The narrator th
thus
us ruminates:
…I took with me the tree of my father, my new love, to the
new land — America…In America, I nourished the tree of my
father till his love had branches and although I had never played
before under the gentleness of his shade now I played in fancy
under the coolness of his branches. (94)
In contrast to the spectral paternal hate that floods the rural narratives,
Villa’s persona evokes yearning in the immigrant stories. This newfound
desire
and hisisseparation
aroused in thehis
from very moment of his departure from his homeland
father:
Before my father touched my hands on the boat that was to
take me to America, I was whole. But when he clasped my
hands and said, “Good luck to you, son,” love flowed from me
into the father I had never loved and my wholeness was lost.
(93)
The absence of the father, whose presence has been earlier regarded
with disdain, now becomes the source of incompleteness. Villa the writer
tried to respond to this unwholeness through what O’Brien treats as an
effort “to impose the ascetic pattern of the American desert upon his
memories and, in so doing, upon his writing as well” (3). This recourse is
indubitably haunted by Villa’s aestheticist disposition as literary artist,
particularly by his faith in the transcendental potential of art to go beyond
the exigencies of historical specificities and traumatic biographical
memories.
One expression of Villa’s
Villa’s recourse to the realm of the imagination is his
persona’ss imposition of the spectral presence of his abandoned homeland
persona’
against the alienating wilderness of America. He particularly spectralizes
his father come
his father in theto
foreign
him inland. For instance,
the classroom in the
while “Walk at Midnight,”
professor lectures, he
thesees
old
man apologizing for a previous cruelty (108), while in “Song I Did Not
Hear,” his Jewish roommate Joe Lieberman transforms into an image of his
furious father (246).
Inevitably, Villa’s visionary evocation of alienation and yearning in the
American landscape registers snippets of life during the Great Depression,
as signified temporally by the reference to then-President Hoover. While his
political obliviousness toward the new country is pronounced
pronounced,, as in the line
“I saw President Hoover’s home in Palo Alto but I did not care for President
Hoover” (74), his observations conjure the specter of this present economic
misery—from the image of the crippled street seller, the insertion of a
character named David who, unable to shoulder the expenses, leaves
school, to episodes of the narrator’s own destitution in the big city. Severely
alienated by this atmosphere of economic despair
despair,, the narrator is haunted by
the ghost of his homeland in “Young Writer in a New Country:” “America
is cold, for the moment that is my thought. In the homeland - never any
snow. In the homeland, greenness. 0 green, 0 warmth, 0 bamboos
unforgotten” (301). Here, Villa’s mythology of American paternity is
shattered by his firsthand exposure to the desolation of the new country.
The imperial ideal which he anticipated would be a departure from the
oppressive confines of his homeland becomes demystified when he realized
that America is a wasteland of economic misery.
misery.
In spite of his indubitably dismal predicament in America, the persona’
persona’ss
evocations clearly pronounce his desire for assimilation and acceptance in
this new country. Imagining such acceptance to be akin to someone picking
a handkerchief on the road, the persona, still haunted by the traumatizing
memory of his homeland, welcomes the idea of surrogacy, while rejecting
the thought of returning to his father: “Who would my picker be? - I want
him to have kind eyes because I am hungry for kind eyes, God. Do not let
him have my father’s eyes” (97). Moreover, Villa’s persona prefers the
“desert of my white birth” over the homeland where “I was young” (303).
This contrastive articulation is haunted by the relationship between the
Philippine colony and the American empire, as Villa conjured what Neferti
Tadiar observes as the colonial infantilization of the Filipino nation. Since
“America, in turn, becomes the Philippines” masculine ideal” (Tadiar
(Tadiar 2004,
47), the imperial dynamics of the US-Philippine relations eventually takes
on patriarchal terms, with the colonizer positioned as the doting
‘Fatherland,” the Filipinos, the ‘imperial sons’ (ibid., 53).
This hegemonic construction of the image of the White Father then

becomes, for a colonial subject trapped in the alienating landscape of the
empire, instrumental to the discursive operations of paternal surrogacy.
Interestingly, for Villa’s persona, the desired American paternity must
supplant not just the absence of the homeland and the father, but also the
thwarted consummation of erotic desire—the frustrated desire for his
childhood sweetheart Vi in the faraway country. Consequently, the persona
develops queer desire for the ideal White Male, figured on the character of
a poor American boy named Jack Wicken. In narrating the persona’s first
interaction with Jack, Villa pronounces the persona’s alterity, and in so
doing, immediately positions
positions him within the matrix of racial relations in the
colonial center: “There was a boy Jack Wicken ate at the dining hall who
would give me ugly glances because I was a foreigner and when I reached
home I felt I hated him and could not let him know about it” (99).
Conjuring the reality of racism prevalent during Villa’s arrival in the
United States, the persona’s ethnicity signifies his removal from Jack, and
in effect, from the possibility of having his adoration reciprocated by the
object of desire. The desire for integration and acceptance is visibly
impeded, precisely because the persona’s identity as Filipino/foreigner
marks him off as a neocolonial subject, nominalized through the spectral
reality of colonialism that constitutes the primary encounter between his
homeland and the surrogate country.
The racial distance conceived by this colonial condition further
intensifies his desire for Jack, until it ultimately becomes articulated in
theological significations. In “Walk
“Walk at Midnight,” the persona confesses that
it was his mother who introduced him to the Christian faith: “My mother
taught me to pray. I went with her to churches and at night we prayed before
the picture of God. God had a beard in the picture but when I was in God’s
arms I felt only the warmth and gentleness of His fold, I could not tell if He
had a beard” (118).
This memory, a specter of Spanish colonial theology, haunts the
dynamics of the persona’s desire. This very image of the bearded God in
Christian iconography is the one the persona implores to in his desire to be
taken
be no“back
more into my mother
loneliness and back
for me” (11 into
(118).
8). Hisspecter
The (God’s)ofarms
the so there should
Christian God
provides the persona with an imagined resolution to his incompleteness,
even though the persona’s entreaty takes on a somewhat secular temper

with his symbolic non-recognition of the bearded image. This infatuation
with the image of divinity is similarly demonstrated in “The Woman Who
Looked Like Christ,” a story of a young man who falls in a love with a
woman whose face resembles a young Christ. Queerly conjured, the male
character’s romantic (erotic) desire is imposed on the sacralized masculine
image, prompting the woman to fly into a rage over the comparison to a
male face.
Quite amusingly, the persona’s desire for the image of the White Father,
Jack, is seemingly reconciled with the specter of the Hispanic God when he
implores, “God, let him love me even as I love him” (122). It turns out,
however, that Villa’s persona in the autobiographical narratives constructs a
modernist theological revision founded on mythifying the figure of the
desired White Father (Jack) as someone “who could crush God’ God’ss whisper in
his hands” (114), an effort evidently intended to exorcise the obvious
theological ramifications of Hispanic patriarchy. The modernist patriarchy,
the white male norm of American colonial discourse, therefore displaces the
traditional feudal deity in the process of violent hierarchy.
hierarchy.
Accompanying this exalting vision of the mythical white male is the
persona’ss realization that he will eventually have to accept suffering from
persona’
this unrequited adoration. Nevertheless, upon Jack’s departure, he exclaims,
“I want to see Jack. I want him always to be in my life…even if it hurts. I
am ready to be hurt” (258). These emotional articulations of the narrator
chart the allegorical narrative of the country’
country’ss masochistic relationship with
the US empire, and more particularly, of the Filipino migrant’s travail in a
highly-racialized ecosystem where his desire for assimilation is perpetually
foiled by his inevitable identification as a neocolonial subject.
In this penultimate evocation of “Young Writer in a New Country,” the
last American story in the collection, the persona, undoubtedly already
acquainted at this point with the political, economic, and racial dynamics in
his new country, narrates his imagined integration:
Little by little comes my white birth - a cool white birth in a new
land …
It was then that my stories were born - of the homeland and the
new land. Some of you may have read them - they were cool,
afire with coolth.
I, father of tales. Fathering tales I became rooted to the new
land. I became lover to the desert. (303)
In keeping with Villa’s aesthetic purism, the persona valorizes his
artistic activity as in itself an act of paternity, and a way of resolving the
political, economic and racial contradictions that characterized his migrant
experience. Reading the writer’s self-imposed exile through the
psychoanalytic lens, San Juan eloquently synthesizes Villa’s
Villa’s recourse to the
imaginative realm of literary practice in his attempt to consummate his
assimilationist desire amidst the hostilities of the imperial environs of
America:
…the crisis of exile…is dissolved by metaphoric sublimation: In
his visionary representation of the primal loss (exile as
castration; expulsion by the father), the antinomic discourses of
place, body
body,, inheritance, and need converge in the self- exiled
native being reborn in the desert of New Mexico where the
Oedipal trauma (the loss of the mother’s/patria’s body) is
exorcised by a transcendent trope of imagination. Art then
functions as the resolution of the conflict between solitary ego
and community … between subjugated people and despotic
conqueror. (San Juan 1998, 87)
Conclusion
Despite Villa’s overt effort to fashion himself universal writer, Footnote
to Youth released the specters of the colonial realities that he did not seek to
discuss in his works. In fact, this collection clearly traces Villa’s movement
in the matrix of colonial relations. He disavowed the Philippines as an
oppressive fatherland fraught by the specters of Spanish colonialism,
escaping to the American desert to seek a surrogate White paternity, only to
be rejected because of his identity as im
imperial
perial subject.
Critical responses to the collection were scathing toward Villa’s
American stories, while registering interest toward the local stories that
highlight his native roots. Moreover, many reviews concur that his best
stories were those set in the Philippines (Chua 2013-2014, 25) because, “to
an American reader, his stories offered variety because they “are news from
an unknown country, the Philippines” (ibid., 122). While the book gained
some attention, it was simply on the basis of its and its author’s alterity.
Thus, contrary to the monumentalizing news that circulated in the local
literary community, it did not catapult him to his desired place in the
modernist pantheon.
Remarkably, Villa, understandably daunted by the lukewarm reception
to his American publishing debut, published almost nothing for a decade,
until he released the poetry collection Have Come, Am Here in 1942. The
hiatus, which was clearly an effort to “sever his links to his previous work,”
apparently paid off, as most reviews of the poetry book “register) no
awareness either of Footnote to Youth
Youth or of Villa’s many publications in the
Philippines” (Yu 2004, 43). Of his decision to turn to poetry and abandon
prose, Villa later on claimed that “a poet is the highest thing, the hardest
thing to be” (in Arcellana 1967, 608). But more than his high regard for the
art of poetry, it seems possible that “(l)yric poetry allowed Villa to lift his
psychological symbolism to a level of nearly pure abstraction, with its
biographical and geographic bases erased” (Y (Yu
u 2006, 39), and was thus
more expedient to his modernist aspiration and self-fashioning as a
universal writer.
(See reference list at
http://journals.upd.edu.ph
http://journals.upd.edu.ph/index.php/
/index.php/phr/article/view/49
phr/article/view/4970/4479)
70/4479)
Source: Castillo, L.M. (2014) Villa’s Specters: Transcolonial and

Paternal Hauntologies in Footnote To Youth: Tales Of The
Philippines and Others. Philippine Humanities Review, Vol.
16, No. 1.
1. What is literary criticism?
2. What are the characteristics of a literary criticism in terms of content
and language?
3. How can a literary criticism be used to better understand a literary

piece?

Writing a Critical Paper

You have written a critical paper before in your previous grade levels.
What you must remember in attempting the feat once again for this module
is that literary criticism does not look at literature as a way to proliferate a
didactic message. This means that literary criticism does not solely look at a
text to see if it has a message to say to the reader and whether this message
is good or bad. Rather, literary criticism sees in the text what the readers do
not see, and leaves the readers to think about what was discovered by
themselves. Literary criticism also does not always have to delve into
religious or nationalistic interpretations—it can be anything about the
literary text on hand, as long as it is within the text. As they say, how can
you force your readers to see what is not there in the first place?
Reflect Upon
What does it mean to be “critical” when writing a critical paper?

A quick, insightful, and fun way to discuss your theories and insights in
class is through a short paper . A short paper is literally “short.” It consists
of one or two pages of written critique that will succinctly discuss your
idea, realization, or concept regarding a literary selection. The point here is
to introduce your idea or discovery about a literary selection to the class,
which they can comment on and improve through constructive criticism. It
is much similar to the writing workshops that the great national artists have
established beforehand.
How do you start with your short paper? Of course, choose a literary
selection that you want to analyze. It is preferred if you choose the same
literary selection which you were asked to research on in Modules 1 and 2.
Then, find at least two to three sources that you can use to develop your
idea. You can find these through the internet, your school library, or
magazines/journals. Once you have done your scholarly work, it is time for
you to start writing.
Always begin with an outline. What do you want to say, and how do
you want to say it? This outline is tentative and may always change as you
keep on writing your paper. The important thing with an outline is that you
can clearly follow it as you write along.
Next, start with a joke, an anecdote, or a quotation from the literary text
as your introduction. The idea is to hook your readers so that they will be
more willing to listen to your idea. After this, quickly state as a way of sign
posting (or letting the reader know what you are going to write about in
your paper) what your concept is and how it is related to the literary text.
Tell them, too, if you already have a hypothesis or a conclusion in mind.
You may also give a background of the story, especially if it hasn’t been
read yet by your classmates, in the introduction. But make sure it is short (2
pages at the most) because you only have two pages to write about your
whole analysis.
The body of your essay must try to discuss the relation of your idea with
the literary text. What has your idea discovered about the literary text? How
did the literary text show you or enlighten you about your idea? What can
your idea say about local culture and society? What other future research
topics can be established from your idea? The body is critical in your
analysis. If you need to quote from the literary text that you have chosen, do
so carefully by choosing which are essential
e ssential to develop your argument.
The conclusion is just like any conclusion when you are writing an
essay—summarize what you have said or discussed in the body in two to
three sentences. You may also want to conclude by referencing your
introduction (the joke, anecdote, or quotation), so that it “sandwiches” your
idea and is more appealing to the readers. You may also suggest future
research projects for your readers, which they may undertake if they are
interested in your topic.
1. In writing a critical essay on a literary text, why is it important to also

have other sources?
2. How can you make the conclusion of your essay stronger so that you
leave a lasting mark to your readers?

An example of a short critical paper is J. Neil Garcia’s “Revaluing

Value,” which can be found in an introduction to Likhaan: The Journal of
Contemporary Philippine Literature, a refereed journal that showcases
various unpublished Philippine
Philippine writing, both in Filipino and in English.
Dr. numerous
written J. Neil Garcia is a poet
collections and a literary
of poetry and He
and essays. cultural critic who
is currently has
teaching
creative writing and comparative literature at the University of the
Philippines Diliman, where he also serves as an associate for poetry in the
Institute of Creative Writing. He has won several literary awards including
the Palanca and the National Book Award from the Manila Critics Circle.
Fig 6.2 Dr. J. Neil Garcia

Source: https://alchetron.com/J-Neil-
Garcia
Revaluing Value
An Introduction to Likhaan:
to Likhaan: The Journal of
Contemporary Philippine Literature

(An excerpt)
By Dr.
Dr. J. Neil Gar
Garcia
cia
At an important
Philippines Diliman public
campuslecture in the one
last August, University of the
of the policy
recommendations made by the speaker was the continued
and intensified support not only of STEM (Science,
Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) but also of the
Social Sciences.
The speaker did not recognize the Humanities, which
occurred nowhere in his painstakingly assembled survey,
that correlated the generally disappointing figures of UP
Diliman’s science PhD programs with their respective
research outputs. The College of Social Sciences and
Philosophy was accounted for, as was the Philippine Studies
program, with which he conflated it. This part of his survey
was misleading, because Philippine Studies in our university
university,,
from its inception, has always drawn as much from the
Humanities as from the Social Sciences, being co-
administered by the CSSP with two other colleges—both of
which profess avowedly humanistic orientations.
Nonetheless, the oversight is a familiar one: it simply
attests to the secondary and even epiphenomenal position
occupied by the disciplines of the arts and humanities in a
national education system that has come to see progress and
development as being the privileged province and exclusive
responsibility of the scientific—as opposed to the creative—
persuasions.
Reflect Upon
What is the value of arts and humanities to you as a student?

And yet progress and development, even when they are understood in
strictly economic terms, cannot be equated with the promotion and growth
of the sciences alone. At the first system-wide UP Knowledge Festival, held
in Tagaytay last April, the participants from UP’s different constituent
universities heard from two plenary speakers inventories of hard data that
showed just how supporting the arts—and the creative industries that they
generate—makes sound economic sense, especially in the knowledge
regimes of this new century.
The clarion call was sounded: there really is no reason why the
University of the Philippines should not promote the growth and welfare of
its humanities programs, as well as their resident artists and scholars,
because the creative industries—whose components are already in evidence
across its campuses—may well hold the key to improving the lives of the
vast majority of our people, who continue to be uneducated and poor.

It’s easily apparent that the University of the Philippines hosts the
country’s highest density of resident writers, visual and digital artists,
musicians, performers, content providers, animators, cultural critics,
curators, filmmakers, theorists, directors, designers, and architects, all of
whose intellectual properties can be harnessed and cultivated to contribute
even more significantly to our country’s economy, as the works of creatives
already unmistakably do, in many other parts of the world. These artistic
products and processes collectively constitute our national culture, which
migratory technologies and populations offer the opportunity of becoming
globally disseminated and consumed, especially through the agency of
diasporic Filipinos located in every other corner of the planet.
Among other things, the mission of artists is to promote forms of

embodied, “imaginal,” and creative literacy, that serve to complement as
well as provide a solid foundation for the other more abstract and
propositional
propositional forms of literacy (for example, the numerate and the
experimental). As such, they bridge the historical, cognitive, and
ontological gaps between our enduring orality on one hand and our uneven
and precarious literacy on the other, bringing into the durable media of the
contemporary arts the stories, insights, and rituals of our country’s copious
and immemorial cultures, whose deepest intuition recognizes the dualisms
of our world, even as in the same breath it seeks to transcend them, by
yearning into the radiance of the unity that underlies all forms.
On the other hand, we perhaps also need to remember the truth that
value—a crucial buzzword in that selfsame Knowledge Festival—cannot be
reduced to the merely monetary or the monetizable. Because humans are
symbol-making
symbol-maki ng creatures capable of inwardness and sublime vision, for our
species value can also be and is, in many important ways, intangible.
Despite the convincing purchase of the “creative industries” argument, we
need to ask ourselves, precisely in regard to this issue: Should the arts or the
humanities be justified only because they can be said to constitute their own
“economy"? What is happiness? Why do we crave “connectedness” and
love? What is gratitude? Why must we strive for empathy? What constitutes
fulfillment? Where do rapture and awe come from? What makes a fully
human or even just a “livable” life? Given the socioeconomic pressures that
higher education in our country is increasingly needing to bear, we need to
believe that there remains institutional room, especially in this esteemed
university, for the short story, poem, or play that cannot be remotely
instrumentalized, and yet insists on raising these and other similar questions
— whose most likely
likely value, in turn, is that they
they can be raised at all …
I am reminded of a high school classmate and friend—an accomplished
scientist has been living overseas for a couple of decades now. He visited
me in my tiny and unkempt office in the ill-lit (and illfated) Faculty Center
a couple of years ago, and after I toured him around the spanking new
buildings of the science and engineering complexes, he calmly told me
(obviously meaning to commiserate): “It is you, in the humanities, who
make life meaningful; while it is we—the scientists—who make life
possible.” Even now
now,, the second part of his sentence still gives me pause.
Isn’t everything named— that dawns in our consciousness—meaning? Who

gave scientists their idea of possibility, when before anything can be
engineered or assembled it first has to be imagined? The “we” in his
sentence: where might he have gotten it? How are intuitions of collective
life acquired? And what of life itself? Surely it’s not just about protoplasm,
the convergence of physical and biochemical processes, or the replication of
genetic material. Finally, “making” is something artists do all the time. We
who study and produce literature sometimes call it poiesis: artistic creativity
is (as Aristotle once put it) the bringing into being of something new in the
world.
One of the simplest and Big Idea
truest “lessons” in that
wonderful Knowledge Fields of academic studies would
Festival wasn’t entirely sometimes clash because of different
unforeseen; indeed, the beliefs, theoretical foundations, and
abundant folklore and perspectives. However,
However, as future
mythology of our peoples, academicians, educators, and
and the paradoxical researchers, you must be able to
procedure of most artists, respect each other’s field and learn to
have always attested to it: work together.
there is a rudimentary
“oneness” in Nature that
defies both analytical decomposition and disciplinal boundaries. The
contact zones between the arts and the sciences are multiple and fascinating
and in constant flux, and they bid us to see that both “realms” of experience
are important—trafficking mutually as they do in analogical modes of
thinking and perceiving. Thus, they should not be made to compete with
one another. We dignify our world—and ourselves—by recognizing
wholeness. We parse and hierarchize knowledge to our own peril. In the
words of National Artist Edith Lopez Tiempo, “Truth
“Truth is the world believed:
/ only what the eye sees, / and the heart approves.”
While UP has certainly made great and admirable strides in equalizing
incentives and opportunities among its constituents, a paradigm shift is
necessary, still and all, in view of recent global trends toward unbridled
materialist scientism, and given the way priorities in the education system
have been planned and operationalized, across the decades, in our country.
For instance, it would be nice if arts high schools could be set up as a

complement to the science high schools. And then, within the different
campuses of the University of the Philippines—our country’s one and only
national university—efforts might be undertaken to renovate and build
physical infrastructure that would function as creativity hubs, with the
requisite studios, workshops, ateliers, “thinking spaces,” and performance
venues, in which resident and visiting creatives might get to work, in a
variety of solitary and collaborative arrangements.
In accounting for the University’s “suprastructure” of intellectual
workers, the input of cultural practitioners and creatives might likewise be
included, their productions catalogued and celebrated alongside the
scholarly articles and books that have thus far enjoyed the exclusive
attention of the various survey-takers, with their cumbersome diagrams and
number-laden charts. The much-repeated lament over the University’s
dismal research pro le can perhaps be palliated when the many excellent
theatrical productions, concerts, recitals, films, books of short stories,
literary journals, novels, poems, memoirs, biographies, essays, plays,
painting and sculpture exhibits, design projects, videos, installations,
“happenings” and performances, curatorial practices, and countless other
instances of creative productivity are incorporated into a more holistic
picture of our University’
University’ss overall literacy agenda.
agenda. There may be no lo
local
cal or
global precedents for this kind of metric, but seeing as how ranking systems
are pretty much a matter of product branding, it’s about time we consider
originating our own brand of academic analytics-one that takes cognizance
of the specificities of our situation as a residually oral (and unevenly
literate) nation, whose painful transitions it is its artists’ ardent duty to
document, direct, and inspire.
These same creativity hubs could be the site where Complexity Studies
might finally take root in our beloved University, bringing the various
academic knowledges to converse with one another. Here the University’s
many researchers and creatives may get to envision—and subsequently,
fashion or construct—solutions to our country’s manifold problems, whose
difficult nature requires the ethical and inspiriting consolations (and
pleasures) of the imaginative disciplines, as well as the practicality
practicality,, rigor,
rigor,
and ingenuity of the hard sciences.
Source: Garcia, J.N. (2016). Revaluing Value. Likhaan: The Journal of
Contemporary Philippine Literature. Quezon City,
Philippines: UP Institute of Creative Writing.
Writing.
1. What is the main argumen

argumentt of the paper?
2. What fields are under the hard sciences? What fields are under the
humanities? What are the similarities and differences between the two
fields?

3. How can you promote unity in the academe?
As a member of the faculty of a prestigious university, you are

required to write a critical paper for publication to a reputable journal on
literature. This is a major requirement by the university administration
for tenure. So in writing a critical paper, you need to choose a literary
piece to critique, which can be one ofthe following: (1) a literary piece
with central Filipino characters and elements but published abroad, (2) a
literary piece from the province where you or your ancestors were born,
or (3) two works by two Filipino authors with the same central issue.
These literary pieces can be short stories, poems, children’s storybooks,
creative nonfiction essays, plays, or even films.
Analyze your selected piece(s), and write a 1000- to 2000-word
critical paper. Consider how a critical paper is written based on previous
discussions, as well as the critical eye in discussing how literary pieces
become reflective of people’s
people’s ways of life and vice versa. E-mail your
papers to your editor following the format of a critical paper. Also, print
the manuscript, depending on the preference of your editor in terms of

format and submission, so that you can have your articles published in a
journal.
Your Knowledge
There are a couple of reliable websites online that discuss the essence
and history of literary criticism. Here are some sites that may give you a
brief overview of criticism and ho
howw it has affected global society:
“Literary Criticism -definition”
(http://www.britannica.com/E
(http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/34
Bchecked/topic/343487/literary-
3487/literary-
criticism)
“We Speak Tech: Literary Criticism”
(http://www.shmoop.com/Iiterary-criticism/)
Essential Learning
Literary criticism is often ignored in Philippine literature. Literary
criticism, however, is essential because it not only informs the readers of
what they may discover through a literary text, but also shapes society for
it criticizesofthe
functions context
literary in which
criticism. the text
It may was
be to written
review in. There
a literary aretomany
text, give
an informed opinion about a subject matter or issue, to invoke
discussions, or to reevaluate texts.
One way to meaningfully discuss a literary selection in the classroom
is through a short paper that can be shared through paper or panel
presentations. In this way, you may apply your critical thinking skills on
the texts of your locality or region and be able to discuss it with your
fellow classmates. Criticism is instrumental in fostering healthy academic
discussions in any setting. Thus, it is an indispensable part of Philippine
literature that must be continually practiced and discoursed about.

Module
Looking Beyond: The Future
7 of Philippine Literature

Philippine literary history from precolonial to contemporary
contemporary..

literary traditions.
4. Explain the relationship of the context with the text’s
text’s
meaning.
5. Produce a creative representation of a literary text by applying
multimedia skills.
What is next for Philippine literature? Have you ever wondered what
new book will be printed soon, what new literature will be depicted in the
next blockbuster movie, or what new poems will be published?
There are many newnew genres coming out in Philippine literature.
literature. Some of
them have gained
have gained gro
ground
und and following. Some have branched
branched out to other
forms of media,
media, such
such as theater or movies. Some are just begi
beginning
nning and are
starting to blaze their own path in the local literature scene.
One of these had everyone surprised at how popular it has become. The
comics or komiks, as it is known in the Philippines, is one of the most
beloved forms of published work. It appears in newspapers daily and has
been the go-to entertainment form of some Filipinos. Some of the most
famous ones are Mang Ambo of Larry Alcala, Pugad Baboy by Pol Medina,
and Kikomachine Komix by Manix Abrera. However, there is one comic
book that has
has gained a lot of momentum in mainstream media.
media.
Fig. 7.1. Carlo Vergara’

gainedVpopularity
ergara’ss “Ang Kagilas-Gilas
among na Pakikipagsapalaran
Filipino readers, niits
eventually making Zsazsa Zaturnnah”
impact has
in Philippine
theater and in the movies.
Source: http://static.comicvine.com/uploads/scale_large/
http://static.comicvine.com/uploads/scale_large/0/77/18564
0/77/1856462-
62-
zzzcover.jpg
Carlo Vergara’s Ang Kagilas-Gilas na Pakikipagsapalaran ni Zsazsa

Zaturnnah has won the National Book Award in 2003, despite being self-
published in 2002. It is also unique because even if it follows the life of a
superhero (in the likes of Wonder Woman or Darna), it has a gay male
character in the lead, who is named Ada. He manages a beauty parlor and
believes in himself, although his parents have disowned him. After a series
of failures and a failed relationship, Ada moves to a small town and
receives a rock from the sky with the word “Zaturnnah” on it. When he
ingested it, he shouts “Zaturnnah!” and becomes a beautiful red-haired
woman and a crime-fighter.
crime-fighter. He names himself “Zsazsa Zaturnnah."
Big Idea
Another area of literature that combines imagery and
text is children’s literature. This literature makes use of
storybooks that showcase the illustrations and the story,
both elements adding meaning to the world being created
within the work. Storybooks and comics have that effect:
there is visualization of what the story is and a text to tell
what is happening, but the visuals and the text carry

different meanings that work best when combined.
The character of Zsazsa Zaturnnah has gained a loyal cult following

among comic book readers in the country. It is so successful that it became
a stage play, with Eula Valdez as Zsazsa and Tuxqs Rutaquio as Ada. The
play was staged many times, with the last one being in Tanghalang
Tanghalang Pilipino
where it ran for 91 shows, making it the longest running stage musical ever
staged there.
In 2006, the comic book (which may sometimes be called a graphic
novel) was adapted into a movie, with Rustom Padilla as Ada and Zsazsa
Padilla as Zsazsa Zaturnnah. It has won several film awards, including best
supporting actor and best screen song from the Gawad Tanglaw
Tanglaw awards.
How come Zsazsa Zaturnnah gained so much popularity over the years
and is still gaining popularity up until now? What makes comics so
endearing to its readers that even now, newspapers have a popular comics
section? What does this say about the future of Philippine literature?
The Future of Philippine Literature

What are some of the current trends in Philippine literature? Here are
some of the latest genres emerging in Philippine literature:
Children’s Literature – Children’s literature has made a paradigm
shift as it now includes contemporary stories that are no longer
didactical in presentation. Today, many storybooks discuss
controversial and sensitive issues in the context of the child
experience. These include bullying, death, illnesses, calamities,
sexuality, politics, and child abuse, just to name a few. Writers such as
Luis Gatmaitan, Eugene Evasco, Rhandee Garlitos, and Sergio
Bumatay III, among others, have taken this challenge of producing
works that talk about contemporary issues and empowering the child.
Writers work actively with illustrators such as the people from Ang
Ilustrador ng Kabataan (Ang INK).
Speculative fiction – This is an umbrella term in the country’s
literature that includes all genres of horror, fantasy, science fiction,
magical realism, and other nonrealist genres. The Philippines is known

to have had stories about the unknown for as long as it can be
remembered, and speculative fiction explores these kinds of stories.
The terminology has been championed by Dean Francis Alfar, who has
written and edited stories under this genre.
Avant-garde poetry – These are poems that push the boundaries of
what is expected as the norm. In that sense, these kinds of poems
experiment with form, phrasing, ideas, imagery, and the like. Some
poets who have written avant-garde poems are Angelo Suarez, Paolo
Manalo, Conchitina Cruz, Arbeen Acuña, and Marc Gabba.
Contemporary essay – The contemporary essay nowadays is
unrestricted and explores diverse topics such as dysfunctional families,
LGBT issues, terrorism, religion, and/or faith. It is a far cry from the
common topics of previous essays, because young writers nowadays
are willing to voice their opinions about Filipino society through
writing.
Are there other trends that you are familiar with? What are these and
what makes you enjoy reading them?
What are the common elements of the emerging trends in Philippine

literature? What made them become emergent?

Here are some exemplars from the given trends above:

Dean Francis Alfar is the co-editor and publisher of the yearly
Philippine Speculative Fiction anthology. His novels and short stories have
won him several national awards— including a total of 10 Don Carlos
Palanca Awards. His publications have been global, with his own short
stories being published in other international journals.
Fig. 7.2. Dean Francis Alfar

Source: http://www.anthologybuilder.com/authorphotos
/photo433.jpg
Six from Downtown

By Dean Francis Alfar
The Wet Market

A week after I arrived in the city, I spent a day at the wet market,
negotiating my way down the slippery floors and taking pictures. I was
soon lost inswimming
on hooks, the brilliant
inrainbow of fresh
plastic pails andseafood, laiddrums,
low metal out in ice, suspended
whose names
brought back memories of my childhood: palos, pating, alimasag,
pindangga, lapu lapu, apahap, sap sap, pompano, tambacol, labahita,

malasugi, pugita. At other stalls, I found trays of lato, seaweed that
resembled a miniature bunch of grapes which my parents loved dipping in a
mix of crushed garlic and spicy vinegar, as well as palm-sized oysters, their
dull shells encrusted with barnacles.
Go to http://philippinespeculativefiction.com/
http://philippinespeculativefiction.com/ and choose one story to
read. After reading, write a soo-word essay about the story. Identify its
fictional elements, as well as the themes and issues that the work wants
to address. Finally, identify what makes the story speculative. Write the
draft or online of your story here.

One stall’s sign captured my attention and got my taste buds going:
Fresh Sirena. I smiled to myself, surprised at how many years had passed
since I last tasted mermaid. When I was a child growing up in the south, my
grandfather would take me out mermaid fishing. The boat of my memory
was cramped and seemed ungainly in the water, but none of that mattered
since I loved being out at sea with him.
“They think it’s unlucky,” he told me once, when I observed that it
seemed only men went into the sea. “It does not matter to me that you are a
girl. You’re what God has given us and that’s all the luck we’ll need.”
him,Atmya precise position

grandfather whosedrop
would exact
theoceanic location
makeshift was overboard
anchor known onlyand to
organize the fishing lines, stretching across the span of his arms the very
fine filaments he purchased from American soldiers before they fled the
Japanese. When all the preparations were done, he’d ask me to attach the
bait. This was one of the best parts for me because I got to open the large
biscuit tin with the end of a spoon and select a piece of jewelry
jewelry.. I would
scoop out a handful of shiny trinkets and fuss over them, showing off to my
grandfather how seriously I took the task. My favorite bait was a gold
scapular embossed with the image of the Virgin Mary. After I had carefully
attached the bait to the line, my grandfather would always tell me to sit still,
watch the sea quietly and be ready with the net. Then he’d slowly lower the
filament into the water, one hand unrolling calculated measures of length.
Sometimes, it took forever for a mermaid to bite, and I remember thinking
that perhaps they had all the jewelry they’d ever need. While waiting, my
grandfather would smoke a thin cigarette between his teeth, flipping it into
his mouth when only the smouldering filter remained, checking once in a
while if I had a firm grip on the wooden handle of the net that was my part
in things.
“Be ready at any time,” he’d intone, exhaling smoke into the air laden
with salt.
The mermaids we’d catch ranged from two and half to three feet in
length. Their tails, excellent steamed, grilled or boiled with tamarinds, were
an iridescent green flecked with blue points of lights. Halfway up was the
bony flesh that was always cast away after cutting: the torsos were mottled
pink and grey,
grey, with protruding nubs where nipples would be; the thin arms
ended in four fingers, a filmy web of flesh between each one. The egg-
shaped heads were crowned with pale stringy hair, like the ghosts of
seaweed, covering much of the face that was punctured thrice by tortoise-
colored eyes and a gasping mouth lined with sharp tiny teeth.
“Here’s one,” my grandfather would whisper upon sensing the line grow
“Here’s
taut, before exploding into action, standing up and reining in the filament,
hand over hand, until the mermaid broke the surface of the sea, unwilling to
let go of the shiny bait. At his signal I’d quickly extend the net, making
certain to trap the glistening tail, and together we’d haul the mermaid into
the boat, where my grandfather would exchange the string in one hand for a
fire-hardened club and strike at the mermaid’
mermaid’ss head until it stopped moving.
One was usually enough for our large family, but I remember during the
times of fiesta how the sea would be dotted by little boats similar to my
grandfather’s, and how they’d return hours later, pitching low in the water,
each with several mermaids.
Reflect Upon
What is the purpose of speculative fiction?

I stood by the sirena stall and looked over what was offered, fighting the
rising disappointment fueled by the memories of my childhood years. The
mermaids lay side by side and almost haphazardly on top of each other,
eyes closed and mouths agape, on a bed of crushed ice, most of them barely
a foot long, some even smaller, and their tails had only the barest hint of
green. Sensing my disquiet, the vendor, a middle-aged man with a red
bandanna and a bulging belly,
belly, explained in a lugubrious tone that it was the
lean season, and that all mermaids were that size nowadays.
I purchased the freshest looking one, astounded at the price per kilo, and
asked if there was a place nearby that could grill it for me. The vendor
winked and, for one hundred pesos, offered to cook it himself. I suspected
he was overcharging me but gave in when he agreed to throw in a handful
of sea snails for free.
The Business Quarter

There’s this story Marie told me after work one time over turtle pie at
our favorite coffee place. You would never expect Marie to be the kind of
person who collects a particular kind of story—she’
story—she’ss barely five feet tall,
round-faced in a way that recalls cherubs from the angel craze a few years
back, and works for a non-governm
non-government
ent agency that is dedicated to
preserving and promoting the zarzuela, moro-moro,
moro-moro, and iyakan.
“I have a new one for you, Tom,” she began, leaning toward my good
ear. “There’s this guy, okay? Around our age, regular guy, a call center guy,
you know? Anyway, he’s at his third call center—you know how people
move around, right? Better pay is always a great motivator. So this guy is
handling customer service for a phone company in the US. He gets a call
from a woman, and you know, he goes through the motions, blah blah blah,
the usual—they have a script and everything; they have a program on their
monitors like a walkthrough and everything’s there. I mean, everything. So
anyway, this woman gets upset because she can’t get the guy to understand
her problem. But the guy, our guy, thinks he does. So he asks her questions
again, just to make sure, very nicely because his supervisor or whatever
they re called is listening in they do, for evaluation, I guess. So he keeps
asking her questions which I guess sounded either really useless or stupid to
the woman, and she freaks out. She just freaks out. She starts calling him
names, demands exactly where he is—and I don’t know if they’re allowed
to say where they are, I mean, they’re pretending to be in US, right? They
even have the proper accents and all. So she’s really upset and our guy’s
trying to calm her down, but he’s getting affected too, I mean, who
wouldn’t, you know?”
I nod, offering her a cigarette before lighting one for myself.
“Finally he says, he says to her, ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you, ma’am,”
takes off his headset, stands up, leaves the call center, drives home, calls his
wife’s cell phone and tells her to come home from school—she was taking
her master’s in something, and, get this, she pregnant with their first child.
But I’ll get to that, in a bit. Anyway, when she arrives, well, when she
arrives, he stabs her seventeen times with a kitchen knife. Seventeen times.
I mean, oh my god, right? Then he sits down next to her on the floor and
waits for someone to find them. He just sits there, looking at her, looking at
what he’s done, I guess. Just sits there. That’s when he notices fingers
slowly poking out of the wounds on her stomach. I know, I know. He sits
there transfixed or whatever and just watches his child pull open the
wounds and crawl to his dead wife’s tits. Imagine that. I don’t know what
happened next, supposedly the call center helped keep the thing hush-hush
to protect their image, but I don’t know. Obviously, word got out. But it’s
not in the papers though. And you’d think that something like that would
make the tabloids at the very least. I don’t know.”
As I listened to Marie recount the story in her own inimitable way, her
eyes punctuating every detail, every digression, widening, squinting, liquid
with the excitement of sensational tragedy, I felt slightly dizzy. When her
hands grasped an invisible knife and punctured the air between us,
repeating the actions of the call center man, I felt myself bleed, inwardly
reeling from the assault as if I were his doomed wife, coming home to the
unexpected violence of kitchen steel. By the time Marie was finished, I was
exhausted, and there was really nothing more to say or do, apart from
picking up my fork and eating the remnants
remnants of the turtle pie.
pie.
“So, Tom,” Marie asks, checking her watch. “What’s up with you?”
The Red Light District
In the city, everyone has to make money. I dance every night for a
hundred pesos. I know it doesn’t look like much—it’s more of an allowance
from the club owner—but I make a good living through tips. The club is
called Suave, and though all the dancers are there by 7, the doors open only
at 10. That’s when the dancing begins.
Tonight’s
other no different.
guys. I stroke myself,Before I amthe
imagining called, I sitIin
last girl a small
was with,room with the
and apply ten
thick rubber bands around my hardness, each one looped twice to keep the
blood in. Some guys use more, but I’ve found that my pain tolerance peaks
at ten. When I’m hard as a rock I wear my briefs, white and tight, to better
show off my bulge. Then I wait.
When I hear my music play, I make my way to the darkened stage and
take my position, my back to the audience, hands and legs spread apart,
leaning against the wall. As the vocals rise, the lightshow begins and I start
to move, grinding to the thumping bass line. I turn and move around the
stage, working the space to the beat, posing, strutting, slowly here, faster
there. My hands touch my chest, trailing down my abs and over between
my legs.
My face is impassive—I was taught to show nothing, to let the audience
imbue my face with whatever they want—except for my eyes. I look at
them, the ones closest to the stage. I catch the eye of a young woman in the
company of friends. I feel the heat of her gaze, consuming every inch of my
body.. I dance for her alone, timing my next motion
body motion to a downbeat, sudden
suddenly
ly
kneeling so close to the woman that she involuntarily flinches. I raise my
hips and seduce the air, running a hand over my chest while supporting
myself with the other.
I know what she wants, what she came to see.
I stand up, pull off my briefs and release my tail.
It uncoils quickly, swollen and pulsing, and I urge it up. The applause
that follows is deafening and I hear my name shouted above the music. I
flex my tail down and sideways, letting it trail down the cold stage floor
before twirling it around, slowly at first, then faster, double beat rhythm,
slashing through both the hot air and the deafening music. Then as I am
abruptly trapped in a spotlight, I grab my thickness and caress the hard
muscle, bringing it close to my face and look for the woman I chose to
dance for.
Her arm is raised, her hand clutching a five hundred peso bill.
Please, she mouths. Do it to me.
I break into a smile and send my tail out toward her, fast as a whip, and
encircle her neck. Her eyes open in anticipated surprise and I feel her gasp
for breath. I contract and squeeze until her mouth falls open and her tongue
rolls out. I lift her up, tensing my muscles, hiding the pain of the cutting
rubber bands from my face, and she is choking and everyone is clapping,
hooting, wishing it was them I favored.
I hold her in the air for a few moments, feeling the tremors of her
spasms on my tail, before setting her down. She draws in several deep
breaths and I let myself linger
linger,, stroking her flu
flushed
shed cheeks, brushing
brushing against
her fingers until she opens her hand. I curl the tip of my tail around the
money and bring it back to my hand, just in time as the music ends.
In the darkness that follows, I return to the dressing room, making way
for the next dancer. I cut the rubber bands around my tail with a pair of
scissors all the guys share and feel immediate relief as the blood drains
away from the hard muscle.
I’m sore, as usual, but it’s a living.
The University Belt

I will never forget how Mr. Rosales, my music teacher in 2nd year,
vanished. My parents,
musical brilliance, convinced
engaged him as at my
that tutor
time every
that I had a degree
Tuesday and of hidden
Thursday
night, in addition to my regular class under him on Fridays.
Mr. Rosales came from a small town in Negros, from one of those
places whose names the mind finds impossible to recall, the ones where
moths, wings tipped in poisonous dust, trail after would be suicides. He was
a peculiar man who talked about his life to anyone who would listen. After
private lessons at my house one evening, he told me how much he loved
music but felt that his entire life was a failure. I remained quiet, out of
respect. But it was true.
Against his lips, the flute acquired an altogether different aspect, lilting,
rising, falling, persuading, leading all who heard it almost but not quite to
the precipice of utter joy. But consistently, at the precise moment when the
next note would transport his audience of students to an unearthly paradise,
he’d falter, reversing in mere moments the experience of delight and
replacing it with a cacophony that could only rouse an exasperated sense of
regret, enveloping those of us within earshot with the fading echoes of his
desperate longing.
One Friday afternoon in class, right after another truncated recital that
ended in the manner all his performances did, Mr.
Mr. Rosales walked out of the
music room, in tears. My fellow students and I followed him at a cautious
distance down the corridors, past the classrooms where voices expounded
on genes and peas, down the stairs past the glass-enclosed trophies that
proudly attested to the school’s
school’s victories in volleyball, origam
origamii and spelling,
and out into the pristine and uniform-length grass of the quad. It was there
that he turned to us and said, “I’m done with this—and with all of you.”
The whirlwind that engulfed him appeared out of nowhere. It came as
an inverted cone, swirling with the tip on top, ten meters tall, colored
mostly green and smelling strongly of crushed leaves. It just covered him,
like a cup in a shell game, and was simply not there the next moment. The
fascinating thing about it, in fact the very last thing that everyone who
witnessed Mr. Rosales’ leave-taking remembered, was that the entire event
took place in silence. There was none of the expected sounds associated
with a whirlwind, even a completely unexpected one. It just came, upside
down, covered him completely,
completely, and vanished, all
a ll in silence.
Mrs. Flores, the teacher who replaced him, was less memorable.
I think she taught piano.
Restaurant Row
Evenings at Shiro Shiro were usually a happy time for most of us.
Except for me. Tonight
Tonight I just sat there, listening to each of my friends relate
all their current and prospective creative work ("For profit or for the soul,”
as DM, the loudest and the most prolific of us, put it). As each person
rattled off all their plans and schedules, I kept silent, knowing I was
nowhere approaching my expected output as a member of our circle of
writers and artists.
“I’m thinking of the male nude for my exhibit, but very harshly lit,”
Tony said, passing a handful of Polaroids around. “No shadows, no
textures, no mystique. I think I can pull it off. I’m thinking of getting really
old guys, grandfathers, you know, people like that. Hairless, wrinkly. I’ll get
them drunk or high and give them a fistful of razors. I’m thinking about
what lies beneath all of us—or them, in this case.”
It was not a matter of whether or not I had ideas. I did have them, I
recall finding a few quite exciting, perhaps one or two even astounding in
their potential. But they remained pure ideas, unexpressed, as I permitted
myself to be mired down by the mundane circumstances of my life.
Normally,, even the humdrum everyday
Normally e veryday would be a source for me to mine
and craft, set down into words, but I’ve been unable to pursue my thoughts
to their multi-path endings, unable to commit the time and effort to actually
create. The very thought of writing immediately drained me before I even
started.
“Of course, all the thirteen stories will interconnect and are all true—I
researched the police files myself,” Susan was explaining, a little too loudly
as usual. “It’s all about the intertextuality of sexuality.” She was telling the
group about her book deal and the risks she was undertaking, pushing her
personal literary agenda when all that the publisher wanted were short
romances in Filipino. “Without risk, we cannot create,” she said, pausing
for dramatic effect. “It would just be empty fireworks. I’m setting the
themed collection in a school for the blind. The challenge is to articulate
what these characters
kids groping cannot
each other, see—the
fucking aroundonrush
while of heartbreak.
they make theirImagine these
stupid paper
no one buys.”
Her words reminded me how my own thoughts came in staccato bursts,
like pyrotechnics that rose and flared, abruptly lighting my consciousness
before just as quickly fading into the quiet of my mind. The longest piece
I’d had written in recent memory was a fractured poem of three verses in
first person with no imagery whatsoever. When I was finished I knew I was
guilty of setting monologues as prose poems with no hope of truly creating
anything; just wanting to write something, anything, to have something to
show the others, to burn away time.
“You know those old ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ books,” Andrew
asked, gesturing to the group. “You know, you make choices and get
different endings and shit? Remember how they could have been so cool?
Well, I’m writing one on my blog, hyperlinked and all, so there’s an actual
experience of moving away once a choice has been, you know, made. I’m
working out linking it to this sad, sad blog I hacked. There’s this woman
who’s been abandoned by her husband, and everything she writes is just
pathetically exquisite. She exposes everything. She thinks he left her
because she’s
she’s fat and ugly
ugly,, and she’s
she’s absolutely right. She has a picture and,
oh man! One of the links goes directly to her—and she won’t know.” His
idea made most of the group laugh and sit up as they contributed memories
of the old book series.
“She’s her own tragedy,” Marge giggled.
“That sounds great,” DM said, bestowing a dazzling smile of approval

upon Andrew. “Finish it and we’ll think about how to protect it from
plagiarists. I like the conceit applied to the web, but I don’t trust the
assholes online.”
When it was my turn to speak, I just coughed twice and proceeded to be
studiously engrossed with my cell phone, letting the painful moment of
anticipated response pass by in bullet-time, before Marge, the purple-haired
poet next to me, saved me from further embarrassment.
embarrassment.
As I listened to her announce the publication of yet another of her
collections of angry-youngwoman-
love-with-her-mother poetry, I thoughtwho-makes-the-mistake-of-falling-in-
about how my own ideas and plans
just sat in the still corners of my mind, perfectly transfixed, like the plastic
displays of menu items in the Japanese restaurant that DM insisted upon so
he could light up and smoke his noxious clove cigarettes.
Big Idea “So, in the end, my

collection says, in a nutshell,
In some ways, writing is indeed ‘I have nothing more to say
like cooking. You need to have the to you, Mama - go find
right ingredients and you have to mix someone else to go down on
them well to have a lasting effect on you.” Marge sat back,
the readers’ palate. Speculative exhausted by her own vitriol.
fictionists cook the most exotic “I love it,” Susan said,

cuisines! raising her glass of Strong
Ice to Marge before turning
to look at me. “What about
you, Trish? I didn’t hear what you’re up to.”
“This and that,” I muttered. “Nothing much.”
“I’m sure you have something,” DM said with a small frown. “What
happened to the novel you’re writing, the one about Spanish friars in
Cebu?”
“I have something cooking,” I replied. “I have the words.”
“You’re just being lazy, Trish,” DM said with an exaggerated frown.
“Whatever,”
“Whatever,” I said. I composed a text message and sent it to myself.
Get out get out get out
When the message arrived, triggering the beep of my cell phone
seconds later, I stood up, excused myself and drove back to my house.
I headed directly to the fridge. I ignored the giant candy-shaped
aluminum foil that contained the remains of last year’s aborted writing and
instead took one of the baby blue tupperwares, peeled open the cover and
looked at all the words I’d been cutting out from various books, newspapers
and magazines for past several months.
In a clean skillet, I tossed the words in, added a little water and soy
sauce, twisted the heat to low, waited for the text to simmer and hoped for
the best.
The Housing Projects

I wake up from a troubling dream and realize my wife has left again
without telling me. She’s dealing with the anxiety of our inability to have a
child in her own way—there, I’ve said it, it’s out in the open. Seven years
of trying nearly everything wears anyone down. I check near the window
and see she’ll be back before the sun rises. She’s
She’s never completely gone.
Unable to return to sleep, I decide to go out for a drink and a massage,
leaving at just past midnight. I lock up, walk a bit in the gentle drizzle, and
wait for a cab.

Once in a while, I do this: find a friendly bar, have a couple of beers and
just vegetate. It’s
It’s important that I’m alone. I do not want or need
conversation
comes over toand
talk.II certainly don’tI want
don’t respond. am nottointhink. On occasion
the mood for someone someone
else’s
story, whether it is as banal as a prostitute with a heart of gold, as artless as
a philandering man, or as half-flattering as some guy who thinks I’m
cruising the bar for some action.
a ction. I wear a mask of stupidity
stupidity,, of being unable
to comprehend complicated sentences, and radiate a zone of general
antipathy in the blue cloud of my cigarette smoke.
Mter I pay for my drinks, I take another cab. The dark streets offer no
traffic, glistening with the dull sheen left behind by the superficial rain. At
the Korean bathhouse I frequent, I check in, strip and take a bath while
sitting on a small wooden stool. Then I immerse myself in the hot waters of
the main pool, oblivious to the amiable argy-bargy of the other men around
me, Filipinos and foreigners, simultaneously exposed and cloaked by
steaming water. I soak until I feel the alcohol in my system flushing out via
sweat. Then I go for my massage, hoping that the lady I like is present. She
is, and soon her iron fingers wedge themselves into the knots of my aching
back, shaking my body’s
body’s dalliance with sadness
sadness with redemptive
redemptive pain.
Afterwards, I go up to the bar in my robe and have a glass of Shiraz,
mellow and with a hint of tartness, and look beyond the glass walls and out
into the street below. I think of nothing, not work or children. For a while I
pretend to be consumed
consumed by n nothing,
othing, no cares, no worries. Just
Just for a while.
Before 5 AM, I ride a third cab home to the condo. I check to see if my
wife is back but she isn’t. The lower half of her body is still standing where
she left it, next to the window, wearing only the floral patterned panties I
don’t like very much. I look out the window of our 33rd floor unit and see
the grey skies slowly changing hues.
I know she’ll fly back. She’s on her way home.
I realize that I am desperately hungry, that everything in my system
since midnight has been smoke and alcohol. I make scrambled eggs the way
I like them (heat the pan with a little oil, dump the eggs, whisk briskly to
separate the mass, then on to a plate—the entire process takes only a few
seconds) plus a couple of links of sticky longganisa.
My wife arrives in a rustle of wings. I look up from my early breakfast
and she is there, framed by the bedroom doorway, flushed and glowing with
perspiration.
“You’ve been out,” she says, kicking out the kinks in her legs which had
gone asleep while she was away
away..
I nod. “A couple of beers and a massage.”
“Good, good,” she says, moving to the kitchen counter for a glass.
“Hungry?” I ask, pointing to my half-eaten meal.
“No, thanks,” she says, filling her glass with water from the dispenser.
“I just ate.”
Later in bed, after she showers, I lean over and kiss her.
“You want to try again?” I ask, tracing the contours of her face with my
fingers.
In the light of dawn, she turns away to hide her tears.
For Ian Casocot

Source: http://philippinespeculativefictio
http://philippinespeculativefiction.com/alfar
n.com/alfar.html
.html
What do the short stories of Alfar have in common?

Conchitina Cruz is a Filipina poet who teaches creative writing and

comparative literature at the University of the Philippines-Diliman. She
graduated magna cum laude from the Creative Writing Program, and a
valedictorian from the College of Arts and Letters in 1998. She has received
a Fulbright grant for her Master of Fine Arts (MFA) in Creative Writing in
the University of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and is currently taking up her
PhD in the State University of New York (SUNY), Albany. She has
published several poetry books such as Dark Hours and Elsewhere Held
and Lingered .
Fig. 7.3. Conchitina Cruz

Source: https://curiouscouch.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/1002721_1
https://curiouscouch.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/1002721_1
0151511429952717_2033367287_n.jpg
Dear City
By Conchitina Cruz
Permit us to refresh your memory: what comes from heaven is always a
blessing, the enemy is not the rain. Rain is the subject of prayer
prayer,, the kind
gesture of saints. Dear City, explain your irreverence: in you, rain is a

visitor with nowhere to go. Where is the ground that knows only the love of
water? What are the passageways to your heart? Pity the water that stays
and rises on the streets, pity the water that floods into houses, so dark and
filthy and heavy with rats and dead leaves and plastic. How ashamed water
is to be what you have made it. What have you done to its beauty, its
graceful body in pictures of oceans, its clear face in a glass? We walk home
and cannot see our feet in the flood. We forget to thank the gods for their
kindness. We look for someone to blame and turn to you, wretched city,
because we are men and women of honor, we feed our children three meals
a day, we never miss an election. The only explanation is you, dear city.
This is the end of our discussion. There is no other culprit.
Source: http://www.highchair.com.ph/permitcruz.html
Reflect Upon
What can you say about the nature of this piece by Cruz? What do
you think is its form and genre?

In http://cordite.org.au/chapbooks-features/the-centre-cannot-hold/,
you will find links to six sets of contemporary poems. Choose one link
(or let your teacher assign you one) and read the poems in it. Analyze the
poems in the link. With
With your group mates, prepare a report where you
will present the poems, discuss their characteristics in terms of form and
content, and identify what makes them contemporary or avant-garde.
Shakira Sison won the First Prize Don Carlos Palanca Award for the
English Essay last 2013 for “The Kraukauer Table.” She was a veterinarian
before she relocated to New York in 2002, where she now currently works
in the finance industry.
A look at the psychological factors affecting one’s nature to be early or
late may help in addressing one’s punctuality, but in the end it is simply a
matter of whether one’s tardiness has consequences, or if it’s “Okay lang,
na-traffic lang naman.” ("It’s okay. He or she was just caught in heavy
traffic.")
Read “Can We Get Rid of ‘Filipino Time’?” by Shakira Sison in the
following link: http://www.rappler.com/views/imho/90791-get-rid-filipino-
time.
Fig. 7.4. Shakira Sison

Source: https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-
iQd32SK6y70/UbphX9Y0M
iQd32SK6y7 0/UbphX9Y0MfI/AAAAAAAAAGY/vn7G9
fI/AAAAAAAAAGY/vn7G9EhF
EhF
3ZY/s630-fcrop64=1,00000ef0d37fc29f/pogi-001.JPG
Reflect Upon
Have you ever been late in class? What was the reason? What did you
tell others as to why you were late? Come on; share your experiences!
As an essayist, you tend to write things that you observe. Write an

essay that focuses on an eyecatching scenario that you witness while
probably spending an afternoon with your friends or on your way home.
Your essay should have no more than 1 000 words. Mter writing your
essay, post it on your blog. Write your staff or outline here.
Your Knowledge
You can read more speculative fiction by visiting

http://philippinespeculativefiction.com/. You can also enjoy more avant-
garde poems and other forms of literature in Ateneo de Manila’s Kritika
Kultura journal, the first internationally recognized journal in the
Philippines (http://kritikak
(http://kritikakultura.ateneo.net
ultura.ateneo.net/.
/.
Essential Learning
The future of Philippine literature is bright—and it is so because there

are several luminaries who continue to champion different emerging
genres. Carlo Vergara, for one, almost singlehandedly restored and
renewed interest in Philippine komiks with his character, Zsazsa
Zaturnnah. There is also Dean Alfar who champions speculative fiction,
Conchitina Cruz who writes and experiments with avant-garde poetry,
and Shakira Sison who continues to redefine the modern contemporary
essay.
What is the future of Philippine literature for you? What genres do
you want to see be experimented on or have a new offering? There are
many other ways to innovate the major canonical genres of Philippine
literature. It is high time for these to be recognized in the mainstream.

Module
Finding the Literary Space
8 within You

Philippine literary history from precolonial to the
contemporary.
3. Apply ICT skills in crafting an adaptation of a literary text.
4. Do self- and/ or peer-assessment of the creative adaptation of a
literary text, based on rationalized criteria, prior to
presentation.
As you have previously learned, literature is evolving with the times.

One way to embrace these changes is through multimedia presentations.
These presentations are on point when it comes to allowing you to be more
creative
the days and critical
when of what
you rely you have
on your read
teacher and what
solely you will
to interpret read. now,
a text; Goneyou
are
can do it in many dif ferent
ferent ways, either through an AVP or through voicing
your own o pinion
pinion in
in a critical
a critical paper
paper..
Why is multi
is multimedi
mediaa encouraged in literary interpretation?
interpretation? This is because
some of you may think differently from one another and may possess other
intelligences such as creative, musical, spatial, and mathematical
intelligence. A multimedia presentation may help you undertake a task in a
supportive social environment, such as your friends and teachers.
Multimedia, when done in the appropriate time and in the appropriate
environment, can be a fun and informative way of interpreting literary
selections that you have previously read or researched about.
The main goal of creating Big Idea

a multimedia presentation is
to elicit a response from your The use of multimedia
audience. This is an presentation is a very versatile way of
opportunity for you to foster exhibiting what you learned and how
new forms of thinking and you perceived the knowledge you
learning, much like allowing gained.
yourself and your audience to
understand the literary text
using their own life experiences and personal opinions by responding to the
multimedia they are engaging with.
Using multimedia in class has been known to help students demonstrate
their limitless creativity and invaluable insights, which is how literary texts
must be interpreted in learning. Because multimedia technology integrates
text, graphics, animation, audio, and video, it stimulates your senses and
engages with you more critically. You get to see the literary selection
happening right in front of you, and this may be a more convincing way of
eliciting a response.
There are many ways to use multimedia in literature. One way, as was
demonstrated in the previous modules, is to ease the access before reading
the literary text. When you were tasked to research on a literary selection
from your area, city, or region, you connect with Philippine literature on a
more personal level. If you also looked for thought-provoking images and
key information to help you with your research, then these may accompany
your multimedia presentation at the end of this module.
Your team is in charge of the Philippine literary festival in a school

under the initiative of your local government. Your task is to invite a
writer or critic to share his or her expertise to you and to the attendees.
Plan a date, and get in touch with the writer(s) (their contact details are
usually available online, while some respond through their social
networking accounts if you ask them formally and respectfully). Make

sure that they are available on your proposed date. Set up a small venue
for the writer or critic to talk about his or her work and genre, and plan a
program with an open forum. Get ready to ask questions to your guest as
this is a rare opportunity to interact with him or her.
After the event, the mayor wants you to write a one-page report of
what happened during the talk, including the ideas that you have gathered.
Submit this to the mayor as part of your accomplishment report. Make
sure to include insights that can help the readers of your report understand
what your guest shared during his or her talk.
With your group, you are to create a multimedia presentation of the

different literary selections from the diverse areas in the country. The goals
are to encourage building meaningful and in-depth understanding of the text,
to foster creative and critical thinking skills, and to showcase the diversity
and uniqueness of Philippine literature in general. This AVP can span from
30 minutes to an hour.
One of your individual tasks in the AVP creation is to design your own
AVP that will showcase what you have researched about your own literature
from your region or area. This will be integrated in the AVP, so it must be
organized and cohesive enough to fit in with your group’s final presentation.
Your AVP will be shown to your classmates and they will evaluate you
using the following rubric:

Please indicate your score specifically, with 5 as the highest and 1 as the
lowest.
Attribute Group Score Individual Score(s)

The AVP
AVP showed
sh owed
creativity.
The AVP was
organized; all the
elements fit well into
the presentation.
The AVP showcases the
best of Philippine
literature.
The AVP promotes
critical thinking by
raising questions and
issues present in
literature and culture
today.
Every group member
contributed for the
success of their project.
Every group member
cooperated well with
one another.
Every group member
showed a significant
contribution to the
project.
Comments

After the presentation, the group may be allowed to answer the questions
of their audience through a panel. You may have 15 to 30 minutes for this so
that the audience’s questions may be clarified.
You and your group mates are employees of Diwa Learning Systems,
Inc., the leading publisher of textbooks and other supplementary materials
for students and teachers in the country. As part of the annual literary
festivities of the company, you have been invited to join the annual
Philippine literature quiz bee. Your task is simple. Review the history of
Philippine literature from the precolonial era to the contemporary age,
both in terms of forms of literature, authors, and literary works (as
discussed in this module). The elimination round is a written test that your
quiz master will administer. The group with the highest number of points
will win the quiz bee. Its members will get a bonus from the executives of
the company.
Log in to your Twitter account and search for #RP612fic. If you do not
have a Twitter account, go to https://twitter.com/hashtag/rp612fic?
lang=en. Read the tweets. Choose your five favorite tweets and present
screen captures of them. Then discuss with the class the nature of
#RP612fic tweets, their purpose, and their significance in the
contemporary age of literature.
To further help you in creating a literary multimedia presentation, visit

the following links:
Purdue OWL (https://owl.english.purdue.edu/owljresource/697/1/)
“What Makes a Good Multimedia Presentation Design?”
(http://www.sun-
associates.com/wbsd/handouts/multimedia/whatmake.pdf)
“How to Create a Multimedia Presentation”
(http://www.presentationmagazine.com/how-to-create-a-multimedia-
presentation-164.htm)
Essential Learning
One of the ways learning is progressing is through the use of
multimedia, may it be in the form of videos, computers, tablets, Internet,
or visual/aural devices. These multimedia tools help foster creative and
critical thinking skills in the student, which in turn helps to understand the
literary text better.
There are other limitless ways to explore literature aside from
multimedia. Can you name some that will guide you and Philippine
literature in the future?

Culminating Output
Track: Academic, Arts, and Design

The National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) has
commissioned artists, writers, and critics from the literary scene for its
compilation of contemporary Philippine literary works. This compilation
aims to provide an encyclopedic anthology of works, together with
illustrations and original unpublished works. Thus, form a group with
three members each and agree as to who will have the following roles:
(1) a critic who will write a short critical paper on a literary piece by a
Filipino author, (2) an artist who will illustrate a scene in the literary
piece, and (3) a writer who will write an original piece with a similar
theme as that of or inspired by the literary piece.
As a team, decide on the literary piece from Filipino authors that you
will use. It can be a play, a story, a novel, a poem or a suite of poems, or a
creative nonfiction piece. You also have to coordinate with the rest of the
teams in compiling the works into one book. You can use tools (e.g., MS
Word and Publisher, Adobe Photoshop and InDesign) to create a final
layout that showcases your individual assignments combined into one
segment
your of the anthology.
respective anthology
pieces: . The following criteria can help you in creating
I. Critique
Evident grasp of literary work 15

and its theme
Application of literary theory 15
Clarity of message 10
Organization of ideas 5
Creativity in writing 5
Total 50 points
II. Illustration
Style and design 15

Creativity of concept 15
Visual appeal 10
Relevance to literary work 10
Total 50 points
III. Creative Work
Originality 15
Creativity 15
Relevance to theme 10
Overall message and appeal 10
Total 50 points

Quarter Challenge
I. Bearing in mind the contemporary Philippine
Philippine literature landscape,
compare the following literary forms by completing this table below
(24 points):
Category Form Structure Purpose

Fiction
Poetry
Creative
nonfiction
Speculative
fiction
Play
Literary
criticism
Children’s
literature
Avant-garde
poetry
II. Choose two of the selections that you have learned in this unit, and
identify what is asked in the following (10 points each):

1. Title:
Author:
Summary

Structure (Freytag pyramid if fiction; outline if creative

nonfiction or essay)
2. Title:
Author:
Summary

Structure (Freytag pyramid if fiction; outline if creative

nonfiction or essay)
III. Answer the following questions (3 points each):

1. Does literature shape society, or does society shape literature?
Defend your answer.

2. Is litera
literatur
turee m
more
ore effec
effectiv
tivee when
when rea
read
doorr when
when per
perfor
formed
med??
Defend your answer.

Unit
21st Century Literature
II from the World
Literature is meant to be universal. It has been proven countless times

that literature has the capacity to reach and touch people from all walks of
life. This is even truer now because literature is easily translated into other
languages, some of which you may even download for free from the
internet. This rapid transit and transmission of literary data have been
predicted before in letters that one particular German literary critic has
written to so many of his colleagues. His name was Johann Wolfgang von
Goethe who coined the term weltliteratur , which literally means “world
literature.”
In the essay “World Literature and European Literature” by Roberto
Dainotto, it is recounted how Goethe, when he was reading a Chinese
novel, had realized that the Oriental society portrayed in the novel was quite
the same as his German one—actually, the characters “think, feel, and act”
the same way that he did, and only found the Chinese more efficient at what
they do. He had said then that the concept of weltliteratur is is meant to be a
two-way process: that literatur e may be shared by one nation to to the other so
that it is a give
give-and-take
-and-take proc
process.
ess. He predicted that world literature
literature will
bring about a “r aapid
pid traffic” o
off information. This is his conc
concept ept of world
literature and how it all started. Imagine Goethe’s reaction to the way you
use the Internet now!
The idea of a “world literature” is the way this second unit was intended
to be written for you. The modules are arranged such that you are
introduced to the literature outside of the country by first immersing
yourself in our neighbors in Southeast Asia, until you reach the other side
of the globe. In this way, you are given time to acclimate yourself to the
cultures, society, and situations that are most familiar to you first, until you
are ready to explore other parts of the literary world. Furthermore, Unit II is
meant to let you realize your place in the vastness of the world by
comprehending and understanding the nature of other cultures and the way
they relate to yours. Most importantly, you may realize how these cultures
may enrich your own Filipino culture and vice versa. The possibilities are
endless in world literature, and this is what you will discover as you go
through the exciting and enriching literary selections in this unit.
Learning Outcomes for the Unit

Understand and appreciate literary texts in various genres across
national literature and cultures.
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
A 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
An adaptation of a text into other creative forms
An adaptation of a text into other creative forms using
multimedia

Module
9 A Rediscovery of the Literary

World

1. Identify representative texts and authors from Asia, North
America, Europe, Latin America, and Africa.
2. Situate the texts in the context of the region, the nation, and
the world.
3. Appreciate the cultural and aesthetic diversity of world
literature.
4. Understand literary meanings in context and the use of critical
reading strategies.
th e World
Literature of the World
There is a lot to be said about the diversity and universality of world
literature. The distinct language and inventiveness of certain literature
coming from different continents showcase the lives and emotions of their
people, while offering the
offering the world a view of what happens in their
their society. A
good exam ple is the common themes of diaspora in Asian and African
literature, magic r eealism
alism in Latin American literature, and soci
societal
etal issues in
the classical literature of Europe and North America.

Some of the conte porary Big Idea

writers nowadays are quite
adept at portraying their Learning about the literatures of
cultures through fiction. other nations allows you to also open
Some of these are Charlson yourself to other cultures that you
Ong’s epic novel Banyaga, may not be familiar with. In doing so,
which narrates the plight of you are also opening yourself to
Chinese-Filipino
their hardships boys in andthe understanding how the world outside
of your own works.
country; Khaled Hosseini’s A
Thousand Splendid Suns is
set in Afghanistan and tells the story of two women who are placed in a
situation that leaves them no choice but to depend on each other; Haruki
Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle tells the story of a man searching
for something and his tales of another world; and Chinua Achebe’s classic
Things Fall Apart is all about a tribe in Africa that chronicles its societal
issues and battles against outside colonizing forces.
Have you heard of these following books? A good way for you to
familiarize yourself with these literary works is through the next activity.
Choose your group mates and collaborate on a lO-minute audiovisual

presentation (AVP)
(AVP) that represents a nation
nation and its literary
literary works.
To celebrate world literature, your mayor has tasked you and your
team to create a sculpture that symbolizes the literary trend in any of the
following continents: Asia, North America, Europe, Latin America, and
Africa. Your sculpture must be made of wood or metal, can be of any
height and weight, and must be visually appealing. It also must clearly
show some recognizable elements from your chosen continent’s famous
literary works (e.g., flags, structures such as houses and buildings,
familiar and famous characters). Your mayor is counting on you to come
up with a sculpture that is creative, original, and relatable to all audience
for the world literature festival, which includes international and local
dignitaries from different embassies in the Philippines.
Reflect Upon
In your opinion, do you think world literature has influenced or
continues to influence Philippine literature in some way? How?

The Filipino-Chinese in World Literature

Ethnic Chinese and Native Filipinos have interacted with each other
since the 9th century, when the Chinese sailed toward the Philippines to
barter and trade items. Some of them stayed in the islands and intermarried
with the daughters

Filipinos of prominent
is very much tribes.
intertwined notThus,
only the history
in local of thebut
history, Chinese and
in world
history as well. The blend of these two cultures is still prominent in our
society today. As you can see, almost 20-30% of our culture has Chinese
ancestry.
Filipino-Chinese (or also commonly known as chinoy) literature is an
important part of Philippine literature for it is a melting pot of two cultures
and the unique experiences that being a part of this melting pot brings. It is
important to recognize Filipino-Chinese literature in world literature, for it
may impart the experiences of being a product of two different (and
oftentimes contrasting) cultures, which is a common experience in the
global context.
Fig. 9.1. Charlson Ong

Source: http://d.gr-assets.com/authors/1285672
http://d.gr-assets.com/authors/1285672155p5/586247
155p5/586247.jpg
.jpg
Here is an award-winning short story about Filipino-Chinese life here in

the country.
Charlson Ong is a Filipino-Chinese writer who has penned award-
winning works in Philippine literature. He is also a well-known fictionist
who has published collections of his short stories. He is best known,
however, for his novels Embarrassment of Riches (2002), Banyaga: A Song
Son g
of War (2006),
(2006), and Blue Angel, White Sha dow (2010). He currently teaches
Shadow
at the University of the Philippines–
Philippines–Diliman.
Diliman.
The Trouble in Beijing

(An Excerpt)
By Charlson Ong
He has packed his Chinese version Lutheran Bible this time.

Conversion to Protestantism during his old age seemed to be Father’s
final affront The

us children. against
old Mother’s Buddhism
termite-ravaged and the Catholic
Kuomintang upbringing
flag could of
be unfurled
in Tiananmen Square at the “crucial moment.” And, certainly, the vintage
WW II issue .45 calibre pistol may come in handy if things really got
ugly. A duffel bag and leather attache case have been sitting in our living
room since early morning. Father’s finally gotten his reluctant travel
agent to book him on the next flight to Hong Kong where he plans to
sneak into the mainland since direct flights to China have been cancelled
as political tension heightened. “Wait till things settle a bit, Ah Bien,”
Mother pleaded. But save for the travel visa he hopes to secure from the
Chinese embassy later this afternoon, my Father is again packed and set
to “reconquer the mainland.”
With the rest of the world, Father had watched curiously the growing
student-led popular movement in Beijing which the foreign press had
dubbed as being “pro-democracy.” Curiosity turned into excitement as
the masses of demonstrators occupying Tiananmen Square swelled. He
was
Hopeexhilarated, awaiting asevery
became trepidation bit of satellite-fed
conservative gained the news
upper from
hand China.
in the
government power struggle, and as enthusiasm waned and police
crackdowns began there was anger in Father’s eyes before he wept. He
actually wept. Those were the first tears I saw him shed for anyone. Tears
he’d certainly deny me should I, his daughter, drop dead here and now.
“He wept mother,” I Big Idea
bleated like a goat, then,
quite unable to hold back Trade is one of the main reasons
my own tears. “He that there is a strong connection
wouldn’t even show up at today between the Chinese and the
Roger’s funeral and now he Filipinos. People from nearby Asian
weeps for strangers across countries would visit our land to
the Pacific Ocean.” trade goods. This continues up to the
present in a larger scale, as some
“White hair cannot bury
businesses in the country are owned
black hair
hair,”
,” Mother replied
by the Chinese.
for the umpteenth time,
explaining how Chinese
parents aren t supposed to
send their children to the grave.
Father came to Manila during the ‘50S to help market his uncle’s silk,
textile and foodstuff imports from China across the Philippine Islands.
By the end of the Second World War Father had made enough of a
fortune to return to Amoy and set up a trading post for coconut products
from Manila. In fact, he’d begun refurbishing the ancestral home in
preparation for our eventual return when Mao marched his armies into
Beijing and shortcircuited Father’s plans. Not that he loved the
Kuomintang any better but Father simply hated the communists more. It
was an absurd hatred seemingly beyond ideology and politics, a personal
score that has yet to be settled. I remember Mother relating to us kids
once how Father was arrested by some overzealous communist youth
leaguer when he returned to Amoy in ‘49 amidst civil war chaos to try
and bring Out Grandmother. But the old woman was too weak to travel
and Father was detained by this band of militant youngsters demanding
that he unload his “foreign gold hoard.” Father never talked about the
incident, although years later I’d guessed that the calluses on his back
had to do with those times. Even after travel restrictions to China were
lifted back in the ‘70s, Father wouldn’t hear of any of us visiting the
place. He wouldn’t
wouldn’t touch any merchandise from the mainland even
even as our
dry goods competitors were bringing in abalones, mushrooms, preserves
and other delicacies in demand in the local Chinese community.
community.
“There are no communist mushrooms, Father.” I remember my
brother Roger raising his voice once in desperation. We later shifted to
textile and garments from Taiwan, although, Lately, mainland
merchandise are again gaining on the market. Father’s semi-retired,
though, since
mostly run the suffering
business. a mild stroke six years ago, my cousins and I
Father frequents Taiwan and Hong Kong which he calls “free
Chinese” territories. He has an uncanny way of timing “business
meetings” abroad to coincide with important family matters at home.
Two years ago he missed Roger’s funeral for a property auction in Hong
Kong. Although he might have been holed up in some local five-star
hotel for all we know.
Since the student movement began in Beijing a month ago Father s
entire existence has revolved around news from China. You didn’t try
conversing with him unless it concerned the latest developments on the
trouble in Beijing. He fired off letters to Chinese-language dailies
denouncing the communist leadership in Beijing and supporting the
“patriotic youth.” He even went around soliciting funds for the

movement from kin and associates.
I don’t think Father will make it to China, at least not until the
political situation normalizes. No one in his right mind will issue him a
visa to that country at this hour and I’m sure Mother knows this too. But
she chooses to play his game. Mother’s great at playing Father’s games.
It’s not that I don’t care about Chinese students being roughed up by
their police. For I too am routinely concerned with the plight of workers
being tear gassed in South Korea, blacks being lynched in South Africa
and gorillas being hunted down in the Kenyan mist. But for the life of me
I cannot fathom this sudden concern for freedom and “human rights” in
someone who insists that there are “technically” no political killings in
the Philippines.
When I was picked up by the military years ago on the campus where
I was associate editor of the school organ, Father did nothing to help me
get out of detention although I knew lie had a couple of generals on his
Christmas mailing list. It was Mother who visited me every day and
finally pulled enough strings to set me free. The old man thought
detention would teach me some lasting lessons.
“So you think washing latrines is the worst thing they can think of,” I
remember yelling at him in exasperation a week after my release just to
break that consuming silence
silence that has since come between us. But he was
deaf to my anger and has hardly been a presence in my life ever since.
So much has happened since then and Father certainly has had more
than his fair share of pain. Still, why am I convinced that he is again
running away? Because Father thinks I’m marrying Hilario Brill in less
than three weeks and it would be quite convenient for my old man to be
fighting for democracy in China just when lie is supposed to be giving
me away in church.
Father doesn’t seem to like Larry. He doesn’t seem to like anyone
since Roger died nearly two years ago from a malignant brain tumor.
Father insists
send him that Roger
to China would still beand
for acupuncture alive
Chiif kung
Mother had consented
treatment which to
is
supposed to work wonders. But Roger had gone into coma two weeks
after experiencing those crippling headaches and the doctors assured us

that nothing could be done for him anywhere—even-in Texas where
Uncle Soo, Father’s cousin, sits on the board of some expensive hospital.
Roger, four years my junior, was Father’s only son. This preference
for male heirs among the Chinese used to bother me, too, and 1 tried
desperately to find common cause with my bereaved parents. But Roger
was Father’s progeny and his loss was something I’m not supposed to
comprehend. That, I guess, is what Father has been saying to me all this
time through his silence and evasions.
Larry’s much older than me. But that fact didn’t matter to my parents
as much as his being a pure-bred Pampango. Women in our clan have had
to marry grandfathers back on the mainland when circumstances
warranted. But this would be the first time in eight hundred years that a
daughter of the Lims would be marrying a non-Chinese person. A
huanna.
“It’s 1989, Mother,” I’d say as if such dates mattered to people for
whom the fate of the universe is inexorably tied to family history; people
who are wont to recall, for instance, “the year of the great flood, when
our patriarch Lim Bao became Minister of Rites in the Court of Emperor
Chiemi Lung…”
I’ve known Larry for over a year since meeting him in an
introductory session on Transcendental Meditation and we’ve been
dating for six months. He is the editor of a leftleaning weekly journal to
which I contribute occasionally. Perhaps things would have been more
difficult for us if Roger hadn’t died. Father would still be quite vigilant in
protecting the purity and honor of his progeny—on all fronts—and my
marrying a non-Chinese person would have constituted a major tragedy.
Now,, 1 guess he couldn’t care less if 1 eloped with a Martian. I think
Now
Mother saw this, too, and let go. What really bothers her is the fact that
Larry has a sixteen-year-old son by a former lover. But when Mother
realized that I’d been sleeping with Larry marriage suddenly loomed as
the lesser of evils. Mother’s from an age where its virginity or death for
single women
she’d have goneno matterififshe
bonkers they were
knew thatraised
Larryto be concubines
wasn’t I think
my first. But what
she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
Father thinks Larry is some kind of communist. He was among a

group of students who entered China back in 1970 but left a year. 1
warned Larry against telling Father this and he did avoid discussing the
matter when I invited him home for dinner. But Larry kept on about the
Proletarian Cultural Revolution being the “best thing that ever happened
to China,” despite my vain attempts to steer the conversation to safer
ground. I could sense Father’
Father ’s discomfort as he munched a bit too loudly’
on his roast beef. But Larry was irrepressible. Father’s a largely self-
educated man, spending less than four years of his life in school. The
apocalyptic bent of his newfound faith often cuts me in the wrong places,
still, I don’t think he could have risen from the depths of depression were
it not for the Chinatown evangelical group he joined eight months after
Roger’s death. I even think it has vastly improved his English, all that
Bible study.
“I have a cousin who used to head the Physics Department in Beijing
University,” Father had said to interrupt Larry’s enumeration of Madame
Mao’s theatrical achievements. “Oh? That’s wonderful,” Larry, dense as
always, had replied, stumbling into Father’s snare.
“I can’t see why anyone would want to eat yogurt,” I’d quipped even
as Mother excused herself from the table. “You either have ice cream or
you don’t.. Why stuff yourself with tasteless muck,” I’d muttered on. But
Larry was deaf to me. “So, have you been in touch?” he’d asked Father.
“Not since they made him shovel manure in Mongolia to learn about
revolution from the people,” Father had declared in his this-is-the-Word-
of-the-Lord tone and Larry at once turned to me, having understood my
sudden concern over yogurt.
“Please, this isn’t necessary,” I’d whispered to no one in particular.
Then, Larry muttered his final undoing before Father:
“Well,
“Well, there were excesses, I must admit.”
“Excesses?” Father’s tremolo could’ve belonged to the Sea Dragon
King silencing the waves. The silverware leapt as he pounded the table.
Larry couldn’t
invaded have been more shocked if the Dragon King had in fact
our home.
“Let’s say grace,” I remember saying as Father looked away and

Larry stared at his own hands.
I went home with Larry that night. I don’t know why, but it had
suddenly seemed the only thing to do. Father had locked himself in his
room after the dinner table incident. Mother strained to keep up
conversation with us but the confusion and pain in her eyes was too much
to bear. I heard myself saying in Chinese: “It’s late, Mother, we’ll have to
be on our way.” She looked at me and her eyes seemed to brighten for a
moment before she quipped almost distractedly, “Yes … yes, you should
be, it’s
it’s late.”
“How could I have done this?” I asked Larry in bed. “How could I do
this to them?” I said, fighting back tears. We both knew on the way to his
place that we wouldn’t be making love
love that night. 1 couldn’t even bear to
take off my clothes. It was terribly cold and 1 felt feverish. 1 hugged
myself on the couch and Larry brewed coffee.
“I just killed them both, Larry,” I said.
“Come on, Simone, they know the situation. We’re getting married
soon, anyway.”
“They’ve been waiting for someone to kill them off since Roger died
and 1 just did it,” 1 whispered in the dimness.
“You’ll feel differently after we’re married. We’ll have kids, and
they’ll have grandchildren to fuss over.”
I looked at him and saw him smile and the space between us suddenly
loomed awesome. “No, Larry, 1 can never give them grandchildren.”
Larry’ss voice was sad and confused. “What?”
Larry’
“They lost everything with Roger’s death. Can’t you see? That’s the
only reason they’re letting this happen. They don’t care. They don’t give
a shit what I do anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Larry said to protect us from silence. “I’m sorry about
your dad. It was my fault.”
“No. He meant for it to be that way.”
“Those scars on his cheek,” he said. “How did he get them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Looks like someone cut with him a knife a long time ago. Was he
ever tortured…back in China?”
“I don’t know.” I said, my throat parched and my eyes stinging. “He’s
never told me much about himself. He’s never really talked to me.” 1
swallowed hard to fend off nausea. And felt Larry’s breath on my
earlobes. “I love you, Simone. No matter what happens from now on.”
I rested my head on his arm and probed his chest for those familiar
calluses around the nipples. “How about these, Larry? You’ve never told
me about them, either.” I’d known that Larry was picked up by military
agents shortly after he returned from China in ‘71 and spent the next four
years in detention. I’d heard the worst horror stories about detention
during
suspectedmyMaoists
own brief and were
like Larry relatively
knownuneventful incarceration,
to have been and
tortured during
the early years of martial law. But Larry has always avoided the subject.
This is something he has in common with father. This black hole in both
their pasts from which no light escapes and yet sucking in so much of the
lives presently about them. I’ve never known Larry as a Maoist. The TM
-practicing health buff 1 met a year ago was anything but a political
radical. He still maintains cordial ties with former colleagues on the Left
but cleaning up the
the environment and
and saving forests are his pr
priorities
iorities these
days. I think all that gab about the Cultural Revolution was cheap
nostalgia or his misguided attempt to impress Father with his knowledge
of contemporary Chinese politics.
“What else could they be?” he said in the dark.
“What?”
“Love bites.”
It was the first time Larry made that joke. He’d said that of sundry
wounds and scars. Yet, hearing the words still pricks me like memories of
some childhood sin. I m reminded at once how little I know of Larry.
Only twice have I met his son Frankie - who lives with his maternal
grandmother - and neither occasion took over twenty minutes. I don’t
know if Larry has told Frankie much about anything. Larry’s a sensitive
lover but 1 could tell from the first that he hasn’t had many. There’s this
old story that Larry’s good friend Pol likes to tell about the heiress to a
sizable fortune who once offered to marry Larry on the eve of her
betrothal to one of Manila’s most eligible bachelors. “I’m a communist.”
Larry was supposed to have said “I’m a marked man in this country. 1
can offer you no future “Next day, the woman runs off to Sweden with an
Ermita folk singer and eventually ends up marrying a Sweden lawyer-or
so the story goes.
I’ve never asked Larry about the heiress just as he has never inquired
about my earlier loves. It’s not indifference that has kept us from probing
into each other’s past but a sense of the fragility of our present
relationship that can easily be overwhelmed by a surfeit of history.
“I like your dad,” lie whispered.
“Ya? So do I.”
“You can’t really forgive, you know.” lie said, though, 1 wasn’t
certain he was still addressing me. “I still have this dream some nights
wherein 1 drag this poor bastard off the street and cut him into tiny bits.”
I’d never heard Larry like this and a chill ran down my back.
“Yet, it’s not a nightmare, you see, It’s a pleasant dream. Quite
pleasant. Maybe he’s
he’s had this dream, too.” “Maybe you should talk to
him again, sometime. Maybe he needs you to talk to him,” I said, feeling
sorry for the man beside me yet angry, inexplicably angry, though my
voice remained calm. “Maybe he’s been waiting for you to talk to him
about us.”
We were both silent for a while. Larry had dozed offbut all at once it
had seemed to me that I’ve said everything I ever wanted to say to him.
Then the phone rang. It was Mother making sure we’d made it home
safely. It was the first time she’d called up Larry’s place. It was the first
time she’d looked for me anywhere in a long time.
Larry went back to sleep. In the dimness, the scars on his back
seemed to glow purplish. For an instant they appeared to be exactly like
Father’s. The same pockmarks defining similar welts. As if there was this
giant branding iron that all torturers in every age and place use on their
victims. Some other nights I would have found myself kissing those
scars. Softening the calluses with my fingers. But my fever had passed
and it was time to leave.
It’ss nearly sunset and Father’s still sitting by the phone waiting for the
It’
call from the Chinese Embassy that everyone, including himself, knows
will never come. He’s been reading his Bible for hours.
“Father,” I whisper. “Let’s talk, please,” I say in Chinese.
He peers at me for an instant and goes back to his Bible and I want to
grab the book from him and tear it into shreds. “The Book of Job,” he
says to no one in particular. “That’s the only thing anyone ever has to
read. You figure it out, and you’ll have all the knowledge you need,” he
says in Chinese.
“Father, you can’t leave,” I say. “Father, I’m getting married. You
have to give me away,” I plead but he’s not there. “For Chrissake,” I blurt
out in English.
“Don’t blaspheme,” he says, staring at me with those rock-hard eyes.
And I see that he is old, truly and terribly old.
“I’m sorry. But why are you doing this?”
He closes his eyes for a while and thinks of something to say. “My
life is over. I must now live for the Lord.”
“What do you plan to do? Preach the Gospel in Tiananmen Square?”
I hear my voice thinning.

“China must convert. China must accept our Lord for the glory of our
race,” he says, his voice trembling.
I might as well be attending one of those Bible powwows the way
Father’s been carrying on but the anger is gone from me. “Father
please…”
“You don’t need me anymore, Siao Mei,” he says, calling me by my
Chinese name, my girlhood name. I don’t recall the last time he called
me by that name. I don’t recall the last time he called me anything. “You
are a big girl now. You know what’s right for you.”
“You haven’t invited any of your old friends to the wedding,” I say.
“What for?” he says with a blankness in his eyes that cuts me in so

many places.
A long time ago, before Roger was born, a fortune-teller told Mother
she could never bear children—she didn’t have the lines on her palm.
“But I’m here,” I protested. “I was born.”
“You don’t count,” Mother had said. “Girls don’t show up on palm
lines.”
I don’t think I ever forgave Mother that moment. I doubt she ever told
Father the story. Still, 1 say to him, “You should have listened to the old
people, Father. You
You should have given me away as an infant or drowned
me in the river. It might have prevented Roger’s early death.
Father hears me at last and he turns to me with a frightened, haunted
look that I’ve never seen before. “I know what they say,” I go on, “My
karma’s too strong. I can never have a brother. And 1 wouldn’t have had
one if not for Mother’s offeri
offerings
ngs to the deities.”
Father’s fear has turned into anger. “I will not hear that again, Siao
Mei. 1 will not have any of the Devil’s talk inside my house. The Lord
has revealed to me his heart and I abide in him.”
“I’m sorry,” I say just to hear myself. “The Huanna is a good man,”
he says. “Older men make better spouses. They are responsible, and
caring.”
I’m tempted to let the conversation end there but I know we’ve gone
far enough this time. “No. Father,” 1 say. “I lied. There isn’t going to be
any wedding. I’m not marrying Larry.”
“What?”
“I’m not marrying him, Father. There’s really nothing between us.”
He is confused and truly haunted now
now.. “What are you saying?”
Reflect Upon
Have you ever been in a fight with your parents? What was the
fight about? What did you do to make it right with them?
“There just isn’t enough between us,” I mutter, swallowing hard.

Despite the years of silence between us and the fact that he has never
raised a finger against me or Roger, 1 must muster courage to confront
him like this.
“Not enough?” he asks. “You sleep with him,” he says as if uttering a
curse.
“It’s not what I mean,” I try to make sense knowing my words are
stale and he no longer hears me.
“Why do you young people do this to yourselves? Why do you
behave like animals?
animals? Why do yo
you
u treat yourselves
yourselves like dirt?”
“That’s not how it is,” 1 scream but the spirit has flown from me and
my bones arc weary. “That’s not how it is,” I mutter.
Father turns away and waves me off. “Go,” he says. “Just go and live
your own life.”
1 think of doing just that but remember at once what 1 really came to
say. “I loved Ah Di,” 1 say, calling out Roger’s Chinese pet name, his
boyhood name-Piggy-for
boy.. 1 defended
boy thebullies.
him against first time in twoforyears.
1 wrote “I bathed
him his himletter.
first love as a.
letter
He was my baby brother, Father. I would have died in his place if I could,
damn it.”
The back of his hand feels like lead. It is the first time he has hit me.
1 know it would be the last.
We part over white wine and Japanese food. Larry agrees that we
should take time off from seeing each other, and his six-month lecture
tour at Tokyo University is quite timely. “I feel guilty pigging out while
my mainland compatriots are risking their lives for the future of the
race,” I sigh over sushi. “It’s enough you’re with them in spirit,” Larry
quips and unloads a couple of jokes about Deng Xiao-ping.
It’s easy to make light of events so far removed yet I’m really edgy
about the latest developments. Chinese authorities have cut off satellite
transmission
violence. Larryfrom Beijing
thinks and theis news
violence black out
inevitable. could no
“There’s be atradition
prelude of
to
political restraint in the culture,” he says. “It’s always been winners take
all. If push comes to shove, it could be bloody.”
I shiver at the thought. I fear for the people in Beijing but I fear more
for Father. I don’t dare to imagine how he’d react if they started bashing
heads in Tiananmen. He’s quite convinced that the “crucial moment” for
China has come. That the conversion of the Chinese people to
Christianity is at hand—despite the absence of any sign of Christian
persuasion among
among the demonstrators.
demonstrators.
It’s almost midnight, and this guy having dinner with the German
woman at the table beside ours is startled as voices emanate from his
two-way radio. He’s an old friend of Larry now editing a major daily.
The guy says something over his radio and scrambles to his feet. “Sorry,”
“Sorry,”
he tells the women. “I’ve to go back to the office. We have to remat.
They’re kicking ass in Beijing.” The woman doesn’t quite catch his drift
and I hear Larry asking: “What’s up, Mark?”
“The army has moved in. They’ve begun shooting,” Mark says.
“Oh no,” Larry says and I see his face folding in. Perhaps he wants to
cry and I’m thinking maybe I can love this man, after all. “I’m sorry,” he
murmurs. “I’m sorry,” and he lays his hand over mine.
“I’ve got to go, Larry,” I manage to say. “It’s late.”
“Yes
“Yes it is,” he says. “I really hope your Father will be all right.”
I don’t really know where I’m going. I wouldn’t want to be the one to
break the news to Father and in case he knows, which is likelier
likelier,, I’d hate
to be at the firing end of his displaced anger. I cruise down the highway
and suddenly feel that there are far too many cars on the road for the
hour. I wonder whether it’s the eve of some festival and am suddenly
reminded of the nights at EDSA with Roger and his girlfriend, Anna.
Linking arms with the multitude, facing down tanks, awaiting the
downfall of a regime. I’d never seen Roger so animated. He’d always
been this apolitical whiz kid who was convinced that somewhere in all
this mess would be found that unformulated mathematical paradigm that
would solve every human concern. Yet he was the most reckless among
us. Running from one barricade to another. Haranguing the crowd,
teaching anyone who would listen how to prepare Molotov cocktails.
And when it was finally over, when they confirmed Marcos’ departure,
he hugged me and wept like a kid. Like the first time he was in a fight
with this kindergarten bully I’d never felt closer to Roger than that night
at EDSA.
But that was over three years ago. Three long and unforgiving years.
The advent of a new political dispensation has not brought forth peace
and prosperity to our home, but death and silence. I couldn’t weep for
Roger back then. The short season of his sickness and death left me
groping for meanings and scapegoats but now I can sense the tears
welling inside me. There is a sourness on my tongue and my lips are dry.
I step on the gas and run a red light Perhaps I’ll drive all the way to
Beijing. But before long I realize where I’m headed.
It’s two in the morning and the guards are quite fidgety as I alight at
the cemetery gate. They flash lights and appear genuinely disturbed.
“Here’s another one,” one of them says. “What’s going on?”
“Good morning, ma’am,” the other one says. “What are you doing
here at this hour?
“I’m visiting my brother’s grave. He’s on Matahimik Street.”
“The cemetery’s open only from eight in the morning till six in the
evening, ma’am. I’m sorry, but we can’t let you in.”
“Please,” I say. “Just this once, please. It’s very important. It’s a
family matter.”
The shorter guard scratches his head. “Are you Chinese, ma’am?” he
asks.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to do some kind of ritual?”
“Sort of,” I quip, sensing their confusion.
“Is the old man a relative?”
“Old man? Yes,” I almost shout. “Yes, he’s my father.”
“It’s okay,” I assure them. “This won’t take too long. We have to do
this tonight or else his soul won’t ever find peace.”
The guards look at each other and open the gates reluctantly. “All
right, just this once,” the shorter one says. “But don’t do anything crazy.
Our jobs are at stake.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Thanks a lot. You’re doing the dead a great
favor. You’ll be blessed for life.”
Approaching Roger’s grave, my headlights define the outline of a
figure kneeling by my brother’s tombstones, Father’s never been here
before, as far as I know.
know. Chinese parents aren’t supposed to light joss
sticksaway
stay or kneel before although
altogether, their children’
children’s
both shis
tombstones. And
and Mother’
Mother Father’
Fatherhave
’s tombs ’s chosen to
already
been built beside
beside Roger’s.
I see smoke rising from the urn as I walk towards the tomb. The smell
of incense arrests the thin air. I think I see Father looking over his
shoulder as I approach. I’ve left the headlights on and I’m sure he sees
me. I squat beside him and listen to him mumbling some ancient
warrior’s dirge. We’re like that for a long while until I say: “You’re not
supposed to light joss sticks before sunup. But Father s deaf to me
again.
Finally, I lean over and kiss him on the temple. “We can all go visit
China, once all of this trouble is over,” I say. “You, Mother and I.” His
singing stops and I hear crickets taking up the slack. He is silent for a
while and his head drops to his chest. The cold air nips me and I have to
get up. I rest my hands on his shoulders. “I’m going ahead, Father,” I
whisper. “Don’t take too long. It’s cold.”
As I approach the car his voice rends the silence. “I’m sorry, Siao
Mei. Forgive me. Please forgive me,” he says, not looking at me. I drive
away in the dark and turn on the radio and listen to what an excitable
Britisher on the short-wave band says, that scores have been killed as
tanks crashed human barricades and all hell’s broken loose at Tiananmen,
the Gate of Heavenly Peace. I tum the dial to catch Nat King Cole
crooning: “Smile, though your heart is aching … “ I park just outside the
cemetery gates and tum off the headlights. I shut my mind and listen to
Cole and forget for a brief moment the trouble in Beijing.
Source: https://iwp.uiowa.edu/sites/iwp/files/IWP2002_Ong_cha
https://iwp.uiowa.edu/sites/iwp/files/IWP2002_Ong_charleson.pdf.
rleson.pdf.
Activity:
Draw a concept map showing the characters of the story and their
respective goals as characters. Present your concept map to the class.

Looking beyond the Text or at the Text
A. Further Discussion of New Historicism and “Death of the

Author”
Have you ever read a literary piece, and afterward, you were more
interested in the author’s history than the story itself? Or maybe you
believed that for you to understand the text, you needed to know the
author’s history?
You have discussed the academic theory of new historicism before, but
have you ever applied it in a text? The idea of historical criticism is a
reiteration that for you to understand any given literary text, you need to
understand first who the author is, his or her social background, the
concepts that were established during his or her time, and the milieu he or
she lived in back then. The idea is that before or after you appreciate a
literary
he or shetext,
livesyou need when
in back to be the
familiar withwritten.
text was who the author is and the world
Furthermore, new historicists seek to find the political function of

literature back at when it was written and try to find the ways on how
cultures produce and reproduce themselves. They try to reveal the historical
truth and authority in a text so as to find the prevailing ideas and
assumptions of its historical time. Hence, history moves beyond just being
mere data or chronicles of time, facts, and events; history becomes a
complicated catalog of the human being’s reality and ideas. Literature
written in a particular time may reveal its social organization, taboos,
prejudices, problems, practices, and so much more. It also seeks to discover
how these ideas have evolved as the literary text itself changes.
If you were to apply this theory to the selection that you have just read
(The Trouble in Beijing), what does it reveal about the plight of the
Filipino-Chinese
Filipino-Chinese back before the Americans came to the Philippines?
Another theory that counteracts new historicism is from an essay by
French philosopher Roland Barthes entitled “The Death of the Author.”
Here, Barthes argues against looking at the author’s identity and the context
in which the author lived in to understand the author’s literary text. He says
that if you
author, the allow the author
view and to intervene
interpretation in limited.
may be the text or if you give the text an
Reflect Upon
Can you also apply the concept of historical criticism to the excerpt
of The Trouble of Beijing? Which of the two theories—new historicism
or “death of the author”—do you prefer and why?
He further states that the readers must separate the literary text from its
writer so that the text itself may be liberated from the tyranny that the
author’s context may impose on the selection. Every literary selection has
multiple layers of meaning; thus, these meanings must be allowed to flow
and be interpreted on their own, without the author’s background or history.
Read the next excerpt from a contemporary novel by Basque writer
Kirmen Uribe.
Fig. 9.2. Kirmen Uribe
Source: ht
http
tp:/
://k
/kir
irme
menu
nuri
ribe
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us/e
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Kirmen Uribe is a Basque writer born from a fishing family in Ondarroa

(Biscay). He studied Basque Philology at the University of the Basque
Country-Gasteiz and also has a graduate degree in Comparative Literature
in Trento, Italy. He won the Becerro de Bengoa Prize for his book-length
essay in collaboration with Jon Elordi entitled Lizardi and Eroticism while
he was in prison for resisting the then-obligatory military draft that he did
not want to participate in. In 2009, he won the Spanish Literature Prize for
his novel Bilbao-New York-Bilbao. Uribe has since engaged in various
forms, such as poetry, multimedia, and children’s and young adult literature,
and has won many awards and participated in international festivals for
writers.
An Excerpt from Bilbao–New
from Bilbao–New York–Bilbao
York–Bilbao
By Kirmen Uribe
Translated from the Basque by Elizabeth Ma
Macklin
cklin
1
BILBAO
Fish and trees are alike.

They’re alike because of the growth rings. Trees have these in their
trunks. Cut through a tree trunk and there will be the rings. A year for
each ring, and that’s how you know what the tree’s age is. Fish have
them, too, but in their scales. And just as we do with trees, we know by
those growth rings what the animal’s age is.
Fish are always growing. Not us, we start shrinking once we’ve
reached maturity. Our growth stops and our bones begin to knit together.
A person shrivels up. Fish, though, grow until they die. Faster when
they’re young, and as the years go on more slowly, but fish always go on
growing.
Winter creates the growth rings of a fish. It’s the time when fish eat
least, and that time of hunger draws a dark trace in the fish scale. In that
winter season when the fish grows least. Not in summer, though. When
there’ss no hunger there’s no trace at all left behind in the fish scale.
there’
A fish’s growth ring is microscopic, you can’t see it with the naked
eye, but there it is. As if it were a wound. A wound that hasn’t healed up.
And as with the growth rings of fishes, terrible events stay on in our
memory, they mark our life, until they become a measure of time. Happy
days go fast, on the other hand—too fast— and we forget them quickly.
What winter is for fish, loss is for humans. Loss makes our time
specific for us, the end of a relationship, the death of a person we love.
Each loss a dark growth ring deep down.
The day they told him he had a scant few months left to live, our
grandfather didn’t want to go home. Our mother, his young daughter-in-
law, accompanied him to the doctor’s office that morning. Granddad
listened calmly to what the doctor said. He heard him out without a peep
and, afterward, shook his hand and courteously bade him goodbye.
When they left the consulting room, Mom didn’t know what to say.
After a long silence, she asked him if they’d be heading along to the bus
to Ondarroa now. He said no.
“We’re not going back yet. We’ll spend the day in Bilbao. I want to
show you something,” he said to her, and made an effort to smile.
Granddad took Mom to the Bilbao Fine Arts Museum. She would
never forget that day, how on the very day they told him he was going to
die Granddad took her to a museum. How he attempted to place beauty
above death, without success. How he attempted to make that terrible day
have another kind of memory for her. Our mother would always
remember that gesture of his.
That was the first time she had ever set foot in a museum.
Forty-five years later I went to the same museum. I wanted to find

out about a certain picture, and so I went. I was on the trail of a picture
by the painter Aurelio Arteta, as if following, in some highly intuitive
fashion,was
picture a half-erased clue.it An
important, that inner
would voice
turn kept
out to telling
be an me that
essential piecethat
in
the novel I was writing.
The picture is a mural, painted, as it happens, in the Ondarroa country
house the architect Ricardo Bastida had built to spend summers in. It was
in the summer of 1922 that Arteta painted the mural, in the living room
there. In the nineteen-sixties, though, a few years after Bastida died, his
family sold the house. The buyers razed it to build apartments. But the
mural was saved, by good luck. Arteta’s art work was taken down and to
the museum in Bilbao. It’s been on exhibit ever since, in one of the
upstairs galleries.
Jose Julian Bakedano, one of the museum’
museum’ss curators, showed it to me.
In its day the mural took up three walls of the Bastidas’ living room. In
the museum, though, it’s hung as a triptych. In the very center is the
representation of an outing to a country fair, that’s the largest of the
pieces. And on the outer wings come the two other pictures. One is of a
woman of the era, posed just like a Renaissance Venus. The other is of a
young couple, talking with each other in the shade of a tree.
Search online for information on the painter Aurelio Arteta. Print

out one of his paintings mentioned in this selection and show it to
class. As a class, discuss which paintings are indeed described in the
story. Then share your insights about the style of the painter and the
kind of place conveyed in the paintings.
At first sight, its colors are the surprising thing about the mural.
Arteta uses very bright colors to portray the boys and girls on their way
to the fair: greens, blues, lilacs. And in a way that had never been done
before.
“At the outset, a number of critics didn’t have much regard for
Arteta’s work,” Bakedano told me. “Mocking him, they said he wore
colored spectacles to paint in. The years he spent studying painting in
Paris were plain as day in Arteta’s work. He took a house in Montmartre
and there he fell in love with the work of Toulo
Toulouse-Lautrec
use-Lautrec and Cezanne.
But he never wanted to make a complete break with tradition. It’s
precisely because of this, I think, that his pictures put me in mind of an
old tavern that’s been painted in bright colors—they’re modern but
without losing their charm.”
In the mural two worlds appear, together at one and the same time.
On one side are the baserritarrak , the people of the farmsteads, and on
the other the townspeople. The farm girls are in traditional dress. Their
skirts come down to their ankles, scarves on heads and their necklines
modest. The city girls, though, don’t look like that at all. Their dresses
are lightweight, the wind moves them. Their hemlines are shorter, their
knees allowed to show, and their necklines are wide open. What’s more,
they sport jewelry on their breasts. Compared with the baserritarrak , the
city girls seem to beckon, as if they were courting the onlooker. The Art
Deco effect is as clear as can be here, that nineteen-twenties optimism
wells from these paintings.
“This picture
explained represents
now, “and the leap from
the contrast old world
between to new,”
farm folk and Bakedano
city folk
intensifies the city girls’ eroticism.”
The Bastida-house mural was actually just a rehearsal. Aurelio Arteta
had not yet mastered mural technique and the architect let him use his
living room to test things out. The real work would come a bit later. It
was Ricardo Bastida himself who designed the headquarters the Bank of
Bilbao was to have in Madrid. In its day,
day, that building, to be erected right
on the Calle de Alcala, would be unique. It would of necessity be a
symbol of the bank and, more broadly, of the city of Bilbao. A gesture of
power and modernity.
modernity. The work would make the careers of both Bastida
and Arteta, and win them recognition outside the Basque Country
Country..
Bastida wanted Aurelio Arteta to be the artist for the bank’s great
hall. The two had known one another ever since they were children, and
their lives were strikingly alike, one in architecture, the other in painting.
ForBilbao.
of the rotunda of the bank’s
The stevedores, theentrance
workershall Arteta
from would
the steel paint
mills an allegory
of the era, the
baserritarrak , the fishmongers and more. It was a taxing job, more than
ten murals, and on an irregular surface to boot.
Arteta took the commission but wanted to get himself well prepared
beforehand. He was exacting, it was hard for him to consider a work
finished. Once, years later, during his exile in Mexico, a prospective
buyer attempted to look at an unfinished canvas that was hidden under a
cloth, lifting the covering. When Arteta saw him at it, he took up his
palette knife in a rage and slashed the man’
man’ss face. It was the one thing
said to drive him wild.
Big Idea
It is not uncommon for various art forms to mix and
create new interactions. The results of these interactions
are fascinating—a stage play with dance performances, a
dance where performers also sing like the cultural dance
Putungan from Mindoro, a film where poetic pieces are
also read like Ang Sayaw ng Dalawang Kaliwang Paa
directed by Alvin Yapan, and many more. Another
example
play is A by
written Portrait
Nick of the Artist
Joaquin. In as
theFilipino
play,, a , painting
play which is isa
central to the story.
A perfectionist to a fault, Arteta took great pains with every detail.

He didn’t care much about signing his paintings, often enough left them
with his name off, as if he couldn’t be bothered. With money matters too
he was sloppy. Nevertheless, while he was painting he went at it body
and soul. And, even to paint the mural in Ondarroa, he had the water
brought in from Madrid, so that when it came time to start work in
Madrid the water would be sure to have the same density. He chose the
best materials. The sand
sand would be ground
ground from genuine Markina
Markina marble.
I had heard a lot of things about Arteta, and also about his character.
In his lifetime he was a beloved painter. He was well regarded by
conservatives, nationalists, and socialists alike, “his bashful nature may
have influenced that,” Bakedano added.

I’d heard likewise about how he fled to Mexico during the civil war.
After the aerial bombing of Guernica, Spain’s legitimate government
commissioned Arteta to paint a meaningful picture for the Paris
Exposition. The whole world would know then what had happened in
Guernica, what kind of massacre the Nazis had committed there. It would
have been his life’s great work. Arteta refused the commission, however.
He explained that he was sick of the war, he would rather join his family
in exile in Mexico. The commission later fell to Pablo Picasso. And we
all know what comes after that. Doing the Guernica picture would have
been a huge advance in Arteta’
Arteta’ss career, but he turned it down. He chose
life over art. He preferred being with his family to being remembered in
the future.
Many people will see Arteta’s choice as an error. However could he

miss out on his chance of a lifetime because of a fleeting emotional
reaction. How had he placed the people he loved above his art. There will
be those, too, who will never forgive him for it, in the belief that a
creator’s obligation is to their creative gift above all else.
More than once I’ve wondered what I’d do if 1 were in Arteta’s
predicament. Which
Which way I’d choo
choose.
se.
You can’t tell, you have to live through the same situation to do so.
But it’s the very crossroads an artist many times ends up facing. Personal
life or creation. Arteta obviously took the first route, and Picasso the
second.
J ose Julian Bakedano went off to his office and back to work, but
before he did he gave me the documentation
documentation the museum had on the
Arteta mural: how their conservators effected its removal from Bastida’s
house.
Anyhow, he gave me a piece of advice. “The person who knows the
most about the mural is Carmen Bastida, the architect’s daughter, it’d be
best to call her
her,”
,” and he handed me her phone number on a Post-it,
saying, “Tell her you’re calling her because I said to,” and went back to
his work.
I stayed behind on my own, staring at the mural, thinking. The
optimism that emanated from it attracted me most of all. That energy
made by the brushstrokes of Arteta’s hand. Back in that summer of 1922
Arteta and Bastida had great hopes for their work, they had no fear of the
future. That strength dazzled me. Not knowing what would happen to
them in just a few years’ time.
About my grandfather 1 don’t know too much. Liborio Uribe. By the
time 1 was born he was dead and our father didn’t talk to us a lot about
his father. He wasn’t big on the past, himself. A seaman by nature, he
preferred to look to the future. About the people in our mother’s family,
family,
on the contrary, yes: we know a thousand tales from Mom’s side, stories
about one relation and another. But on our dad’s side very few. Maybe
because of this, that
that grandfather made
made me curious.
Among the few things our father did tell was a memory from his
childhood, about the way of life in the summertimes. I’d heard him say
how when he was little he’d be on the beach the whole day, at the
wooden changing rooms Granddad kept for the summer people. He’d
help his parents with any number of chores; taking basins of water to the
summer people, helping them rinse off, getting the sand off their legs and
hanging their bathing clothes on the drying poles. I imagine him entirely
silent at this work, carrying water and picking up clothing and, between
times, paying attention to the things the summer people said to each
other.
“I remember your father very well, he was a graceful boy and a

worker,” Carmen Bastida said to me when I paid her a visit at her house
in Bilbao. “Those were the best years of my life. Life held no worries for
me then, no adversity.”
The Bastida family had three bathing cabanas on the beach. They
used to set them up high on the sand, close to the cliffs. Next door was
the stretch of beach for the people who engaged in therapeutic nudism,
shielded by a tall length of dark cloth. The beach days come gathered
together in black-and-white photographs. Showing me the photographs,
Carmen tried to explain who each person was. To go by what Bastida’s
daughter said, painters, musicians, architects, astronomers met up on the
beach at the Bastidas’ cabanas. Most of them coming from Bilbao and
Madrid. “But what I loved best was a man from the town, Liborio, the
stories he used to tell us.”
Keeping the cabanas was not Granddad’s only way of making a
living. He had a small boat, too, to go out fishing in, by the name of Dos
Amigos. The name of the boat always made me wonder: Dos Amigos —
Two Friends. Why ever had he named his boat that, how had he come up
with that weird name. And if Granddad himself had been one of the two
friends, who had the other one been.
I wanted to unearth that other one, discover why all trace of him had
been wiped out. Whether Granddad had gotten angry at his friend.
Wanting
down the to answer
clues. I feltthose questions,
that Dos Amigosseveral years somewhere
had a novel ago I started tracking
inside it, a
novel about the fishing world that’s in the process of disappearing. But
this was the plan only at the outset. And the search for facts for the novel
has taken me down several roads I hadn’t expected, I’ve met up with
many surprises.
****
To find out fishes age you need to count the growth rings on the
scales, and add one year. When they’re larvae, fish don’t have any scales.
In the case of eels, you have to add four years. Since eels spend fours
years as larvae.
They likewise need four years to cross the Atlantic. The tiny elvers
make the trip from the Sargasso Sea to the Bay of Biscay in that much
time.
My plane will cover the same distance in seven hours. I’ll be taking a
flight to New York on this very day, from the Bilbao airport.
Activity:
1. Write a short essay that explains how new historicism or the “Death
Write
of the Author” concept (choose one) can be applied to Bilbao–New
York–Bilbao.
2. Try to think of a memorable trip that you had. Write a short
travelogue about your journey to your destination similar to the way
the author did. What were your thoughts at that time? What were
you feeling? What events occurred during the trip?

One of the richest cultures in the world is of the African nation. Africa
is said to be the “seat of human civilization” because the first bones of
hominids (or the ancestors of modern humans today) were found in Africa.
Later on, the first bone fragments of Homo sapiens were found in Ethiopia.
This place was where they found Lucy the Australopithecus, a skeleton of a

hominid that lived in Ethiopia 3.2 millions of years ago.
Fig. 9.3. Chinua Achebe

Source: http://www.swisseduc.ch/english/readinglist/ac
hebe_chinua/icons/achebe.jpg
Africa, as a continent, is also the challenged by outside forces. The

countries in this continent have been gripped again and again by colonial
invasions, civil wars, diseases, famine, and so much more. Africans,
however, have shown the world how they survive and thrive. Their
literature is a testament to their infallible spirit.
Chinua Achebe is a Nigerian novelist, professor, and critic who rose to
critical acclaim when he published his magnum opus, Things Fall Apart . It
is the most widely read book in African literature. He is a titled Igbo chief
who was given scholarships to attend universities, until he invested in his
writing. He has taught in Western universities and has also dabbled in
African politics. In 2007, he received the Man Booker International Prize
for his contributions to world literature.

An Excerpt from Things Fall Apart
By Chinua Achebe

Okonkwo was well known throughout the nine villages and even
beyond. His fame rested on solid personal achievements. As a young man
of eighteen he had brought honor to his village by throwing Amalinze the

Cat. Amalinze was the great wrestler who for seven years was unbeaten,
from Umuofia to Mbaino. He was called the Cat because his back would
never touch the earth.

It was this man that Okonkwo threw in a fight which the old men agreed
was one of the fiercest since the founder of their town engaged a spirit of
the wild for seven days and seven nights. The drums beat and the flutes
sang and the spectators held their breath. Amalinze was a wily craftsman,
but Okonkwo
Okonkwo was as slippery as a fish
fish in water.
water.
Every nerve and every muscle stood out on their arms, on their backs
and their thighs, and one almost heard them stretching to breaking point. In
the end, Okonkwo threw the Cat. That was many years ago, twenty years or
more, and during this time Okonkwo’s fame had grown like a bush-fire in
the harmattan. He was tall and huge, and his bushy eyebrows and wide nose
gave him a very severe look.
He breathed heavily, and it was said that, when he slept, his wives and
children in their houses could hear him breathe. When he walked, his heels
hardly touched the ground and he seemed to walk on springs, as if he was
going to pounce on somebody. And he did pounce on people quite often. He
had a slight stammer and whenever he was angry and could not get his
words out quickly enough, he would use his fists. He had no patience with
unsuccessful men. He had had no patience with his father.
Unoka, for that was his father’s name, had died ten years ago. In his
day, he was lazy and improvident and was quite incapable of thinking about
tomorrow. If any money came his way, and it seldom did, he immediately
bought gourds of palm-wine, called round his neighbors and made merry merry..
He always said that whenever he saw a dead man’s mouth he saw the folly
of not eating what one had in one’s lifetime. Unoka was, of course, a debtor,
and he owed every neighbor some money, from a few cowries to quite
substantial amounts.
Reflect Upon
An old adage says, “The apple does not fall far from the tree.” Do
you agree with this or not? Do you have certain characteristics that are
similar to your parents, or do you feel completely different from them?
He was tall but very thin and had a slight stoop. He wore a haggard and
mournful look except when he was drinking or playing on his flute. He was
very good on his flute, and his happiest moments were the two or three
moons after the harvest when the village musicians brought down their
instruments, hung above the fireplace. Unoka would play with them, his
face beaming with blessedness and peace. Sometimes another village would
ask Unoka’s band and their dancing egwugwu to come and stay with them
and teach them their tunes. They would go to such hosts for as long as three
or four markets, making music and feasting.
fareUnoka
and the loved the good
good fellowship, Big Idea
and he loved this season of Your family is a vital part of who
the year, when the rains had you are as a person. No matter what
stopped and the sun rose your family is or who your family
every morning with dazzling members are, they have all affected
beauty.. And it was not too
beauty the creation of your personhood in
hot either, because the cold some way. So try not to forget where
and dry harmattan wind was your roots are. Respect those who
blowing down from the raised you and don’t turn your back
north. Some years the on where you come from.
harmattan was very severe
and a dense haze hung on the
atmosphere. Old men and children would then sit round log fires, warming
their bodies. Unoka loved it all, and he loved the first kites that returned
with the dry season, and the children who sang songs of welcome to them.
He would remember his own childhood, how he had often wandered around
looking for a kite sailing leisurely against the blue sky.

As soon as he found one he would sing with his whole being,
welcoming it back from its long, long journey, and asking it if it had
brought home any lengths of cloth. That was years ago, when he was
young. Unoka, the grown-up, was a failure. He was poor and his wife and
children had barely enough to eat. People laughed at him because he was a
loafer, and they swore never to lend him any more money because he never
paid back.
But Unoka was such a man that he always succeeded in borrowing
more, and piling up his debts. One day a neighbor called Okoye came in to
see him. He was reclining on a mud bed in his hut playing on the flute. He
immediately rose and shook hands with Okoye, who then unrolled the
goatskin which he carried under his arm, and sat down. Unoka went into an
inner room and soon returned with a small wooden disc containing a kola
nut, some alligator pepper and a lump of white chalk.
“I have kola,” he announced when he sat down, and passed the disc over
to his guest.
“Thank you. He who brings kola brings life. But I think you ought to
break it,” replied Okoye, passing back the disc.
“No, it is for you, I think,” and they argued like this for a few moments
before Unoka accepted the honor of breaking the kola. Okoye, meanwhile,
took the lump of chalk, drew some lines on the floor, and then painted his
big toe.
As he broke the kola, Unoka prayed to their ancestors for life and
health, and for protection against their enemies. When they had eaten they
talked about many things: about the heavy rains which were drowning the
yams, about the next ancestral feast and about the impending war with the
village of Mbaino. Unoka was never happy when it came to wars. He was
in fact a coward and could not bear the sight of blood. And so he changed
the subject and talked about music, and his face beamed.
He could hear in his mind’s ear the blood-stirring and intricate rhythms
of the ekwe and the udu and the ogene, and he could hear his own flute
weaving in and out of them, decorating them with a colorful and plaintive
tune. Theand
went up total effect
down andwas gay
then and up
broke brisk,
intobut if one
short pickedone
snatches, outsaw
the that
flutethere
as it
was sorrow and grief there.
Okoye was also a musician. He played on the ogene. But he was not a
failure like Unoka. He had a large barn full of yams and he had three wives.
And now he was going to take the Idemili title, the third highest in the land.
It was a very expensive ceremony and he was gathering all his resources
together. That was in fact the reason why he had come to see Unoka. He
cleared his throat and began:
“Thank you for the kola. You may have heard of the title I intend to take
shortly.”
Having spoken plainly so far, Okoye said the next half a dozen
sentences in proverbs. Among the Ibo the art of conversation is regarded
very highly, and proverbs are the palm-oil with which words are eaten.
Okoye was a great talker and he spoke for a long time, skirting round the
subject and then hitting it finally. In short, he was asking Unoka to return
the two hundred cowries he had borrowed from him more than two years
before. As soon as Unoka understood what his friend was driving at, he
burst out laughing.
laughing. He laughed lloud
oud and long and his voice rang out
out clear as
the ogene, and

speechless. tears
At the stood
end, in his
Unoka waseyes.
able His visitor
to give was amazed,
an answer and
between sat
fresh
outbursts of mirth.
“Look at that wall,” he said, pointing at the far wall of his hut, which
was rubbed with red earth so that it shone.
“Look at those lines of chalk;” and Okoye saw groups of short
perpendicular lines drawn in chalk. There were five groups, and the
smallest group had ten lines. Unoka had a sense of the dramatic and so he
allowed a pause, in which he took a pinch of snuff and sneezed noisily, and
then he continued:
“Each group there represents a debt to someone, and each stroke is one
hundred cowries. You see, I owe that man a thousand cowries. But he has
not come to wake me up in the morning for it. I shall pay you, but not
today. Our elders say that the sun will shine on those who stand before it
shines on those who kneel under them. I shall pay my big debts first.”
And he took another pinch of snuff, as if that was paying the big debts
first. Okoye rolled his goatskin and departed. When Unoka died he had
taken no title at all and he was heavily in debt. Any wonder then that his
son Okonkwo was ashamed of him? Fortunately, among these people a man
was judged according to his worth and not according to the worth of his
father.. Okonkwo was clearly cut out for great things. He was still young but
father
he had won fame as the greatest wrestler in the nine villages. He was a
wealthy farmer and had two barns full of yams, and had just married his
third wife.
To crown it all he had taken two titles and had shown incredible
prowess in two inter-tribal
inter-tribal wars. And so although Okonkwo was still
young, he was already one of the greatest men of his time. Age was
respected among his people, but achievement was revered. As the elders
said, if a child washed his hands he could eat with kings. Okonkwo had
clearly washed his hands, and so he ate with kings and elders. And that was
how he came to look after the doomed lad who was sacrificed to the village
of Umuofia by their neighbors to avoid war and bloodshed. The ill-fated lad
was called Ikemefuna.
Source: http://www.castlemaineindependent.org/excerpt-fall/

What unique aspects of the Ibo Village culture in Nigeria does the
excerpt show? Do you think Okonkwo is a good exemplar of the Ibo
culture?
Track: Technical-
echni cal-V
Vocat
ocational
ional
As part of a new government agency, you are tasked to teach below-
minimum-wage households a creative business start-up that the
government will fund. Your creative business start-up involves making a
sample of a useful household product that showcases a particular
province’ss local folklore and proverbs. It can be a bag, kitchen utensil, or
province’
even a piece of furniture! This sample will be used to show the members
of the adopted below-minimum-wage community how they can
supplement their household income by producing these items, which will
be sold in department
department stores all o
over
ver the country
country..
Your Knowledge
1. It may be easy to look for novels to read, but how good are the
novels you are reading? WWorld
orld literature has many interesting titles
to offer. Look at Things Fall Apart . Most people assume that it is
boring because it is a novel that has
has been publish
published
ed several years
ago, but when you read it, you may actually find that it is largely
exciting and interesting.
2. To help you choose the novels you may want to read as you delve
into the different literatures of the world, you may visit the
following websites:
100 prominent authors from more than 50 different nations have
elected The Library of World Literature: “The 100 Best Books in
the History of Literature”
(http://www.bokklubben.no/SamboWeb/side.do?dokId=65500&)
“Top 100 World Lit Titles”
(http://www.perfectionlearnin
(http://www .perfectionlearning.com/top%2
g.com/top%20100-world-
0100-world-lit-titles)
lit-titles)
Editor Eric’
Eric’ss Greatest Literature of All Time
(http://editoreric.com/greatlit/index.html)
3. For more contemporary reads, visit this website for suggestions:
https://www.realsimple.com/
https://www.realsimple.com/work-life/entertainm
work-life/entertainment/what-to-read-
ent/what-to-read-
right-now.
Essential Learning
Goethe’s concept of world literature transcends what world literature
means to society today—it is a fast-paced, multilevel, and dynamic
means of sharing information with one another through literary texts in
many different media such as the internet.
The influx ofliterature from around the world makes reading more
exciting and challenging. How do you understand the situational contexts
of these works, and which ones are the best to read? Two theories are
presented in this module to further help the reader in understanding the
given literary selections: new historicism and “the death of the author.”
Both of these concepts help to further illustrate the different shades of
meaning in a given literary selection.
Another is the idea of the rapid traffic of literature that you are all
exposed to as of the moment. It is up to you, the reader, to discern which
ones are worth reading or not, which ones may contribute to world
literature or not, and which ones may contribute to your totality as a
human being.
Module
10 Charting Our Own Paths in

Southeast Asia

1. Explain the texts in terms of literary elements, genres, and
traditions.
2. Compare and contrast the various 21st century literary genres
and their elements, structures, and traditions from across the
globe.
3. Examine the relationship between text and context.
reading strategies.
Southeast Asian Countries
The area belongs

Philippines where the to, Big Idea
Southeast Asia (SEA), is rich ASEAN promotes unity among
with its own unique culture the Southeast Asian countries in
and histor y.
y. It consist
consistss of 11 terms of economics, politics,
politics, cultures,
countries, and becaus
becausee of its and other aspects. It is easy
easy to go to a
expansive geography, the Southeast Asian country and find
countries within SEA may many similarities with the
be archipelagos, islands, or Philippines. However, you must also
land masses. acknowledge the diversity of each
country, and respect its culture and
The countries that make traditions.
up SEA are Burma,
Thailand, Laos, Cambodia,
Vietnam, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, the Philippines, Brunei, and the

new nation of East Timor (which was recently separated from Indonesia).
The religions in SEA vary,
vary, too. Islam may be the majority in countries such
as Malaysia,
have Brunei, and
a predominantly Indonesia;
Catholic however,
population. thecountries
Other Philippines
suchand Vietnam
as Thailand
have Buddhism as well. This interesting mix of geography and beliefs make
SEA a very interesting area to belong in.
More than that, Southeast Asia is mostly a tropical area, so the countries
within it are quite similar in terms of their climate and ecosystem. In the
lower areas, the temperatures may be warmer than the highlands, which are
known to be cooler. Southeast Asia is also known to house many unique
species in the sea and jungle, which has caught the attention of colonizers in
the past. The climates are also varying. Sometimes it may rain for a certain
amount of time (the “monsoon”), or it may be very hot. The people living in
SEA have found numerous ways of coping with this changing climate and
have adapted well to the conditions of the land they live in.
One of the most interesting things about Southeast Asia is its cultural
diversity. There are at least a thousand spoken languages in SEA alone.
More than that, it is a melting pot of cultures. China has long migrated to
parts of SEA, as with other European colonizers later on. And as usual,
Southeast Asians have adapted well with whatever changes that have come
upon them-whether they be geographic, climate, or culture-wise. When the
colonizers came, Southeast Asians were open to the new practices that they
offered. These were oftentimes integrated in their own local cultures.
To learn more about Southeast Asia, divide yourselves into 11 groups
and do the next activity.
A Brief Introduction to Formalism

One way to look at a Big Idea
literary selection is through
the lenses of formalism, or Formalism seeks to champion the
Russian formalism , as it was form and technique of the literary
also called back in the early work, rather than its content. By
20th century. What is focusing on form and technique,
formalism? It is partly based literature can stand on its own with or
on Ferdinand de Saussure’s without the discourse about its

idea of semiotics and how content or theme.
signs and symbols may bring
about
literaryatext.
newFormalism
meaning in a to look at the medium in which literature is
aims
written. More than that, it aims to look at how literature, most especially
poetry,, artistically alter or “renew” the everyday common language in
poetry
which everyone speaks so that they come up with a “defamiliarized” work
of art that is new to the senses. The idea is to focus on the form and
technique used in literature rather than its content, so that literature
becomes an autonomous form of art which may stand on its own—without
its content.
Track: Technical-
echni cal-V
Vocat
ocational
ional
Your group consists of the brightest young entrepreneurs of Southeast
Asia. Your task is to develop a key economic product in the Southeast
Asian country you are assigned to. Later on, you must trade this product
with that of another group representing a different ASEAN country.
Research on the key economic product of your assigned country.
Brainstorm on how you can improve or enhance this product, and then
create a marketing campaign through a multimedia presentation that will
best commercialize it. Make sure to create a commercial that best
represents the product you have come up with and the country it comes
from. Your goal is to have one ASEAN country willing to invest in your
product, or to trade with you.
Here is a literary selection from Southeast Asia that may be looked at

with formalism:
Beloved by Usman Awang, which you can read at

http://cosmicdinesh.blogspo
http://cosmicdinesh.blogspot.ca/2oo9/07/k
t.ca/2oo9/07/kekasih-beloved-b
ekasih-beloved-by-usman-
y-usman-
awang.html.
Big Idea
Oftentimes, you may get caught up in fantasies and
idealisms that are not possible at all in your current
situation. Remember to maintain rationality during these
times. If you think rationally, you will make sound and
logical decisions that involve yourself and those around
you.
Look for sources that can tell you more about the concept of
“defamiliarization.” Now, tell how this poem is able to “defamiliarize”
your understanding of love. List the different ways this poem
accomplishes defamiliarization at a personal level. Share your outputs
with your classmates.

Where does formalism come from, and how is it used in critiquing

literary selections? How is formalism related to defamiliarization? How
can a literary selection such as “Beloved” defamiliarize you as a reader?
Audrey Chin is a Singaporean writer who also has a doctorate in Public

Policy. Her story collection Nine Cuts was shortlisted for the 2016
Singapore Literature Prize, while her novel As the Heart Bones Break was
was a
finalist in the Singapore Book Awards. She worked in investment banking
and is also the organizer of the Singapore Ladies Asian Literary Book
Group, which promotes Asian literature.
Fig. 10.1. Audrey Chin
Source: http://diacritics.org/wp-
content/uploads/2014/06/Audrey-Chin.jpg
The Dragon Fish

By Audrey Chin
There wasn’t a business any more, just the fish.

“It’s been no help. I wash my hands off it,” the boss said. “Fed it
enough! All those live guppies. Time it fends for itself.”
“Just like we have to,” Ah Bee told Ah Seng later, after the boss had
given them their last week’s salary and skulked off, his empty briefcase
sorely sagging.
Her brother drew his finger across the glass of the fish tank, first right
then left, whistling softly for the fish to follow.
“We can always go back to cleaning at the hawker centre,” Ah Bee
said.
“Willl that do?” he asked.
“Wil
“We’ll manage, we always have,” Ah Bee said with more conviction
than she felt. “You know I’ll always see to that.”
Ah Seng’s finger continued its back-and-forth movement across the
tank as he considered Ah Bee’s statement. “What about him?” he asked
finally, tapping on the fish tank.
Ah Bee took her time to answer, choosing her words carefully. “It’s
no life for a creature like him, cramped in a tank. We’ll release him into
the canal. He can spend the rest of his life hunting down fresh fish, like
he was born to do.”
Ah Seng’s mouth twisted into a pout. “He’s used to being fed. One
wriggling crab on a line and he’ll be dinner for those Chinese
construction workers fishing the long-kang.” He put his hand into the
tank and skimmed the surface of the water with his thumb. Immediately,
Da Long Wang, the Great Dragon King, surfaced, his whiskers trembling.
He snapped, missing Ah Seng’s retreating thumb by a hair’s breadth.
“You see, he can’t even tell a finger from a fish,” he said as the monster
sank back sullenly to the bottom of the tank. “He won’t last more than a
day.”
Ah Bee shrugged. She was the one who went to the fish shop daily to
buy the bloodworms
bloodworms and live guppies the boss had pampered the monmonster
ster
with. It was one thing off her hands now, now that she was no longer
being paid to minister to it. Anyway
Anyway,, with the restaurant shuttered, she
needed both her hands and all her wits about her. Without the free food
they got from the boss, they wouldn’t even last the full seven days with a
week’ss severance, not with prices the way they were.
week’
“You know we’ll be hard put to manage. And that’s if we just eat
peanut porridge
porridge every day
day,”
,” she said to Ah Seng.
He appeared not to have heard her. “Eat up, Da Long Wang, eat up,”
he was saying to the fish as he emptied the very last plastic bag of
wriggling guppies into the tank.
Ah Bee sighed. It was ridiculous how her brother had attached
himself to that blood-thirsty carnivore. Still, from young, she’d never
denied him anything. He was the scholar and poet, the one to be
protected, their mother
mother had always said.
She rubbed the back of her brother’s neck. “I’ll go ask the kang-tao at
the food court if he can use us. If he says yes and you think of a way to
get the tank upstairs, it’s fated to live. Otherwise … “
#
Fate favoured the fish. Big Idea
The kang-tao’s three illegal
Burmese cleaners had Overseas workers face many
disappeared following a struggles, which is why they are
raid by Immigration. Ah considered modern heroes.
Seng and Ah Bee could
come back full time.
“No CPF benefits,” Ah Bee reported. “But full time, OT even, so
long as we keep quiet about it.”
Ah Seng didn’t even say ‘good enough’. Already he was flitting
through the deserted restaurant picking up this and that, thinking of how
to get the fish up to their one-room rental six floors above.

In the end, it was Ah Bee who found the black rubbish bags. They put
Da Long Wang into one with just enough water to keep him from
suffocating and, together, dragged the flopping sac up the stairs to their
rental flat. There the great fish was deposited in their kitchen sink.
Brother and sister then went back downstairs to empty the rest of the
water from the tank into buckets. They carried the buckets up to the flat
in a second and then a third trip, and finally the emptied glass aquarium,
pumps and other
other paraphernalia.
They installed the tank against their back wall and facing the front
door, where their family altar would have been if they could have
afforded one. He was fed leftovers scrounged from the hawkers at the
food court, primarily mashed-up meat scraps and discarded prawn heads.
On occasion, there was frozen krill, a treat which the fish shop owner
gave Ah Bee for old times’ sake.
It was one of those times in their lives when everything was good.
They were working. They had three meals a day. They weren’t in arrears
with the Housing Board. In the months since they moved the fish
upstairs, Ah Seng had even resumed his business writing good-luck
couplets for the neighbours. And he’d managed three small wins and one
big one on the 4D.
“It’s all because of Da Long Wang,” Ah Seng boasted to the kang-tao
before Chinese New Year
Year..
“As if,” Ah Bee sniffed to herself. Ah Seng was such a superstitious
so-and-so. Anyway, didn’t he know better? To be talking about their good
luck so openly was sure to bring on the opposite.
But she didn’t dare chastise her brother. Not when the kang-tao was
nodding agreeably to Ah Seng and patting him on the back and offering
him an extra 50-dollar ang pao.
“What about we bring your dragonfish down here?” the kang-tao was
suggesting. “We can set up the fish tank next to our altar table, provide
some numbered chips and let it out that the fish is lucky. If people win,
they’ll always give something back, you know … “ He winked at the
brother and sister.
sister.
Ah Seng looked at Ah Bee.

“Sure,” she said. “If nothing else, we won’t have to pay for the
electricity to run his water pump.”
***
Da Long Wang left the siblings’ flat with much greater fanfare than
he had entered.
“No black rubbish bag for a 4D master,” the kang-tao declared.
A Taoist priest, arranged by the kang-tao and sponsored by the
hawkers’ association, officiated at the Great Dragon King’s move. He
was carried down the staircase and into the lift in a fully filled tank
carefully covered with a mica top that was secured with red and gold
bunting. The tank’s
tank’s installation was accompanied by taped orchestral
music and two tables of feasting courtesy of the food court’s zi char
vendor.
“From now on we’ll be responsible for Da Long Wang’s food and the
chemicals for the tank,” the kang-tao informed the brother and sister.
“We’ll pay for everything—joss sticks for the worshippers, the flowers,
electricity. After covering the expenses, the takings will be split: 90 per
cent for the hawkers’ association and me and the temple, 10 per cent for
the both of you,” he continued. He poured more beer into Ah Seng’s
glass. “As for any couplets the devotees want you to write, you get to
keep all the money from them. Fair,
Fair, right?”
Ah Seng nodded. Ah Bee scanned the two tables quickly. There were
two of them, eighteen of the others. She looked at the roast duck on her
plate. She looked across at Ah Seng, his face red from the alcohol and
flushed with happiness. “Fair enough,” she said.
***
“It was all the people coming to pray, knocking on the glass for
numbers. And they leave the corridor lights on all night. It was never
dark
have enough for him
started going to rest.
down I shouldn’t
to cover haveearlier,”
up the tank been soAhcareless. I should
Seng sobbed to
Ah Bee.
Reflect Upon
What superstitions about animals do we have in the Philippines?
“ Ai yoh , even 4D masters die of old age. You think he was a god or
what?” Ah Bee replied grumpily, more concerned about the two of them
than the fish.
They’d had a good run—the two of them, the kang-tao and his
associates, the neighbourhood Taoist priest. They’d had such a good run
Ah Seng had tried to convince her they should stop working. He was 55,
she was nearly 60, he’d reasoned. They should kick back their legs and
relax. He could spend more time on his calligraphy, she could take up
mahjong.
“What a stupid idea,” she’d said. “What do you think we’re going to
eat if the fish stops predicting?”
But she hadn’t been able to talk sense into Ah Seng. He’d quitted.
She herself had done no such thing. Instead, she’d persuaded the
kang-tao to take over the collections for the couplets and to hand the
money to her together with their monthly share of the 4D takings, lying
to Ah Seng about the total every time he had come to her for beer money.
What with$20,014.88
now had this and that,
in including
her POSB a few lucky strikes
Passbook Savingson account.
the lottery, she
She’d
never had so much money before. But, she worried now, how far would
that get them with the fish floating upside down in his tank and the run of
their luck over?
Ah Bee looked at Ah Seng sobbing into his long calligrapher’s
fingers. Did he know what this turn of events meant? It would be back to
scraping off plates and wiping down tables. No more beer money for
sure. And only the stolen night hours for his ink and brushes.
If she had time to think about it, Ah Bee would say her brother was ill
fated, a bright falling star intended for extinction. Why else would the
Internal Security have come for him during the Chinese Middle School
riots so many years ago? A harmless teacher with weak lungs, flat feet
and his head in the clouds … How could they have thought he was a
communist?
They’d made him confess to that brush with idiocy anyway.

“The things they did to me. I had to!” she’d heard him whispering to
their mother months after they’d let him out.
Ah Bee blamed the unspeakable things inflicted on Ah Seng during
the interrogations for what followed—the string of incidents with his
students and then the second incarceration, the way things fell apart after
he came out the second time, how both he and their mother ended up in
Woodbridge Hospital. No, Ah Bee was quite sure, Ah Seng would not
survive another plummet in his fortunes. She would have to do
something to stop that from happening.

“Was there anyone else around?” she asked her brother.
“I don’t think so. It was past midnight.”
“And did you cover the tank up anyway after you saw he’d died?”
“Of course. I didn’t think it would be respectful, letting everyone see
him the way he was.”
“So maybe no one knows he’s dead yet.”
“I know. Isn’t that enough?”
Ah Bee frowned, the shadow of a scheme forming. Yee yat say fatt,
the cardinal numbers in her bank balance sure sounded a lot like the
Cantonese homonyms for ‘easy days and afterdeath prosperity’. She was
clutching at straws, she knew, but …
“Ah Seng, does your calligraphy ink run when it gets wet?”
“No, not the good stuff I’ve been buying recently. Why?”
She ignored his question. Her heart beating, she tossed him a brush.
“Here, grind some ink. I need you to write something.”
“What for?”
“Just do it. In your best hand. We don’t have much time. I have to
speak to the kang-tao alone, before everyone else turns up for the
morning shift.”
***
After hearing Ah Bee out and setting up the necessary, the kang-tao
called the head of the hawkers’ association and then the Taoist priest.
“Sad news … Yes, the 4D master’s passed on. But you won’t believe
it, he has a scroll clamped tight in his maw,
maw,”” the kang-tao made it known.
“No … I’ve no idea what’s written on it. It could be valuable though …
Too valuable for me to have sole responsibility. Best if you come down,”
so he said, first to the head hawker and then to the priest.
By the time the two dignitaries arrived—the hawker head in a long-
sleeved shirt buttoned

larger-than-usual crowduphad
to gathered
the collar, the priest
around in hisUpside
the tank. grey regalia—a
down and
dead, Da Long Wang seemed even more imposing than when he was
alive and sulking. In the aquarium’s blue light, the silver scales on his
square head and blunt tail seemed to shine with a supernatural glow. His
big jaws, clamping a white scroll just above the waterline, seemed
defiant, almost challenging. “Take these secrets only if you dare,” his
whiskers, wavering ominously in the water, seemed to warn.
The Taoist priest showed he had the guts. Dipping his forearms into
the water, he lifted the fish up and pulled out the scroll.
***
Holding a lottery for the Great Dragon King’s last four numbers was
brazen profiteering, the market crowds grumbled. Who can say they’re
for real; that priest and the kang-tao and that head hawker could’ve
staged it all; a scam, for sure.
sure. Y
You
ou won’
won’tt catch me buying into it!
But enough people were willing to give the gang of three a chance.
Or rather, they were willing to put a last few dollars on the Great Dragon
King. After all, what was 10 or 50 or even 100 dollars against the chance
of winning the big prize?
“Consider it a contribution to the 4D Master’s funeral,” the kang-tao
said to the half-persuaded. “After all, didn’t he help you win in the past?
If you’re generous, he might come back to you in a dream with more
numbers …”
Superstition? Greed? Sheer stupidity? Whatever … It had succeeded

beyondAh Bee’s most optimistic calculations. Within
Within three days enough
had been collected for a suitable funeral procession for the Great Dragon
King, the kang-tao told Ah Bee and the other two. “And still 10 more
days to the funeral,” he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
Ah Bee went to tell Ah Seng, but he was curled up on his mattress,
too drunk to care.
“After the funeral…” Ah Bee told herself. “It’ll be better
better.”
.” It wasn’t a
prediction. It was a prayer.
prayer.
The morning of the funeral, the eighteenth of the eighth lunar month,
dawned hot and bright. Surrounded by an excited crowd, the chanting
priest took the dead Dragon King, wrapped in a piece of red-and-gold
brocade, out of
of the zi char vendor’s
vendor’s freezer. Ceremoniously, he placed the
fish back into his now-dry tank. Four nominated kitchen helpers lifted the
tank onto the back of the head hawker’s pickup. Then, with the kang-tao,
Ah Bee and a spruced-up sober Ah Seng in attendance, the truck drove
off in the rising heat to the East Coast pier.
The truck was accompanied by an entourage of about 50 punters in
taxis, on motorbikes and squashed into a rented van. The plan was to
entrust Da Long Wang to the sea, at the pier, then present the scroll with
the magic numbers to the winner of the Great Dragon King’s funeral
lottery.
“I’ll hold on to the scroll, you handle the fish,” the head hawker had
instructed earlier in the day. “Say some quick prayers, unwrap the fish
and slip it into the water, then read out the winner’s name. I’ll hand the
scroll over and that’s that.”
“The money’s
money’s been collected and shared, the goods will be delivered,
the fish suitably dispatched. No need for more,” the kang-tao had agreed.
Ah Bee and Ah Seng had nothing to add. Ah Bee sensed Ah Seng
would have liked more ceremony. But he hadn’t opened his mouth. And
she couldn’t anticipate all his wants, could she?
So it was that the procession from Car Park D to the end of the pier
took only five minutes and the closing prayers for Da Long Wang’s
commitment to the waters a mere 60 seconds. But the priest, like Ah
Seng, must have felt that the Great Dragon King deserved more than a
quiet slide into the waters. Unwrapping the fish, he turned to face the sea,
lifted the body up and let out a high ululating yodel before flinging the
Great Dragon King out into the sky and towards the horizon. He might
even have continued to watch for a few minutes more to ensure the Great
Dragon King’s safe descent into the depths but for the head hawker
prompting ‘And the winner is?’ As it was, he was called back to his
duties towards the hungry punters and Da Long Wang’s final journey into
the void was witnessed only by Ah Bee and Ah Seng.
With everyone elbowing and shoving towards the lottery winner to
get a touch of the lucky scroll, no one but the brother and sister watched
Da Long Wang’s body arch upwards and then begin its fall into the sea.
No one but Ah Bee and Ah Seng saw the flock of seagulls lifting Da
Long Wang’s body up again into the sky. Nor did anyone except the
siblings see him disappear piece by piece as the hungry birds fought and
tore at their meal.
“What did he do to deserve that?” Ah Seng moaned, clutching at Ah
Bee.
Her brother was now crying. Ah Bee didn’t need a 4D master to
predict what would come next: what had come before. She saw it again-
the arc of silver falling, the heaving depths below.
below.
Guide Questions:
1. What is Ah Seng’s relationship with Da Long Wang? How aboutAh

Bee, kang-tao, and the Taoist priest? How do they see the dragon
fish?
2. What does the ending paragraph symbolize?
3. Using
and howdefamiliarization, explain the
it can be contextualized central
to your theme(s)
common of the story
experience as a
Filipino.

Track: Academic
You are one of the writers of the premier literary magazine circulated
in Southeast Asian countries. For this issue, you are assigned to write a
short critical paper that discusses the following works: “Is It the
Kingfisher?” by MaIjorie Evasco and “In the Midst of Hardship” by
Latiff Mohidin.
Similar to how critical papers are written, discuss the works by
comparing the contexts under which they operate, and then find the
similar themes arising from the two. It would also be helpful to discuss
the works with a certain theme or issue at hand, or find an applicable
literary theory on concepts to use such as defamiliarization. At the same
time, the work should be creatively written. Write your 1 000-word
article and submit it to your editor. Write a draft or outline of your article
here.

Extend Your
Your Knowledge
K nowledge
1. To immerse yourself fully in the concepts of formalism, visit the

Purdue OWL website at
https://owl.english.purdue.edu
https://owl.english.purdue.edu/owl/resource/722
/owl/resource/722/03/.First
/03/.First link is
working as of January 3, 2018. Please change second link with the
one below:
2. There are many writing awards for Southeast Asian writers. Y
You
ou can
find some of them at https:jjbookcouncil.sgjawards.
https:jjbookcouncil.sgjawards. Many writers in
the ASEAN region, including Filipino writers, have already
received these awards.
Essential Learning
Southeast
literature. ThereAsia is been
have not only
manyrich in culture
challenges and heritage
to Southeast but history,
Asia’s also in
and the vastness and uniqueness of the literature in the 11 countries that
belong to this
this corner of the world
world shows the extent
extent of these experiences.
experiences.
It is fitting to look at Southeast Asian literature with the idea of
formalism. Formalism aims to look at the way the literary work uses
words and techniques to present something entirely new to the reader, so
that familiar experiences and situations are defamiliarized, or made new
and modern. The three selections included in this module certainly shows
how Southeast Asian literature is able to defamiliarize the situations you
are all familiar with, such as the weather, longings, beliefs, and customs,
to name a few.
There is so much more to be discovered in the literature of Southeast
Asia and so much more that it can offer to world literature. One only
must be unafraid to start moving out of the familiar and be open to the
kind of defamiliarization these literary works may offer.

Module
11 The Roots of East Asia

1. Identify representative texts and authors from East Asia.
2. Situate the texts in the
t he context of the region, nation, and the
world.
4. Do self- and/or peer-assessment of the creative adaptation of a

literary text, based on a rationalized criteria prior to
presentation.
The Civilization of East Asia

The history behind East Asia goes back than civilization itself. It is said
that the first Homo erectus or “upright man” lived in both East and Southeast
Asia almost two million years ago. Subsequently, fossils of 40 Homo erectus
men, or the Peking Men, were found near Beijing, China. These Homo
erectus individuals are believed to have lived in China and Indonesia.
The early Homo erectus were the first ones to migrate to other parts of
Asia, and were followed by herds of animals such as mammoths. They
brought with the
them
m th
their
eir own culture and practices to different parts of the
world.
The first dynasties ever recorded were in China, and the first dynasty was
called the Xia Dynasty. This was followed by the Shang Dynasty of the
Yellow River Valley. It is interesting to note that the Zhou Dynasty was the
longest lasting dynasty in Chinese history. During this dynasty, bronze ware
was developed into mass production, and written script became the modern
Chinese characters that you are familiar with today
today..
China’s vast influence also reflects on its religion. Confucianism,

Buddhism, and Taoism were all intertwined with Chinese culture in some
way. Confucianism, for one, became a state religion during the Han Dynasty.
Eventually, these beliefs, traditions, and practices spilled onto other countries
and territories in East Asia: Hong Kong, Mongolia, Japan, Korea, Macau,
Ryukyu Islands (now known as Okinawa prefecture), Tibet, and Taiwan.
Read thIS page on the history of East Asia: http://www.essential-

humanities.net/world-history/east-asia/. Then with your group mates,
create a visual representation of a time line that plots the events in East
Asian history. You can use cartolina and art materials to make your time
line. Present your output in class. Make a preliminary sketch here.

How is East Asian history different from yet interrelated with Southeast
Asian history? What essential contributions has East Asia given to the
history of the world?
Postcolonial Literature
The extensive history of Big Idea
colonialism in Asia cannot be
denied. Almost all Asian Living in a postcolonial era, it may
countries have been colonized be quite challenging for you to
in some way or another. In determine which parts of you are truly
response to this long history Filipino, and which parts of you are
of colonization and the influenced by our previous colonizers.
aftermath of it, literature has A healthy discussion of these issues is
begun to tackle these important to acknowledge the ways in
prevailing issues in society.
society. which you can respond and deal with
Literary criticism has also the realities of living in a postcolonial
responded to this, with an country.
intellectual discourse called
postcolonialism or
postcolonial studies.
What is postcolonialism? It is an era or theory that is developed after a
certain colony gains independence from its mother country. Postcolonialism
looks at these colonial countries and sees how being colonized has affected
their political, economical, and social climate. Aside from these, how does
the postcolonial country respond to the independence it is suddenly given,

and how is it still bound to the countries that have colonized it beforehand?
So many literary works have featured characters who struggle with their
own identity after being colonized. How does the character deal with the
emotional, economical, and political effects that the colonizers have brought
and left behind?
Postcolonialism analyzes these particular texts by reading the text in a
specific and critical way. Postcolonialism asks the reader to analyze and
expound on the effects of colonization and imperialism on the characters.
Furthermore, it also seeks to look at the way the powers of the colonizers are
extended beyond their colonial era and into the future of the colonized
country.
A way
through thetoterm
counteract how the. Decolonization
decolonization colonized have is
held
theonto their colonizers
intellectual is
process of
returning to the former independence that colonies have enjoyed before the
colonizers came. Here, the pervading ideas, cultural practices, and beliefs that
were integrated and taught by the colonizers may be deconstructed from the
minds of the natives. It is an extensive and exhaustive process of change, of
eliminating the tethers that bind the colonies with their colonizers and
regaining the power that was lost upon colonization.
Form groups with three members each. Each group will be assigned an
essay to read in the postcolonial essays found at http://sh.diva-
portal.org/smash/get/diva2:1573
portal.org/smash/get/diva2:15732/FULL
2/FULLTEXT
TEXTo1.pdf.
o1.pdf. Read your assigned
essays as a group and prepare a short slide presentation that discusses
briefly the following:
following:
1. What is the essay about?
2. What literary works or cultural artifacts were discussed in the

essay?
3. What are the major points of the essay?
4. What does the essay say about postcolonialism and

decolonialization?

Although
bananas of thepostcolonialism
same bunch, bothand decolonization
concepts deal with may be twoofdifferent
the conflicts identity
and belonging. When colonial powers come to a particular colony, they
destroy native beliefs and cultural practices, only to replace these with their
own. When left on their own to pursue independence, the colonies usually
face the challenge of forming a concrete nationwide identity.
identity.
How are the concepts in the figure related? Use visual mapping to
connect the ideas. Visit http://www.visual-mapping.co
http://www.visual-mapping.com/
m/ for samples.
Li Eai, also known as Li Eo, was a Chinese poet who was known for his
genius, romantic musings, and innovation. He took traditional poetic forms to
new heights. Li Eai and his friend Du Fu were the most famous poets during
the Tang Dynasty, which is also known as the “Golden Age of Chinese
Poetry.”
Seeing Off a Friend
Ey LiEai
Green hills above the northern wall,

White water winding east of the city.
On this spot our single act of parting,
The lonely tumbleweed journeys ten thousand Ii.
Drifting clouds echo the traveller’s thoughts,
The setting sun reflects

reflect s my old friend’
friend’ss feelings.
You wave your hand and set off from this place,
Your horse whinnies as it leaves.

Source: http://www.chinese-poems.com/lb15t.html
Reflect Upon
How do you get through a difficult period in your life, such as when a
beloved friend leaves? Recall some of your coping mechanisms
mechanisms during this
difficult time.

Big Idea
Literature is oftentimes a reflection of the various array
of cultures a particular country has, based on its history.
Aside from this, literature has often been seen as another
historical account of a country’s development-a mirror of all

the peoples who have made the country the way it is now.
Chon Ponggon was born in North Korea back in 1928 and fled to the
South in 1946. After being discharged from the army, he became a poet who
championed the integration of the experiences of war in poetry. His poems
are usually about the ways to deal with and overcome the traumatic
experiences of war.
Read one of Chon Ponggon’s poems, If you come to a stony Place, at
http://hompi.sogang.ac.kr/anthony
http://hompi.sogang.ac.kr/anthony/klt/98fall/chonpo
/klt/98fall/chonponggon.htm
nggon.htm..
Fig. 11.1. Chon Ponggon

Source: http://www.pianotopics.nl/24
FB%20Ponggon%20Chon.jp
g
Reflect Upon
Which parts of the poem show the trauma war has brought upon the
people? Can this text be analyzed through postcolonialism? If so, what
message then does the poem impart about postcolonialism?
1. If a literary piece is not necessarily about postcolonialism but is written

by an author from
from a colonized country
country,, will postcolonial cues manifest?
manifest?
Why or why not?

2. How do the lenses of postcolonial and decolonization help you

understand the literary pieces in this module?

Krys Lee is a Korean author who is a recipient of the Rome Prize and the
Story Prize Spotlight Award and the Honor Title in Adult Fiction Literature
from the Asian/ Pacific American Libraries Association. She is also a finalist
for the Center for Fiction First Novel Prize and the BBC International Story
Prize. Her short story collection Drifting House and debut novel How I
Became a North Korean are both published by Viking, Penguin Random

House. She is an assistant professor of creative writing and literature at Y
onsei University, Underwood International College, in South Korea, and has
various works appearing in Granta, The Kenyon Review, Narrative, San
Corriere della Sera, and The Guardian, among others.
Francisco Chronicle, Corriere
Fig. 11.2. Krys Lee

Source: https:wwww.worldliteraturetoday
https:wwww.worldliteraturetoday.org/blog/friday
.org/blog/friday-lit-links/respondi
-lit-links/responding-
ng-
censorship-literary-catch-phrases-and-more

Fat
By KrysLee
There
melon was
in its fullonly one word
ripeness, fat astoa double-decker
describe me and that wasthreatening
hamburger fat. Fat as to
a
capsize, fat as a woman’s belly heavy with triplets. My body moved
slowly,, heavy with itself, unable to trip along as fast as my words.
slowly
The irony was, I wasn’t fat enough. I was certainly bigger than 1’d ever
been, and too heavy to practice or to attend backup dancer auditions, but
still eight kilos from the deadline. The trouble was, my weight gain had
reached a plateau at ninety kilograms despite an arduous daily regimen of
spicy fried chicken, sweet potato pizza, jajang noodles, hot dogs, and
icecream sundaes. As soon as I woke up, I reached for the mini chocolate
bars that I kept stacked on my lower dresser drawer.
drawer. I ate three portions of
french fries a day. I’d sneak in an extra slice of pound cake after dinner.
At first Abeoji hadn’t noticed, then later when it was harder not to,
he’d said, “You’ll get tired of it, like you get tired of everything else.”
When he realized that I was determined, he tried to make me vomit out
what he called my disgrace. He stood to his full formidable height, a
rectangle of veiny muscle, and thumped my back as I stared stubbornly
into the toilet water. He said he would turn me into the authorities. He
threatened to dunk my head into the toilet and use my hair to clean it.
Thankfully, Eomma was hanging onto his arms from behind so he couldn’t
be quite as cruel as he hoped to be. Since she naturally wanted to protect
her only son, he had to be satisfied with threats. I told him that it wasn’t
easy to eat as much as I did. I said,
sai d, “Abeoji, you want me to be a bulimic?”
“What’s a bulimic?” He said, “I’m trying to make you an upright
citizen.”
The thing was, I didn’t think our government really needed me to do
over two years of military service. They had nearly seven hundred
thousand kids doing that job for them, and that wasn’t including the
professionally enlisted soldiers. I had spent more than a few nights over
the figures that Abeoji flung at me every time I sat down to eat, and after I
struggled with my conscience that he claimed I didn’t have, I had decided
that the army could do without me.
At breakfast over my personal pot of fermented bean paste stew topped
with several slices of cheddar cheese, I announced that I was less than ten
kilograms away from my goal which made Abeoji cry into his rice. Now,
Abeoji had the stern face of a prison warden. Only his voice showed
pleasure if his favorite baseball team won a game or when a new world
map arrived via mail order, or anger when he found out that, once again,
I’d burrowed back into the comforter after his six o’clock morning call. He
was the kind of man who found it too embarrassing to buy roses for his
wife and gave us money so we could buy our own birthday presents. But
now a tear slid down the ski slope of this very man’s nose, off his wide
chin and disappeared. A genuine tear from a man who’d recited a ten-
minute speech without a single pause at his own mother’s funeral.
The entire family stared. I stared. Even if he did care more about his
reputation than my well-being, I almost felt sorry. Then he wiped his eyes,
and stared back. The weakness disappeared from his face as if it had never
happened.
He said, “Are you just doing this to infuriate me? Don’t tell me you’ve
gone Communist.”
But it was clear that I was eating because I didn’t want to be stationed
anywhere near the 38th parallel. He was acting like parents did when their
unwed daughters turned thirty. That is, hysterical and more than a little
unreasonable.
Abeoji thrust his chopsticks at me as if to puncture my eyeballs. “We
had to forage for food. We’d mix edible roots and leaves into a little bowl
of barley and if we were lucky, we got a few spoonfuls of rice. So what if
we were hungry? I knew I was serving my country.”
I said, “Which country? You mean when you were in Vietnam fighting
for the Americans?”
Reflect Upon
What aspects of Korean culture, traditions, and practices are evident
in the story? How are these different from our culture, traditions, and
practices?

sendHemyoverturned
mother onhis bowl ofcooking
a two-day rice on strike,
the lacquered table,
but didn’t which
frighten mewould
at all.
The only thing frightening was his wide pinstripe suit that he would pair
later that day with Nike tennis shoes, like some washed-up gangster,
He said, “Do you know what the Americans did for us? Of course we
had to be at Vietnam! What kind of history did they teach you at school?”
He turned as red as the Chinese flag, I concentrated on my meal. I was
convinced I knew what was important,
Eomma moved the fried mackerel closer to me and said calmly, “Let
our boy finish

he enjoys hisHe’s
eating, mealnot
in hurting
peace before you
anyone, start
You in onknow
don’t a history lesson,
kids these So
days,
In fact, you are fairly incompetent at anything outside of military matters,
You should be thankful he’s not out robbing banks,”
My older sister flipped her long black hair back from her emaciated
face, I called her Vampire when my parents weren’t around, “Who’s ever
heard of dwenjangjjigae with cheese? If he eats any more, will he fit
through the front door?”
Abeoji said, “The commie men up North serve a full ten years; their
women, seven,”
His attempt to shame me had no effect; after all, our compatriots in the
North had no choice,
choice,
“And you! Serving less than three years and with three solid meals a
day! It’s like staying in a five-star hotel for free,”
His face had turned the shade of a gala apple so I poured him a glass of
water,
With her usual helpfulness, Eomma winked and said, “Your Abba’s
always been prone to a little exaggeration,”
I said, “And it’s different now-it’s not like we have to worry about
North Koreans attacking,”
attacking,”
Abeoji said, “You don’t know what they’re capable of,”
“They’re starving up there! We’re the least of their worries, Besides,

they were just trying to unify the country,”
country,”
“How can you say that about the Reds?” The gray fluff that stuck out
like wings over his ears visibly sagged. “You don’t sound like my son. And
you certainly don’t look like my son.”
I was glad to hear that, though I pretended to be hurt.
“Wonsu,” my sister said as she rose for work, “When you get a job and
everyone’s exchanging their service stories, what are you going to do?
Share weight -gaining strategies?”
It was easy for her to say. She was allowed to become a sales manager
straight out of college without giving up a few years of her life. Just
because she and my oldest married sister didn’t have a penis, they
wouldn’t be forced not to sleep for nights or endure violent hazing
sessions, or run up mountains carrying an M16 while wearing boots that
weighed as much as a newborn baby. Besides, our country was sending
rice to the starving North, paying premium prices to watch their circus,
even building a glittering resort on their side of Kumgang Mountain. And
still, everyone expected me to run until my toes bled and practice firing at
targets as if they were North Korean commies when all the news was about
peace and starvation and the Sunshine policy and new friendships. It didn’t
didn’t
make sense.
But it made perfect sense to Abeoji who took me aside to show me,
once again, his photos and medals. He went on about responsibility,
integrity, sacrifice. He sounded like he’d been programmed by the
government, and in a way, he was. He’d retired from the Incheon naval
base two years ago and still walked iin
n measured steps as if life was to be
lived by a manual. He commanded people instead of talking to them even
if every civic organization he joined (and he was on many) consisted of
one hundred percent volunteers. Still, old people called him “the only
honest civil servant,” which he loved, and my younger cousins buzzed
after him like mosquitoes because he distributed the fattest envelopes of
New Year’s money
money.. But I knew him better.
better. He was a springer of math
problems over steak when
when I cared more about m myy hairstyle than the amo
amount
unt
of air pressure in an igloo. He was a paduk player
player who didn’t understand
my music or the dancing that he compared to an epileptic making love. He
made me wear a cap when I grew my hair out and warned me that if I
pierced my ears, he’d make me wear pink dresses to school. And he

certainly didn’t understand my mission. His problem was that he’d been in
the army too long and while the army hadn’t changed, Korea had.
Three clothing changes later, I was lumbering out the door when
Abeoji stepped on the edge of my jeans. To be precise, he nearly pulled
them down. He said, “You’re going out again?”
I desperately wished he hadn’t retired so he couldn’t track the minutes
of my day. “Abeoji, can you get off my jeans? Do you know how much
they cost?”
He studied a hole in my knee before saying, “I’ve tried it your
Eomma’s way, but there’s no talking to you. It’s not like you go to college
or have a job. You’re just going to meet your washed-up friends and you’re
going to eat. That’s
That’s what you’re going to do, eat.”
“I do have a job.”
“Delivering Chinese food is not a
a job.”
“The pay’s double on weekends!”
I tried to dash past him but he gripped my arms and forced me into my
room. He was nearly sixty, and still, twice as strong as me.
He frisked my drawers, collected my hoard of chocolate bars, SP AM
cans, deep-fried persimmon cakes, and dumped them into an empty ramen
box.
done Iwhen
helplessly watched and
I was younger himhe’d
confiscate out things
thrown my the market
my black same way he’d
Japanese
comics. He’d said, “So Korea’s not good enough for you? You want the
Japanese back so they can steal our women and destroy our language?”
And all I’d wanted was to be a comic book artist.
“Eomma!” I shouted, but she didn’t come.
He said, “I’ll bring you lunch, not that you’ll need it.”
I said, “Is there no free speech? If you were president of this country,
would I get a vote?”
“What is free speech?” He said, and closed the door.

I pulled at the doorknob with both hands, but it opened less than an
inch. Abeoji had chained the outdoor doorknob to something I couldn’t
see. I threw my body against the door but it didn’t move. I shouted,
“Eomma! Eomma! ”
The door stayed shut.
I was abandoned, alone, locked up like a political prisoner tortured for
expressing myself. My skin would go sallow without sunlight, my teeth
would fall out, and Abeoji would be sorry when I came down with scurvy.
I stared at posters of the great Seo Taeji, greatest rapper of all time, tacked
to my ceiling, Will Smith’s socks that I’d managed to beg straight out of
his shoes hanging unwashed and signed, over my desk. I flipped through
photos of when I was lean and ccould
ould spin and move with the best. Then I
did what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do. I undressed in front of the
closet’s full-length mirror and examined the soft sacs of fat of my arms,
my padded legs and stomach, at what had become me.
I had to get out.
The window upstairs was open. I banged on the ceiling with a baseball
bat until Sa-jin stuck his head out the window above mine and said,
“Would you please stop? I’m trying to study.”
Minutes later, I was sitting in his room rubbing the burns on my palms
and he was pulling up the jump rope.
Sa-jin was a graduate student from the provinces who lived on the floor
above. When he first moved in, he had been skinny with a case of acne the
shape
huggedofhisthe Korean
bony peninsula
buttocks. on months
But four his forehead
beforeand too-tightfitness
his physical jeans test,
that
he’d finally ballooned to an impressive ninety-nine kilos. At that time I
could fit both my legs into his custom-made jeans.
He said in an up-and-down Busan accent, “How about you sit on the
floor?”
I looked at the floor that over the bulge of my stomach, looked so far
away. “Can’t I just stay on the bed?”
“You’re caving my new mattress in.”
“Thanks !” It was a true compliment. I lowered myself slowly to the

floor but still landed hard on my rump.
Sa-jin was rapidly losing weight while I was gaining. In fact, his
cheeks were sagging like the folds of an old lady’s stomach after
liposuction.
I took out a melted chocolate bar from my back pocket and stuffed it
into my mouth.
“Can’t I just live here with you? Eomma would bring us food. Your
grocery bill would be next to nothing!”
“And have your Abeoneem chasing me?” Sajin eyed the door
nervously. “You better go before he sees you’re gone. The chances of me
letting you stay is like picking a star out of the sky
sky.”
.”
“But I’ll have to find a place to live.”
“Your Abeoneem always did say you were lazy.”

I heaved myself off the floor. “You’re so judgmental.”
He said prudishly, “You shouldn’t speak to your senior that way.
Besides, who else fails college entrance exams twice?”
Abeoji had said the same thing. He also said that he expected more
from a son. He said that when he looked up the word lazy
l azy in the dictionary
dictionary,,
my name was the primary definition. He said this when my high school
teacher called him about my attendance, when I’d skipped midterm exams
to audition as a backdancer for the great Seo Taeji, when he found a pack
of condoms
them but wouldin my desk. No
he believe one
me? Forever gaveheme
months the chance
badgered to usebringing
me about one of
this imagined girlfriend home. “A man’s responsibility is to marry his
mistakes,” he said, and was punished by Eomma who gave him day-old
rice for a full week.
I was lazy. But I didn’t see anything wrong with wanting an easy life. I
just needed a few good
good dance gigs with a famo
famous
us singer
singer,, say the next Asian
Michael Jackson, to get paid doing what I liked. Once upon a time I had
tried to study and please him, tried to sit still and compete with students
whose eyeglasses were so thick they must have been born reading, but I
didn’t havebetween
difference the head for and
a rat’s memorizing
a frog’s and I certainly
intestines, couldn’t
no matter how tell the
I tried.
Besides, after I failed the college entrance exam for the second time, I
started to wonder why go to college and become one of the studious boys
that were already on their way to becoming paunchy salarymen with the
same regulation haircuts and same mistresses and same sorrows? The same
smiles? I started to wonder what I really wanted to do with my life.
But laziness depended on how you defined the word. It had taken me
four months of force-feeding to gain over twenty kilos; it had taken Sa-jin
an entire eight to receive his impressive exemption certificate that I urged
him to frame. There were rumors, and occasionally, scandals about rich
kids whose parents bribed doctors. We all knew that most of the National
Assembly member’s children, the President’s, the wealthier businessmen,
even a lot of professor’s brats, had absurdly high rates of blindness,
urination problems, and mental disease. None of them were healthy
enough to do military service but a few years later, they mysteriously
recovered and held top corporate positions or in one case, placed first in a
windsurfing competition. Of course there were other guys who chopped off
a few fingers and gained exemption because they had to support their
mother and siblings. You had to respect that kind of determination.
I would have stopped to smell the flowers if there were any. As it was,
I breathed in the diesel fumes but to me, this smell of freedom was sweeter
than azaleas. I had one of those oversize padded headphones that I kept
slung around my neck 24-7. Seo Taeji, the world’s greatest rapper, blasted
through. His autograph blazed across one knee of my acid-washed jeans. ]
felt better than] looked. ] crossed three streets and turned down an alley
with my eyes closed, following the smell of rubber burning from factory
chimneystacks.
“You’re late,” observed Jina.
It was noon, my friends were splitting her Abeoji’s last cans of beer,
and they were doing nothing as usual. Jina had long, braided cornrow hair
like she was black. She was cute and tough-looking, and dragged on a
menthol cigarette while chipping off old nail polish from her fingers. She’d
reapply it before heading to the room salon to entertain middle-aged
perverts, which we all pretended we didn’t know anything about. All that
effort, just to help pay her father’s
father ’s credit card debt.
“Late for what?”

“Wee were thinking of seeing a movie or practicing, or something.”
“W
] put my arm around her. She pushed it away. “Obba, ] get enough of
that already.”
But she didn’t push away Hwangmin’s thigh that was pressed firmly
against hers. Tall and thin Hwangmin with dreds worthy of Seo Taeji,
Hwangmin who’d actually made it as a professional backup dancer, who
made Dongdaemun Market sweaters look department store quality
quality..
Hwangmin said, “There’s an audition next Wednesday.” He didn’t look
at me.
So naturally] asked, “How many are they picking?”
He said, “Maybe three or four. It’ll be a tough one, but good chances.”
He laughed. “You interested?”
] wasAalways
stomach. interested,
few more months, but
then]did it matter
could lose theright now? ] rubbed my
weight.
I said, “Right now, that’s like asking a monster truck to do a Porsche’s
work.”
My loser friends laughed, as Abeoji liked to call
cal l them.
Jina said, “All you think about is cars but you wouldn’t even fit into a
car.”
“I think about other things.”
“like what?”
“Lunch! Can we get some lunch?”
They laughed again. It wasn’t hard to getthem to laugh.] wondered
ifI’d ever be able lose all this weight and even if] did, would] ever get a
real dancing job that paid actual money? Or would] end up spending the
rest of my afternoons drinking beer and soju and spending my evenings
delivering mapo tofu? ] was starting to sound like Abeoji, so ] turned on
the television to see if there were any good-looking girls on or if they were
the sparkly-hairpin-we-only-date-gentlemen- with-crew-cuts-and-
backpacks type.
I didn’t want my friends to protect me from Abeoji while I collected
my things, but I asked them to wait outside in case] needed help. I didn’t
want to hurt Eomma. But most of all, I didn’t want to see Abeoji cry again.
He would say that if I were a good filial son, ] would live with them even
after marriage and take care of them in their old age. But] wasn’t a good
son, and it was better that he learned that early.
The family had made their own preparations. The living room was full
of the people I dreaded most: my relatives. There they were, twenty or so
of them squeezed in like a traveling circus, looking agitated and excited at
my arrival. Oldest Aunt with a fudge-colored lace-collar dress that she’d
purchased before I was born, Youngest Aunt with a baby at each breast,
Eldest Uncle who wore hiking clothes everywhere though he rarely went
hiking, even a cousin who’d just finished military service a month ago and
told everyone he met that he had become a better person because of it.
I looked at Eomma. She looked apologetic. She mouthed, it was
Abba’ss idea as if I needed clarification.
Abba’
1 bowed toward the couch, the chair, the oiled paper floors so polished
that my reflection bowed back at me. “Where’s Youngest Uncle?” I asked,
as if this kind of family reunion happened every day.
Eomma said, “Remember? He immigrated to Canada last year.”
Abeoji said, “And where were you?”
He shifted his seat so the path toward my bedroom was cut off. I was a
little hurt. I wasn’t so rude that I wouldn’t say hello to my relatives.
“I was at the library
library.”
.” I lied.
li ed. “I’m thinking of taking the entrance exams
again.”
My cousin leaned forward, the knob in his throat as big as a boiled egg
bobbing up and down. His face was pitted with pock-mark scars like the
craters on the moon. He looked completely ancient; he looked at least
thirty. He said, “Your Abeoneem told us everything. You’re an absolute
shame to your country.”
The room nodded.
I turned my skull cap backwards. “Shee-pal.”
My
don’t cousin said, “There’s adults here! Curses just stick to your lips,
they?”
Eldest Aunt said, “Do you want to ruin all your father’s good work?”
Eldest Uncle, or Professor Kim as he liked to be called, even by his

nieces and nephews, readjusted his bifocals and leaned in. He stared at me
as if 1 were one of his stuffed specimens that he’d proudly presented to the
Natural History Museum. “Astonishing,” he said. “You
“You look perfectly
disgusting.”
I rubbed my belly swelling underneath my t-shirt. That I was. I was
kind of proud my efforts.
I said, “I’m not going.”
Abeoji looked sick, pale. He must have been pretty desperate, to let out
the family secret and embarrass himself. He said, “Can’t you see what
everyone will think of you for the rest of your life? We’re trying to help
you.”
I said, “Let them think.”
When Aboji spoke, his voice was quieter than it had ever been. “I may
not always be right, but you’re my son. And though you may not like it, we
live under the roof. We need to learn to live together.”
That’s when I pulled out the crumbled rental contract from my pocket
and waved it like a victory flag, “I’m moving out tonight, That’s what I
came back to tell you-that I don’t have to live with this military delusion
any longer!”
It was supposed to be my moment of triumph, my declaration of
independence, But something in the look Abeoj i exchanged with Eomma,
and the way the hard ceramic surface of his face began to melt, subdued
me,
Then he slowly twisted back toward Eomma and said, “It must be
heartburn, It must’ve been the meat,” and collapsed,
At first, I’d thought that Abeoji had faked a heart attack because his
slumped over body looked just like it did in the movies, I’d said, “Let’s
just check if it’s
it’s real before we haul him to the
the hospitaL”
As you can imagine, in the emergency room, my relatives seated
themselves a few seats away from me and occasionally snuck glances my
way as if I were a cancerous wart,
I stared at my hands, at Eomma biting her fingernails down to bloody

edges, the hole in my jeans, I ripped it further, I even ripped up Seo Taeji’s
autograph, I pulled my jacket hood over my face and imagined suffocating
myself,
We were there for a few hours when the resident doctor made a
magisterial appearance and reassured us that it was a minor attack He said
that Abeoji was strong, but stubborn, He had evidently needed blood
pressure medication for some
some time but had refused to tak
takee it,
Eomma was weeping, “It’s your Abeoji’s stubbornness all over again, I
kept telling him that the broth of deer antlers wasn’t the same as Western
medicine, If he’d only taken his pills”,"
I said, “Why didn’t you tell us about his blood pressure?”
My cousin said sourly, “Would it have made a difference?”
Eomma knuckles turned white as she clenched her hands tightly
together, No matter what she said, she knew, I knew, that if I’d just gone to
the army like I was supposed to, Abeoji wouldn’t be lying on a gurney
right now
now,,
I laid down across the creaking seats, The hump of my belly blocked
out the other waiting families, my family, everyone but myself, I closed my
eyes, The next time I opened my eyes, I’d made my decision, I was going
to shave my head, run those ten kilometers a day, I was ready to eat dry
clumps of rice and runny kimchee, To share a bunkroom with two dozen
other men cultivating mold between their toes, and haul myself out of bed
at the sinful hour of six in the morning, If it kept Abeoji alive, I would
even give up hot dogs for breakfast, I was tired of being a disappointment,
I repeated this new mantra to myself until the next day when Abeoji
finally asked to see me, I walked past a maze of gurneys and patients that
looked ready for their coffins, and tried not to be affected, He was lying
down with tubes running down his arms like veins, A heart monitor beside
his bed wobbled dangerously when he reached for my hand, But he had
already finished his breakfast and was watching the morning news, all
good signs,
“When are they letting me out?” he complained,
“Abeoji, you need to rest, You haven’t rested for over forty years,
That’s what you need, a rest.”
I began to cry. I couldn’t help myself. He looked smaller lying down. It
was true, what they said. Gravity did compress the backbone and shrink
you slowly with age. He was proof of it. In a few years, I’d probably be
able to carry him.
He patted my hand awkwardly. “Wonsu, don’t cry. I’m not dead. Save
the tears for the
t he funeral, but you’ll have to wait a good long time for that.”
I said, “Abeoji, I, I have something to say ... ”
My announcement was swallowed up as Abeoji gasped and said, “Just
listen to that!”
“What?”
He was waving his arms in the air like a village shaman dancing with
the dead, which made me wonder if there had been unexpected side effects
to the surgery. I gripped both his handswhich wasn’t easy-and gathered
them together.
“Abeoji, you’re not well. You need to calm down.”
He pulled me closer despite the clear tube going up his nose, and gazed
into my eyes. “Son,” he said in a slow, solemn way, “you’ve been given a
chance.”
“A chance? I have something to tell you. 1-”

He took my chin in his hand and turned my head to the 1V screen.
“Listen. They’ve just banned general weight exemptions. You’ll go in a
boy and come back
back to us as a man. Y
You
ou don’
don’tt need to be afraid.”
The newscaster continued to drone on about the many ways that young
men were trying to become exempt from military service. Finally the
screen switched to an image of a burning insurance building in downtown.
There was nothing left for me to do but fold up my redemption into my
back pocket of unrealized ideas and slump into the chair as Abeoji looked
with love and pity at me, forever his prodigal son.

Activity:
Identify three scenarios in the story that illustrate cause-and-effect

relationships. Write your
your answers in the table.
Cause Effect

1. What obstacle was W onsu facing, and what were his actions to
overcome it?

2. What was Wonsu’s real passion? What was the obstacle that
hindered him from achieving this?

3. What postcolonial experiences are evident in the story?

4. How do postcolonial experiences affect the contemporary society?

5. What is the nature of contemporary Korean literature based on the

story?

Beyond Walls 11.2 Apply It In Real Life
The local bar that has also become a hub for writers, artists, and
performers
year’s themeisisorganizing its As
Asian poetry. annual spoken
one of word poet-performers
the famous competition, andin this
the
literary scene, you have been invited to participate in the showcase of
spoken word performances.
Search online or check library resources for a poem written by an

Asian writer about postcolonial experiences or other topics. Memorize the
poem, and perform it for the competition. The criteria for judging are as
follows:
Criterion Points
Stage presence 15
Interpretation and delivery 15
Memorization 10
Choice of piece 5
Audience impact 5
Total 50 points
1. Watch a creative retelling of the history of Japan and its nearby

countries at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mh5LY4Mz150.
Reflect on how Japanese literature came to be based on the country’s
history.. Share your insights with the class.
history
2. To know more about Korean Literature, check out
http://www.asianinfo.org/asianinfo/korea/literature.htm
http://www.asianinfo.org/asianinfo/korea/literature.htm and
https://www.britannica.com/art/Korean-literatu
https://www.britannica.com/art/Korean-literature.
re.
Essential Learning
East Asian literature is rich in history, culture, and traditions. There
have been references that civilization might have begun in East Asia. Also,
the influence of East Asia can be felt in many countries around the world
up to today.
Yet, similar to other parts of Asia, EastAsia has been colonized

throughout its long history. These experiences with colonization, war, and
independence have influenced its literature significantly.
significantly. It is then fitting to
look at the literature of East Asia through the critical lenses of
postcolonialism and decolonization to find out tthe
he identity of the colonies
through the literary work. It is similar to the way you look at your own
literature as a Filipino—remember that our literature is also greatly
influenced by the colonial powers who ruled the country for more than
four hundred years. Thus, you must also look at your local literature as
something that aims to be analyzed further to discover the identity of the
natives or colonies. There is a “Filipino-ness” underneath all the colonial
work; the challenge is for you to find it.
There is so much more to be discovered through the literature of East
Asia, and this module is only the beginning of a very rich experience for
you.

Module
12 Exploring South Asia and

Western Asia

1. Infer literary meaning from literal language based on usage.
globe.
3. Identify the figures of speech and other literary techniques
and devices in the texts.
4. Explain the texts in terms of literary elements, genres, and
traditions.
All about Western and Southwest Asia

You have read all about
Southeast Asia and East
Big Idea
Asia. In this module, you Before talking about literature,
will get to know another you might notice that history,
history, politics,
fascinating part of Asia,
fascinating and even religion are discussed first.
which is is Western
Western Asia. This stems from literature
literature being
Western Asia, or Southwest interconnected with society, history,
Asia, is also called the and culture.
Middle East and is home to
the three great monotheistic
religions: Islam, Christianity, and Judaism. To be precise, Judaism was
actually founded in the eastern part of the Mediterranean region of Western
Asia some 4 000 years ago. Islam, however, is still the dominant religion in
Western Asia.
Western Asia is found south of Eastern Europe and is surrounded by the

Aegean Sea, Black Sea, Persian Gulf, Caspian Sea, Arabian Sea, Red Sea,
and the Mediterranean Sea. Turkey, for instance, is a country shared by both
Europe and Asia. There is a part that is Asian and a part that is European.
Countries in Western Asia show strong economic growth. One of the major
sources of economic growth in the area is due to petroleum, for almost 60
percent of the world’
world’ss reserves are in W
Western
estern Asia.
The countries in South Asia are the following: Bangladesh, Bhutan,
India, Maldives, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Sri Lanka. The countries in
Western Asia are the following: Armenia, Azerbaijan, Bahrain, Cyprus,
Georgia, Iran, Iraq, Israel, Jordan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Oman, Qatar, Saudi
Arabia, Syria, Turkey, United Arab Emirates (UAE), and Yemen.
What are the current issues in these following countries? Are you
familiar with what has been happening to these regions?
An Introduction to Marxism
Have you ever wondered Big Idea
why some people are rich
and some are poor? Or why Belonging to a certain class
some people are so rich that affects how you are treated in society.
they can buy islands and But ideally, it should not be that way.
malls,
are so and
poorwhy
that some people
they cannot Even if you are afamily,
or middle-class student you
fromshould
a rich
even afford food? The idea treat everyone equally and fairly.
of Marxism began with
questions such as these. The
founder of the critical concept, Karl Marx, wanted to understand how the
capitalist society works (for whom does it truly work better and worse for)
and where it would likely lead. For Marx, he saw the struggle of the two
classes in society: (1) the capitalists or owners of the resource-producing
companies and (2) the workers or proletariat , who work to produce and,
thus, survive. This is where Marxism comes from: it is the analysis of the
relationship between these two classes and their struggles with each other.
One of the key terms in Marxism is the concept of alienation.
Alienation is looking at the way the workers are living and how this
specifically affects their overall well-being. This is because the workers in a

capitalist society do not own the materials with which they produce and,
thus, are owned by the capitalists who force the workers to sell their “labor
power,” or their abili
power,” ability
ty to work, fo
forr money or wag
wages.
es.
What happens is that first, the worker is alienated from the productive
process itself, because he or she has no part in the decision-making process
of what to do and how to do it. This is because the capitalist sets all the
rules and conditions for the proletariat to work in; the capitalist may even
hire or fire the worker at will or by certain reasons. Second, the worker is
alienated from the product itself, because the worker will almost never have
the opportunity to experience or use the product that they have produced by
themselves, because it is only produced for the ruling capitalist society.
Third, because of the excessive demands of mass production and labor, the
worker is alienated from society and other humans. The conditions in a
capitalist society force the worker to compete and be indifferent to other
human beings, as the worker tries to survive and thrive in the capitalist’s
conditions. Fourth, the worker is alienated from the need of the human
being for creativity and community that is to be shared with other human
beings. Instead, the worker is faced with production day in and day out and
cannot be free to develop his or her own creativity anymore. Thus, the
worker is not allowed to feel and experience being part of the human
ecosystem.
When the
weakened. individual
There is alienated,
is something he and
missing, or she
the becomes diminished
proletariat does not and
feel
whole anymore.
Reflect Upon
Have you ever been alienated in class or in your community? How
did you feel? Share your experience.
What happens is that first, the worker is alienated from the productive
process itself, because he or she has no part in the decision-making process
of what to do and how to do it. This is because the capitalist sets all the
rules and conditions for the proletariat to work in; the capitalist may even
hire or fire the worker at will or by certain reasons. Second, the worker is
alienated from the product itself, because the worker will almost never have
the opportunity to experience or use the product that they have produced by
themselves, because it is only produced for the ruling capitalist society.
Third, because of the excessive demands of mass production and labor, the
worker is alienated from society and other humans. The conditions in a
capitalist society force the worker to compete and be indifferent to other
human beings, as the worker tries to survive and thrive in the capitalist’s
conditions. Fourth, the worker is alienated from the need of the human
being for creativity and community that is to be shared with other human
beings. Instead, the worker is faced with production day in and day out and
cannot be free to develop his or her own creativity anymore. Thus, the
worker is not allowed to feel and experience being part of the human
ecosystem.
When the individual is alienated, he or she becomes diminished and
weakened. There is something missing, and the proletariat does not feel
whole anymore.
1. How can Marxism be applied in analyzing literary text?
2 . How is alienation manifested in the Philippine experience? Cite

specific examples.
The following selections may be analyzed using the concept of
“alienation”
of alienation in
in Marxism. Read through them and try to find the tendencies
the given texts.

Fig. 12.1. Arundhati Roy, on the cover of Elle Magazine

Source: http://www.famousfix.com/topic
http://www.famousfix.com/topic/ellemagazine-india-july-
/ellemagazine-india-july-2016
2016
Arundhati Roy is an Indian author, actress, and political activist known

for her novel The God of Small Things, which received international
acclaim and won the 1998 Man Booker Prize for Fiction. She also wrote
and costarred in the film In Which Annie Gives It to Those Ones and was
the scriptwriter for the film Electric Moon, as well as many television
drams. She focused her later work on politically oriented nonfiction
publications. These publications include Power Politics (2001), The
Algebra of Infinite Justice (2002), War Talk (2003), Public Power in the
Age of Empire (2004), Field Notes on Democracy: Listening to
Grasshoppers (2009), Broken Republic: Three Essays (2011), and
Capitalism: A Ghost Story (2014). After 20 years, she published The
Ministry of Utmost Happiness, her newest novel since The God of Small
Things. Read an excerpt of her novel here.
An Excerpt from The Ministry of Utmost Happiness
By Arundhati Roy
1.
Where do old birds go to die?
She lived in the graveyard like a tree. At dawn she saw the crows off
and welcomed the bats home. At dusk she did the opposite. Between shifts
she conferred with the ghosts of vultures that loomed in her high branches.
She felt the gentle grip of their talons like an ache in an amputated limb.
She gathered they weren’t altogether unhappy at having excused themselves
and exited from the story.
When she first moved in, she endured months of casual cruelty like a
tree would-without flinching. She didn’t turn to see which small boy had
thrown a stone at her, didn’t crane her neck to read the insults scratched into
her bark. When people called her names—clown without a circus, queen
without a palace—she let the hurt blow through her branches like a breeze
and used the music of her rustling leaves as balm to ease the pain.
Reflect Upon
Have you ever called people names? Or have you ever been called
names by your classmates or other people? How did you feel? Share your
experiences with the class.

It was only after Ziauddin, the blind imam who had once led the prayers
in the Fatehpuri Masjid, befriended her and began to visit her that the
neighbourhood decided it was time to leave her in peace.

neighbourhood
Long ago a man who knew English told her that her name written
backwards (in English)
English) spelled Majnu. In the Eng
English
lish version of the story of
Laila and Majnu, he said, Majnu was called
Romeo and Laila was Juliet. She found that hilarious. ‘You mean I’ve
made a khichdi of their story?’ she asked. ‘What will they do when they
find that Laila may actually be Majnu and Romi was really Juli?’ The next
time he saw her, the Man Who Knew English said he’d made a mistake,
Her name spelled backwards would be Mujna, which wasn’t a name and
meant nothing at alL To this she said, ‘It doesn’t matter, I’m all of them,
I’m Romi and J uli, I’m Laila and Majnu, And Mujna, why not? Who says
my name is Anjum? I’m not Anjum, I’m Anjuman, I’m a mehfil , I’m a
gathering, Of everybody and nobody, of everything and nothing, Is there
anyone else you would like to invite? Everyone’s invited,’
1. What Indian words did you encounter in the story? Based on how
these words are used in the story, what do these words mean?
2. Confirm if your inferred meanings through context clues are correct

by searching for
for these words onli
online,
ne,

The Man Who Knew English said it was clever of her to come up with
that one, He said he’d never have thought of it himself, She said, ‘How
could you have, with your standard of Urdu? What d’you think? English
makes you clever automatically?’
He laughed, She laughed at his laugh, They shared a filter cigarette, He
complained that Wills Navy Cut cigarettes were short and stumpy and
simply not worth the price, She said she preferred them any day to Four
Square or the very manly Red & White,
She didn’t remember his name now, Perhaps she never knew it, He was
long gone, the Man Who Knew English, to wherever he had to go, And she
was living in the graveyard behind the government hospital. For company
she had her steel Godrej almirah in which she kept her music—scratched
records and tapes—an old harmonium, her clothes, jewellery, her father’s
poetry books, her photo albums and a few press clippings that had survived
the fire at the Khwabgah, She hung the key around her neck on a black
thread along with her bent silver toothpick She slept on a threadbare Persian
carpet that she locked up in the day and unrolled between two graves at
night (as a private joke, never the same two on consecutive nights), She still
smoked, Still Navy Cut,
One morning, while she read the newspaper aloud to him, the old imam,
who clearly hadn’t been listening, asked—affecting a casual air—‘Is it true
that even the Hindus among you are buried, not cremated?’
Sensing trouble, she prevaricated, ‘True? Is what true? What is Truth?’
Truth?’
Unwilling to be deflected from his line of inquiry, the imam muttered a
mechanical response. ’sach Khuda hai. Khuda hi Sach hai.’Truth is God.
God is Truth. The sort of wisdom that was available on the backs of the
painted trucks that roared down the highways. Then he narrowed his
blindgreen eyes and asked in a slygreen whisper: Tell me, you people,
when you die, where do they bury you? Who bathes the bodies? Who says
the prayers?’
Anjum said nothing for a long time. Then she leaned across and
whispered back, untree-like, ‘Imam Sahib, when people speak of colour —
red, blue, orange, when they describe the sky at sunset, or moonrise during
Ramzaan — what goes through your mind?’
Having wounded each other thus, deeply, almost mortally, the two sat
quietly side by side on someone’s sunny grave, haemorrhaging. Eventually
it was Anjum who broke the silence.
‘You tell me,’ she said. ‘You’re the Imam Sahib, not me. Where do old
birds go to die? Do they fall on us like stones from the sky? Do we stumble
on their bodies in the streets? Do you not think that the All-Seeing,
Almighty One who put us on this Earth has made proper arrangements to
take us away?’
That day the imam’s visit ended earlier than usual. Anjum watched him
leave, tap-tap-tapping his way through the graves, his seeing-eye cane
making music as it encountered the empty booze bottles and discarded
syringes that littered his path. She didn’t stop him. She knew he’d be back.
No matter how elaborate its charade, she recognized loneliness when she
saw it. She sensed that in some strange tangential way, he needed her shade
as much as she needed his. And she had learned from experience that Need
was a warehouse that could accommodate a considerable amount of cruelty.
cruelty.
Even though Anjum’s departure from the Khwabgah had been far from
cordial, she knew that its dreams and its secrets were not hers alone to
betray..
betray
2.
Khwabgah
She was the fourth of five children, born on a cold January night, by
lamplight (power cut), in Shahjahanabad, the walled city of Delhi. Ahlam
Baji, the midwife who delivered her and put her in her mother’s arms
wrapped in two shawls, said, ‘It’s a boy.’ Given the circumstances, her error
was understandable.
A month into her first pregnancy Jahanara Begum and her husband
A month into her first pregnancy Jahanara Begum and her husband
decided that if their baby was a boy they would name him Aftab. Their first
three children were girls. They had been waiting for their Aftab for six
years. The night he was born was the happiest of Jahanara Begum’s
Begum’s life.
The next morning, when the sun was up and the room nice and warm,
she unswaddled little Aftab. She explored his tiny body — eyes nose head
neck armpits fingers toes — with sated, unhurried delight. That was when
she discovered, nestling underneath his boy-parts, a small, unformed, but

undoubtedly
undoubtedly girl-part.
Is itwas.
Begum possible for areaction
Her first motherwas
to be terrified
to feel of her
her heart own baby?
constrict Jahanara
and her bones
turn to ash. Her second reaction was to take another look to make sure she
was not mistaken. Her third reaction was to recoil from what she had
created while her bowels convulsed and a thin stream of shit ran down her
legs. Her fourth reaction was to contemplate killing herself and her child.
Her fifth reaction was to pick her baby up and hold him close while she fell
through a crack between the world she knew and worlds she did not know
existed. There, in the abyss, spinning through the darkness, everything she
had been sure of until then, eve!}' single thing, from the smallest to the
biggest, ceased to make sense to her
her.. In Urdu, the only language she knew,
knew,
all things, not just living things but all things — carpets, clothes, books,
pens, musical instruments—had a gender.
gender. Everything was either masculine
or feminine, man or woman. Everything except her baby. Yes of course she
knew there was a word for those like him— Hijra. Two words actually,
Hijra and Kinnar . But two words do not make a language.
Was it possible to live Big Idea
outside language? Naturally
this question did not address In English, the caseof Jahanara
itself to her in words, or as a Begu m’s child also has two words:
single lucid
addressed itselfsentence.
to her as Ita intersex and hermaphrodite.
soundless, embryonic howl.
Her sixth reaction was to clean herself up and resolve to tell nobody for
the moment. Not even her husband. Her seventh reaction was to lie down
next to Aftab and rest. Like the God of the Christians did, after he had made
Heaven and Earth. Except that in his case he rested after making sense of
the world he had created, whereas Jahanara Begum rested after what she
created had scrambled her sense of the world.
It wasn’t a real vagina after all, she told herself. Its passages were not
open (she checked). It was just an appendage, a baby-thing. Perhaps it
would close, or heal, or go away somehow. She would pray at every shrine
she knew and ask the Almighty to show her mercy. He would. She knew He
would. And maybe He did, in ways she did not fully comprehend.
1. Based on the excerpt, what form of “alienation” is the story trying to

convey?
2. What religions are present in the story

story,, and how are these portrayed?
What do you think is the role of religion in the narrative?

Kamala Suraiyya, known by her pen names Madhavikutty and Kamala
Das, is an Indian poet and short story writer who explored the themes of
female sexuality and freedom. Later on, she has gained more respect for her
works.
Source: https://feminisminindia.com/wp-content/uploads/201
https://feminisminindia.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/kamala-das.jpg
7/03/kamala-das.jpg
With your classmates, perform a dramatic reading of the poem “An

Introduction” by Kamala Das. Go to http://www.poemhunter.comfbest-
poems/kamala-das/an-introduction
poems/kamala-das/ an-introduction-2/.
-2/. Take turns in reading the lines of
the poem with proper intonation, pronunciation,
pronunciation, and action. Later on, you
can have an interpretative reading of the poem that you can choreograph
together.
Reflect Upon
How is alienation depicted in the poem? In what ways does the
persona of the poem respond to these instances of alienation that
Kamalas Das cited?
What are some of the struggles faced by women in W Western

estern Asia? How
do these struggles mirror or differ from the struggles that women have in
the Philippines?

Track: Arts and Design

You are an artist tasked to paint a mural as part of a city art exhibition
that features poems from Southwest Asia. Your mural must rival Diego
Rivera’s Detroit City murals, which he painted in the Detroit Institute of
Arts when he lived there with his wife, Frida Kahlo. You may look at this
photo of the murals for reference:
http://i.huffpost.com/gen/2750908/original. jpg. The prominent part of
your mural will be the poems from Southwest Asia, which will then be a
good introduction to the city art exhibition to Southwest Asia.
Your Knowledge
There are a lot of good literature forms that are written by writers
from Southwest Asia. Here are some links to get you started in on
reading their works:
Naderi Poems"
(http://www.partawnaderi.com/Translates%20To%20Enlisch/Transl
ates%2oindex/P_Naderi_Poems.html)
Das on PoemHunter (http://www.poemhunter.com/kamala-das/)
of Poems" on The Indian Poet (http://theindianpoet.com/?
page_id=14)
Essential Learning
Countries in South and Western (Southwest) Asia have cultures rich
in history and natural resources, which make their literature as
meaningful as their experiences. Some of the most war-torn countries are
in Western Asia.
Looking at the literature of South and Western Asia with Marxism is

a way to analyze the kinds of “alienation” present in their literature and
culture. This is because alienation is present as a result of the class
struggle of the capitalist and the worker in society, or the dominant
class/gender and the submissive one. It is all too common for these kinds
of situations in South and Western Asia, one that Filipinos may learn
from to avoid or to improve.

Module
13 Delving Deep into the Anglo-

American Frontier

1. Identify representative texts and authors from American
literature.
2. Situate the texts in the context of the region, nation, and the
world.
literature.
4. Explain the biographical, linguistic, and sociocultural
contexts. How they enhance the text’s meaning and enrich my
understanding.
Anglo-Saxon Literature
Are you familiar with Big Idea
Anglo-Saxon literature?
Have you read excerpts
excerpts from Oral tradition is an early
early form of
“Beowulf,”” one o
“Beowulf, off the
the oldest
oldest the passing on of literature
literature to
epic poetr y written
written in Old different peoples and f rom rom one
English? You may visit generation to the next. This is rooted
https://www.youtube.com/wa on our love for telling and listening to
tch?v=QKjcoFZmKuA and stories.
watch the said video to
refresh your memory.
“Beowulf' is a Germanic epic that details the adventures of its lead
character (Beowulf as the “chief' of his kingdom) as he fearlessly kills a
monster that was terrorizing his kingdom. It is one of the longest and most
important poems in Old English. ”Beowulf' started through the oral
tradition, the transmission of a tale from one person to another through
storytelling. It is a widely known pagan tale, but was said to have been then
recorded as a written epic by a Christian poet in the early 8th century.
century.
Accordingly, the epic of Beowulf is one type of the known kinds of Old
English poetry.
poetry. It is an example of a heroic epic, sourced from pre-Christian
myth and custom. The other is the Christian epic. It is sad to say that Old
English poetry is known to be compiled in only four books and most
probably,, the best of these poems are lost to history forever
probably forever.. However,
However, the
important Old English heroic poetry is the best exemplar of Anglo-Saxon
literature. Through these literary pieces, you may discover the oral pagan
literary tradition of the Anglo-Saxon culture, and this literary tradition tells
a lot about the history of Germanic society.
Old English Christian poetry, by contrast, is simplistic, for it is marked
by innocent Christian
Christian belief. There are two names that are prominent
prominent during
this period (or these two names are the only ones whose works were
preserved): (1) ('redmon, one of the earliest known English poet whose
story was told by the Venerable Bede and who is known to have rewritten
Biblical stories in poetic form, and (2) Cynewulf, a later poet. “The Dream
of the Rood,” which is the first known example of using the visions of a
dream in poetry, is suggested to have been written by either Credmon or
Cynewulf.
Old English poetry is usually written with a line of four stressed
syllables and no fixed number of unstressed syllables. It is broken by a
caesura (a break in the flow of sound) and is arranged in independent
patterns. It is also quite common for these poems to end unrhymed. Its
common form is narrative, for there was no such thing as lyric poetry back
then.
Much has changed now in modern American literature. Not only has the
language itself evolved and changed, but also the way literature is written
and what it is in its content. Now, American literature is known to be
shaped by its history, beginning from America as a group of colonies that
were scattered in the North American continent until some of the people in
it broke free and traveled westward to explore the uncharted territories.
When the 19th century came, America became a global superpower and had
extended its own colonies to the Pacific, including the Philippines. Not only
did America dabble in colonization, but it also explored the tenets of
science, humanity, and innovation in so many people’s lives. All of these,
plus the hardships of the people living within and outside of the United
States, have significantly shaped the literature that we know now
now..
1. What themes are dominant in Anglo-Saxon literature?
2. What does early Anglo-Saxon literature say about the way of life of
Anglo-Americans back then?

An Introduction to New Criticism

Do you still remember Big Idea
Russian formalism from
Module 11? Talk with your New criticism can be used not
seatmate about what it is and only in literature but also in other art
what you remember about forms. This is true as long as the
that particular literary focus is no longer on the artist and
concept. the
madecontext
but its under which
relevance the now.
i n the art was
The next introduction of
a literary theory that you will
be learning about is closely
related to formalism. This is called new criticism. New criticism is a
literary concept that places the emphasis on “close reading” of the work or
text itself. The rejection of old historicism’s attention to context and
background is a way to look at the literary selection as to “how it works.”
The way a piece works may be discovered through close focus on the text
and specific analysis, rather than finding out about its author and when,
where, and why it was written. New criticism has been the most common
approach to explicating literary selections in grade school and high school
English subjects.
Reflect Upon
Why is it no longer necessary to know the author and when, where, or
why a work was written?
How then is new Big Idea

criticism related to
formalism? These two In analyzing a text through new
literary theories examine criticism, you can focus on three
closely how the text’s ideas things: form, meaning, and function.
may interrelate with its form
—what does the text say and
how does it say it? New criticism is sometimes known to be a “science of
literature,” for it looks at the technical aspects of the vocabulary that is used
in the selection, the sounds, imagery, narrative, point of view, and others
that are used in a literary selection, All these come together to determine
how they affect what the text is saying,
readHow doesabout
a poem this work
love,inNew
a literary selection?
criticism looks atFor
thisexample, sayhow
poem and that ityou
is
written—its 14 iambic pentameter and rhyming scheme (whether
Shakespearean or Petrarchan in nature)—and discover that its goal is
expressed in the subtlety and unity of the text itself, It does not achieve its
meaningfulness from the author and his or her intention, The meaning
exists on the page itself,
What then is the main question in doing a new critical reading? Ask
yourself, “How does this piece work?” Look for how the text complicates
itself, Then, you find a unifying idea or theme that may or may not resolve
these complications,
Go back to “Seeing off a Friend” by Li Bai, Apply new criticism in

analyzing this poem, Write a 500-word analysis,
The following poems and short stories may be looked at using the
critical lenses of new criticism, You will start with the oldest surviving
poem below,
below, written in Old English and fo
followed
llowed by Ben Johnson’
Johnson’ss work:
Cædmon is the earliest known English poet, He was an Anglo-Saxon
who was tasked to take care of the animals of a monastery in Whitby
Abbey, His most recognized poem, “Caedmon’s Hymn,” was composed
after he had a dream, Later on, he became a monk and an inspirational poet.
Fig. 13.1. Cædmon
Source: https://s-media-cache-
ak0.pinimg.com/736x/b9/32/7b/b9
ak0.pinimg.com/736x/b9/32/7b/b9327ba4b46d60
327ba4b46d60014c993bca12d
014c993bca12d69553.jpg
69553.jpg
Caedmon’s Hymn (Modern English Version)

By Caedmon
Now let me praise the

the keeper of Heaven’s
Heaven’s kingdom.
The might of the Creator, and his thought,
The work of the Father of glory, how each of wonders
The Eternal Lord established in the beginning.
He first created for the sons of men
Heaven as a roof, the holy Creator,
Then Middle-earth the keeper of mankind,
The Eternal Lord, afterwards made,
The Earth for men, the Almighty Lord.
Source: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/caedmon-s-hymn/
Reflect Upon
How does the language of the poem help encapsulate its emotions?
Are you able to feel what the poem intend, you to feel? Why or why not?

How does new criticism help you understand a literary selection such
as “Caedmon’s
“Caedmon’s Hymn”? What does using the theoretical framework of new
criticism say about such a poem?
Fig. 13.2. Ben Jonson

Source: http://torontomasquetheatre.com/node/43
http://torontomasquetheatre.com/node/43
Ben Jonson, also known as Benjamin Jonson, was an English

playwright, poet, and literary critic of the 17th century.
century. He is best known
for his popularization of the comedy of humors and his lyric poetry.
An Alegy
By Ben Jonson
Though beauty be the mark of praise,
And yours of whom I sing be such

As, not the world can praise too much,
Yet 'tis your virtue now I raise.

A virtue, like allay, so gone
Throughout your form, as, though that move

And draw and conquer all men’s love,
This subjects you to love of one.

Wherein you triumph yet; because
Tis of yourself, and that you use
The noblest freedom, not to choose
Against or faith or honor’

honor ’s laws.
But who should less expect from you,
In whom alone Love lives again?
By whom he is restored to men,
And kept, and bred, and brought up true.

His falling temples you have reared,
The withered garlands ta’ en away;

His altars kept from the decay
That envy wished, and nature feared;

And on them burn so chaste a flame,
With so much loyalties’ expense,
As Love, t’ acquit such excellence,
Is gone himself into your name,

And you are he; the deity
To whom all lovers are designed

That would their better objects find;

Among which faithful troop am I.
Who, as an offspring at your shrine,
Have sung this hymn, and here entreat
One spark of your diviner heat

To light upon a love of mine,
Which, if it kindle not, but scant

Appear, and that to shortest view,
Yet give me leave t’ adore in you
What I in her am grieved to want,
Source: https://www.poetryfoundatio
https://www.poetryfoundation.orgipoems/S06
n.orgipoems/S0676/an-elegy
76/an-elegy
Reflect Upon
Can you interpret the poem without knowing who it was written for?
Why or why not? How does its unique language help or confuse your
interpretation of the poem?

What is the central message of Ben Jonson’s poem? How do its form,
language, and content operate its central message?
Edgar Allan Poe was an American author, poet, editor

editor,, and literary critic
who was best known for his tales of mystery and the macabre. He was one
of the earliest short story writers in America and has also been credited as
the inventor of the detective fiction genre. Poe is also unique for he was one
of the few American writers who earned from writing alone, though it made
his life difficult financially.
Fig. 13.3. Edgar Allan Poe
Source: http://www.brainpickings.or
http://www.brainpickings.org/wp-
g/wp-
content/uploads/2013/09/edgarallanpoe.jpg
Read the “The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allan Poe. Then answer the
question that follows.
The Tell-Tale
Tell-Tale Heart
H eart
By Edgar Allan Poe
Poe
TRUE!—nervous—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am;

but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my
senses—not destroyed—not dulled them. Above all was the sense of
hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard
many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how
healthily—how calmly I can tell you the whole story
story..
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once
conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion
there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had
never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye!
Yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture—a pale blue eye, with a film
over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees
—very gradually—I made up my mind to take the life of the old man,
and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing.
But you should have

proceeded—with whatseen me. You should
caution—with whathave seen how wisely
foresight—with whatI
dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than
during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about
midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it—oh so gently! And
then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark
lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my
head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I
moved it slowly—very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old
man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the
opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a
madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in
the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously—cautiously
(for the hinges creaked)—I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell
upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights—every night
just at midnight—but
midnight—but I found the eye always closed; and so it was
impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but
his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into
the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a
hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he
would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every
night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening
the door. A watch’s minute hand moves more quickly than did mine.
Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers—of my
sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that
there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of
my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he
heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may
think that I drew back—but no. His room was as black as pitch with the
thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of
robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door,
door, and
I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb
slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying
out—"Who’s there?"
I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a
muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still
sitting up in the bed listening;—just as I have done, night after night,

hearkening to the death watches in the wall.
Presently
terror. It was Inot
heard a slight
a groan ofgroan, and
pain or ofI grief—oh,
knew it wasno!—it
the groan
wasofthe
mortal
low
stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged
with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all
the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its
dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew
what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I
knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when
he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon
him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had
been
only saying
a mouseto crossing
himself—“It is nothing
the floor,” but is
or “It themerely
wind in
a the chimney—it
cricket is
which has
made a single chirp.” Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with
these suppositions : but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because
Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him,
and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the
unperceived shadow that caused him to feel—although he neither saw
nor heard—to feel the presence of my head within the room.
When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him
lie down, I resolved to open a little—a very, very little crevice in the
lantern. So I opened it—you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily—
until, at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from
out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.
It was open—wide, wide open—and I grew furious as I gazed upon
it. I saw it with perfect distinctness—all a dull blue, with a hideous veil
over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing
else of the old man’s face or person: for I had directed the ray as ifby
instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.
And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but
over-acuteness of the sense?—now, I say, there came to my ears a low,
dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I
kuew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man’s heart. It
increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into

courage.
But motionless.
lantern even yet I refrained andsteadily
I tried how kept still. I scarcely
I could breathed.
maintain the rayI upon
held the
the
eve. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker
and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man’s terror
must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment!-do
you mark me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at
the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so
strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some
minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder,
louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me
—the
come! sound
With awould be heard
loud yell, by aopen
I threw neighbor! The old
the lantern and man’s
man’s hour
leaped into had
the
room. He shrieked once—once only. In an instant I dragged him to the
floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the
deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled
sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the
wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and
examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand
upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation.
He was stone dead. His eve would trouble me no more.
Reflect Upon
What are the motivations behind the protagonist’s actions? Do
these justify his crime? Why or why not?

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe
the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night
waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the
corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.
I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and
deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so
cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye—not even his—could have
detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out—no stain of
any kind—no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub
had caught all—ha! ha!
When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o’clock—still
dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at
the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart,—for what had I
now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with
perfect suavity,
suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a
neighbor during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused;
information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers)
had been deputed to search the premises.
I smiled,—for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The
shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was
absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them
search—search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them
his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I
brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their
fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph,
placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse
of the victim.
The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was
singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted
of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished
them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still
they sat and

continued still chatted.
and became The ringing
more distinct: I talked became more
more freely distinct:—It
to get rid of the
feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness—until, at length, I found
that the noise was not within my ears.
Reflect Upon
What do you think is the message of this short story? How does it
use symbols, imagery, and narrative in letting you understand its
message?
No doubt I now grew very pale;—but

pale;—but I talked more flu
fluently
ently,, and with
a heightened voice. Yet
Yet the sound increased—and what could I do? It was
a low, dull, quick sound—much such a sound as a watch makes when
enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath—and yet the officers heard it
not. I talked more quickly—more vehemently; but the noise steadily
increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent
gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be
gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury
by the observations of the men—but the noise steadily increased. Oh
God! what could I do? I foamed—I raved—I swore! I swung the chair
upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the
noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder—louder—
louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible
they heard not? Almighty God!—no, no! They heard!—they suspected!
—they knew!—they were making a mockery of my horror! this I
thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony!
Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those
hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now—
again!—hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!
“Villains!” I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the deed!—tear
up the planks ! here, here!—It is the beating of his hideous heart!”
Source: http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/POE/tellta
http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/POE/telltale.html
le.html
Guide Question:
What words would you use to describe the story’s protagonist?
How would a critic read “The Tell-Tale Heart” from a formalist lens
and through new criticism? Apply the two theories. Write five insights
from the two perspectives in this table.
“The Tell-Tale Heart”

Formalism New Criticism

As the head of the English Department, you are tasked by the dean of
the college to propose a reading list for a course on Anglo-American
literature. Your task is to search online and check library resources for 10
canonical works and five contemporary works from Anglo-American
literature. You should also be able to write a short synopsis of what each
work is about, as well as a justification as to why the work should be
included in the reading list. Make sure that your reading selections are
representative of Anglo-American literature and life.
Title Author Synopsis Justification

Canons

Contemporary

Your Knowledge
1. Now that you andand your classmates have discussed new cri
criticism
ticism in
relation to the literary selections, visit
http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/411305/New-Criticism
for you to further understand this theory.
2. Also, visit http://www.textetc.com/critici
http://www.textetc.com/criticism/the-new-criticism.
sm/the-new-criticism.html
html
to show an example of how new criticism is used in the analysis of a
literary selection:
3. Your task now is to have a round table discussion with a group of
five members about how the particular literary selections presented
in this module may be analyzed using new criticism. Furthermore,
you will also share what you have discovered using these critical
lenses as bases for analysis. Once you are done, you may share what
you have discussed with the rest of the class.
Essential Learning
Anglo-American literature has some of the oldest literature recorded
in history. This is because the Anglo-Saxons were some of the first
people who wrote using Old English. This gave birth to two kinds of
literature back then: epic pagan poems and Christian literature. From
here, modern American literature came about, and nowadays, the topics
are more diverse due to the historical and cultural shifts of recent years.
More than this, American literature has affected Filipinos because they
came to colonize the country more than 200 years ago. Their literature
shows how much of their culture the Filipinos have assimilated as their
own, including their own sensibilities, beliefs, practices, and values, to

name a few.
These literary selections may be analyzed using the concept of new

criticism. New criticism is related to formalism for they both look at how
the text works, without delving into the author and the context of its
writing. New criticism is the common literary theory used in teaching
literature, and you may have experienced being indirectly taught new
criticism when you were in grade school or middle schoo!. New criticism
is a theory that you may use in your daily life, especially when you are
figuring out how something is done or how an object works. Oftentimes,
you solve your problems on your own without consulting an adult—you
do this by observing, analyzing, and synthesizing. You see how an object
works, so you’re able to make an informed decision on how to operate it.

Anglo-American literature is undeniably an integral part of world
literature. It has paved the way for most of the traditions and innovations
that you enjoy now as a student of literature.

Module
14 Traversing Europe and Its
Intricacies

1. Identify representative texts and authors from Europe.
2. Situate the texts in the context of the region, nation, and the
world.
3. Explore the concept of romanticism.
4. Identify the figures of speech and other literary devices and
techniques in the text.
European literature
European literature has been known for its significant contribution to
world literature. A lot of the standards and techniques that the rest of the
world are using or innovating right now first started or developed in
Europe. Arguably, what put European literature in the forefront was the
outpouring of poems during the late 14th century and toward the Middle
Century, where writer s such as Piers Plowman, Sir GawGawain,
ain, and ultimately
Geoffrey Chaucer
Chaucer came
came about to change the literary world
world..
Different schools
Different schools of thought also started in countri
countries
es such as France
(modernism, existentialism)
existentialism) and Germany (weltliteratur ).
). Of course, one of
the most famous English writers William Shakespeare, who alone had
revolutionized the way poems and plays were written with his unique
standards and mastery of his language.

Do you remember reading Romeo and Juliet before? Try answering
these questions about the story with your seatmate :
a. What can you say about Romeo and Juliet’

Juliet’ss love affair?
b. What is one of the tragic themes of the play?
c. Why do you think the play is still highly regarded even if it was
written centuries ago?
Write down your answers on a piece of paper. Then compare and
contrast your answers afterward through a chart. What do you and your
seatmate agree or disagree on? Why is that so? When you’re done, share
this with the rest of the class.
“Romeo and Juliet” is an interesting literary selection because it sets the
kind of romance that is popular today among many demographics. It also
warns against universal follies such as hastiness and impulsiveness, which
are problems that society still faces today
today..
Romanticism
Romanticism as a literary critical concept first gained ground in the
1800s, and lasted only half a century before it was quickly replaced by
modernism. What is it all about? Romanticism emphasizes the emotions and
imagination within the human being. It was a movement that responded
against the disillusionment of the Enlightenment values of reason after the
French Revolution of 1789.
Reflect Upon
Why is it important to reflect on what you are feeling or thinking at
certain times of your life? Do you
think this is healthy or not? Explain.
Aside from imagination Big Idea
and emotions, romanticism
also believed in the liberty of
a person’s ideas. Freedom is Romanticism presents humans as

emphasized to a degree so free entities who can make their own
that a person may be free decisions without the influence of
enough to explore his or her their environment
environments.
s.
own emotions and the tenets
of imagination. Due to this,
it is also characteristic of romanticism to be quite egocentric, because the
person has to look at his or her own emotions before looking atthe world.
Moreover, romanticism places an emphasis on individualism: the person
must think on his or her own to support his or her personal liberalism. The
emphasis in romanticism is on the remote past, nostalgia, the weird, the
bizarre, and the exotic. All of these may enlighten a person as to what an
individual is feeling, so that he or she may better respond to the world
around him or her.
What truly sets romanticism as a global literary movement was the
appreciation for medieval romance, from where romanticism borrows its
name. The idea of a heroic individual and the mysterious and thrilling
adventures he goes through to win the maiden of his dreams was a sharp
contrast to the formality and artificiality of the previous forms of literature
such as the couplet poems. The sudden interest in the overly emotional
literary expressions in the past became the key note from which
romanticism was derived from.
In English literature, romanticism started with the famous lyrical

ballads of both Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth.
Wordsworth has even described the kind of poetry that he does as a
“spontaneous overflow of emotions.” This became the battle cry of
romanticism later on. Afterward, poet William Blake became the third
principal poet of the movement in the United Kingdom. It caught on quite
quickly when Germany started innovating content and literary style by
celebrating the bizarre, the mysterious, the mystical, the supernatural, and
the subconscious.
Eventually, a second phase of romanticism came about from 1805 to
1830. Here, the emphasis was shared with cultural naturalism and native
origins-folklore, folk ballads, poetry, folk dance, music, and the like. The
appreciation for history was revived by Sir Walter Scott (who is said to
have invented the historical novel), while English poetry had begun to
catapult into absolute romantic consciousness with poets such as John Keats
and Percy Bysshe Shelley. One work that was a product of this movement
was Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein.
As romanticism spread to other parts of Europe, it started to become
more specific in its approach and invested a concentration on exploring the
nation’s historical and cultural importance and the struggles of the
individuals behind these.
1. What is romanticism? How can you use romanticism to analyze a

literary text? How has Europe influenced world literature?
2 . How is romanticism used to analyze a particular literary text?

The following literary selections may be analyzed using romanticism.
Read them carefully and try to look at them using the lenses of the critical
theory:
Fig. 14.1. François-Marie Arouet (Voltaire)

Source: https://www.researchgate.net/figur
https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Francois-Marie-Arouet-V
e/Francois-Marie-Arouet-Voltaire-
1694-1778_fig2_308201164
François-Marie Arouet, more popularly known by his pen name
Voltaire, was a writer

also a historian, a wittywho wrote under
philosopher whothe Frenchthe
attacked Enlightenment. He was
Catholic Church, and
an advocate of the freedom of religion, expression, and separation of the
church from the state. He produced works in various literary forms—
poems, plays, novels, essays, and so much more. Because of his
outspokenness, he was often put into censorship at that time.
Candide
By Voltaire
Voltaire
Chapter One: “How Candide Was Brought Up in a Magnificent Castle

and How He Was Driven Thence”
In the country of Westphalia, in the castle of the most noble Baron of
Thunder-ten-tronckh, lived a youth whom Nature had endowed with a most
sweet disposition. His face was the true index of his mind. He had a solid
judgment joined
joined to the most unaffected
unaffected simplicity; and hence,
hence, I presume, he
had his name of Candide. The old servants of the house suspected him to
have been the son of the Baron’s sister, by a very good sort of a gentleman
of the neighborhood, whom that young lady refused to marry, because he
could produce no more than threescore and eleven quarterings in his arms;
the rest of the genealogical tree belonging to the family having been lost
through the injuries of time.
The Baron was one of the most powerful lords in Westphalia, for his
castle had not only a gate, but even windows, and his great hall was hung
with tapestry. He used to hunt with his mastiffs and spaniels instead of
greyhounds; his groom served him for huntsman; and the parson of the
parish officiated as his grand almoner.
almoner. He was called “My Lord” by all his
people, and he
he never told a story
story but everyone
everyone laughed at it.
Reflect Upon
Predict what happens next in the story. How do the first few
sentences give you clues as to how
the story will unfold?
My Lady Baroness, who weighed three hundred and fifty pounds,

consequently was a person of no small consideration; and then she did the
honors of the house with a dignity that commanded universal respect. Her
daughter was about seventeen years of age, fresh-colored, comely, plump,
and desirable. The Baron s son seemed to be a youth in every respect
worthy of the father he sprung from. Pangloss, the preceptor,
preceptor, was the oracle
of the family, and little Candide listened to his instructions with all the
simplicity natural to his age and disposition.
Master Pangloss taught the metaphysico-theologo-cosmolonigology. He
could prove to admiration that there is no effect without a cause; and, that in
this best of all possible worlds, the Baron’s castle was the most magnificent
of all castles, and My Lady the best of all possible baronesses.
“It is demonstrable,” said he, “that things cannot be otherwise than as

they are; for as all things have been created for some end, they must
necessarily be created for the best end. Observe, for instance, the nose is
formed for spectacles, therefore we wear spectacles. The legs are visibly
designed for stockings, accordingly we wear stockings. Stones were made
to be hewn and to construct castles, therefore My Lord has a magnificent
castle; for the greatest baron in the province ought to be the best lodged.
Swine were intended to be eaten, therefore we eat pork all the year round:
and they, who assert that everything is right, do not express themselves
correctly; they should say that everything is best."
Reflect Upon
Do you find anything bizarre in the story? What makes it strange to
you?
Candide listened attentively and believed implicitly,

implicitly, for he thought Miss
Cunegund excessively handsome, though he never had the courage to tell
her so. He concluded

ten-tronckh, the next that
wasnext
thattoofthe happiness
being of being Baron
Miss Cunegund, the of Thunder-
next that of
seeing her every day, and the last that of hearing the doctrine of Master
Pangloss, the greatest philosopher of the whole province, and consequently
of the whole world.
One day when Miss Cunegund went to take a walk in a little
neighboring wood which was called a park, she saw
saw,, through the bushes, the
sage Doctor Pangloss giving a lecture in experimental philosophy to her
mother’s chambermaid, a little brown wench, very pretty, and very
tractable. As Miss Cunegund had a great disposition for the sciences, she
observed with the utmost attention the experiments which were repeated
before her eyes; she perfectly well understood the force of the doctor’s
reasoning upon causes and effects. She retired greatly flurried, quite pensive
and filled with the desire of knowledge, imagining that she might be a
sufficing reason for young Candide, and he for her.
On her way back she happened to meet the young man; she blushed, he
blushed also; she wished him a good morning in a flattering tone, he
returned the salute, without knowing what he said. The next day, as they
were rising from dinner, Cunegund and Candide slipped behind the screen.
The miss dropped her handkerchief, the young man picked it up. She
innocently took hold of his hand, and he as innocently kissed hers with a
warmth, a sensibility, a grace-all very particular; their lips met; their eyes
sparkled; their knees trembled; their hands strayed. The Baron chanced to
come by; he beheld the cause and effect, and, without hesitation, saluted
Candide with some notable kicks on the breech and drove him out of doors.
The lovely
herself, the Miss Cunegund
Baroness boxed fainted away,
her ears. Thusand, as soon
a general as she camewas
consternation to
spread over this most magnificent and most agreeable of all possible
castles.
Source: http://www.gutenberg.
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/19942/1
org/files/19942/19942-h/19942
9942-h/19942-h.htm#Page_1
-h.htm#Page_1
Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm or more popularly known as the Brothers

Grimm were German writers, academics, cultural researchers, and linguists
who collected and published folklore during the 19th century. Together,
they have gathered some of the best-known folktales such as “Cinderella,”
“The Frog Prince,” “Hansel and Gretel,” “Rapunzel,” and even the “Little
Red-Cap” (also entitled “Little Red Riding Hood”).

Fig. 14.2. Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brothers_Grimm#
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brothers_Grimm#/media/File:Grimm.jpg
/media/File:Grimm.jpg
Little Red-Cap
By Brothers
Brothers Grimm
Once upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by everyone
who looked at her, but most of all by her grandmother, and there was
nothing that she would not have given to the child. Once she gave her a
little cap of red velvet, which suited her so well that she would never wear
anything else. So she was always called little red-cap.
One day her mother said to her, come, little red-cap, here is a piece of
cake and a bottle of wine. Take them to your grandmother, she is ill and
weak, and they will do her good. Set out before it gets hot, and when you
are going, walk nicely and quietly and do not run off the path, or you may
fall and break the bottle, and then your grandmother will get nothing. And
when you go into her room, don’t forget to say, good-morning, and don’t
peep into every corner before yo
you
u do it.
handI on
willit.take great care, said little red-cap to her mother, and gave her
Reflect Upon
Is the little red-cap an empowered child in the story? Why or why
not?
The grandmother lived out in the wood, half a league from the village,
and just as little red-cap entered the wood, a wolf met her. Red-cap did not
know what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of him.
“Good-day, little red-cap,” said he.
“Thank you kindly, wolf.”

“Whither away so early,
early, little red-cap?”
“To my grandmother’s.”
“What have you got in your apron?”
“Cake and wine. Yesterday was baking-day, so poor sick grandmother is
to have something good, to make her stronger.”
“Where does your grandmother live, little red-cap?”
“Athe
under good quarter
three large of a league
oaktrees, thefarther on are
nut-trees in the
just wood.
below.Her
Youhouse
surelystands
must
know it,” replied little red-cap.
The wolf thought to himself, what a tender young creature. What a nice
plump mouthful, she will be better to eat than the old woman. I must act
craftily, so as to catch both. So he walked for a short time by the side of
little red-cap, and then he said, “see little red-cap, how pretty the flowers
are about here. Why do you not look round. I believe, too, that you do not
hear how sweetly the little birds are singing. You walk gravely along as if
you were going to school, while everything else out here in the wood is
merry.”
Little red-cap raised her eyes, and when she saw the sunbeams dancing
here and there through the trees, and pretty flowers growing everywhere,
she thought, suppose I take grandmother a fresh nosegay
nosegay.. That would please
her too. It is so early in the day that I shall still get there in good time. And
so she ran from the path into the wood to look for flowers. And whenever
she had picked one, she fancied that she saw a still prettier one farther on,
and ran after it, and so got deeper and deeper into the wood.
Meanwhile the wolf ran straight to the grandmother’s house and
knocked at the door.
“Who is there?”
“Little red-cap,” replied the wolf. “She is bringing cake and wine. Open
the door.”
“Lift the latch,” called out the grandmother
grandmother,, “I am too weak, and cannot
get up.”
The wolflifted the latch, the door sprang open, and without saying a
word he went straight to the grandmother’s bed, and devoured her. Then he
put on her clothes, dressed himself in her cap, laid himself in bed and drew
the curtains.
Little red-cap, however, had been running about picking flowers, and
when she had gathered so many that she could carry no more, she
remembered her grandmother, and set out on the way to her.
She was surprised to find Big Idea
the cottage-door standing
open, and when she went The wolf is usually portrayed in
into the room, she had such a Western literature as someone big and
strange feeling that she said bad. The wolf has thus become an
to herself, oh dear, how archetype, a frequently used model to
uneasy I feel today, and at portray a certain type
type of character.
character.
other times I like being with
grandmother so much. She
called out, “good morning,” but received no answer. So she went to the bed
and drew back the curtains. There lay her grandmother with her cap pulled
far over her face, and looking very strange.
“Oh, grandmother,”
grandmother,” she said, “what big ears you have.”
“The better to hear you with, my child,” was the reply
reply..
“But, grandmother,
grandmother, what big eyes you have,” she said.
“The better to see you with,” my dear.

“But, grandmother, what large hands you have.”
“The better to hug you with.”
“Oh, but, grandmother,
grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have.”
“The better to eat you with.”
And scarcely had the wolf said this, than with one bound he was out of
bed and swallowed up red-cap.
When the wolf had appeased his appetite, he lay down again in the bed,
fell asleep and began to snore very loud. The huntsman was just passing the
house, and thought to himself, how the old woman is snoring. I must just
see if she wants anything.
So he went into the room, and when he came to the bed, he saw that the
wolf was lying in it. Do I find you here, you old sinner, said he. I have long
sought you. Then just as he was going to fire at him, it occurred to him that
the wolf might have devoured the grandmother, and that she might still be
saved, so he did not fire, but took a pair of scissors, and began to cut open
the stomach of the sleeping wolf. When he had made two snips, he saw the
little red-cap shining, and then he made two snips more, and the little girl
sprang out, crying, ah, how frightened I have been. How dark it was inside
the wolf. And after that the aged grandmother came out alive also, but
scarcely able to breathe. Red-cap, however, quickly fetched great stones
with which they filled the wolf’s belly, and when he awoke, he wanted to
run away, but the stones were so heavy that he collapsed at once, and fell
dead.
Then all three were delighted. The huntsman drew off the wolf’s skin
and went home with it. The grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine
which red-cap had brought, and revived, but red-cap thought to herself, as
long as I live, I will never by myself leave the path, to run into the wood,
when my mother has forbidden me to do so.
lt is also related that once when red-cap was again taking cakes to the
old grandmother, another wolf spoke to her, and tried to entice her from the
path. Red-cap, however,
however, was on her guard, and went straight
straight forward on her
way, and told her grandmother that she had met the wolf, and that he had
said good-morning to her, but with such a wicked look in his eyes, that if
they had not been on the public road she was certain he would have eaten
her up. Well, said the grandmother, we will shut the door, that he may not
come in. Soon afterwards the wolf knocked, and cried, open the door,
grandmother,, I am little red-cap, and am bringing you some cakes. But they
grandmother
did not speak, or open the door, so the grey-beard stole twice or thrice
round the house, and at last jumped on the roof, intending to wait until red-
cap went home in the evening, and then to steal after her and devour her in
the darkness. But the grandmother saw what was in his thoughts. In front of
the house was a great stone trough, so she said to the child, take the pail,
red-cap. I made some sausages yesterday, so carry the water in which I
boiled them to the trough. Red-cap carried until the great trough was quite
full. Then the smell of the sausages reached the wolf, and he sniffed and
peeped down, and at last stretched out his neck so far that he could no
longer keep his footing and began to slip, and slipped down from the roof
straight into the great trough, and was drowned. But red-cap went joyously
home, and no one ever did anything to harm her again.
Source: http://www.cs.cmu.edu/~spok/gr
http://www.cs.cmu.edu/~spok/grimmtmp/020.txt
immtmp/020.txt
How does this particular folktale emulate rcmanticism? Does red-cap

show her individualism in the stcry?
How so?
William Shakespeare was an English poet, playwright, and actor who

was highly regarded in Victorian England. Now, he is widely regarded as
the greatest writer in English and a premiere dramatist who set the ground
for so many plays to follow the innovations he did for theater. His works
vary from poems (most popularly his Shakespearean sonnets), essays, and,
of course, plays. His works have been translated to almost every language
available in the world. The selection you are about to read, A Midsummer
Night’ss Dream, is one of Shakespeare’
Night’ Shakespeare’ss most popular plays because of its
comedic nature. It shows the events surrounding the marriage of Theseus
(Duke of Athens) to Hippolyta. Aside from this, it also portrays the
adventures and misadventures of Athenian lovers and amateur actors, who
are being controled by fairies of the forest.
Fig. 14.3. William Shakespeare

Source:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Willia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Shakespeare#/media/File:Sh
m_Shakespeare#/media/File:Shakespeare.jpg
akespeare.jpg
A Midsummer Night’s Dream

(Ad I Scene I)
By Sheakespeare
ACT I

SCENE I. Athens. The palace of THESE US

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLITA, PHILOSTRATE, and
Attendants

THESEUS
Now,, fair Hippolyta,
Now Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace; fuur happy days Iring in
Anothermoon;; but, O, methinks, how slow
Anothermoon
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame or a dowager

Long withering cut a young man revenue.

HIPPOLITA
Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;
Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
New-bent in heaven,
heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.

THESEUS
Go, Philostrate,
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals;
The pale companion is not for our pomp.
Exit PHILO STRATE
Reflect Upon
How do you express your love for your family and friends? Have you
ever been romantically in love with someone? How is romantic love
different from the love you have for your family and friends?
Hippolyta, I woo’d thee with my sword,

And won thy love, doing thee injuries;
But I will wed thee in another key,
With pomp, with triumph and with revelling.
Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and
DEMETRIUS

EGEUS
Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!

THESEUS
Thanks, good Egeus: what’s the news with thee?

EGEUS
Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia.
Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,

This man hath my consent to marry her.
Stand forth, Lysander: and my gracious duke,
This man hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child;

Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
And interchanged love-tokens with my child:
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,
With feigning voice verses of feigning love,
And stolen the impression of her fantasy
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers
Of strong prevailment in unharden’d youth:
With cunning hast thou filch’d my daughter’s heart,
Turn’d her obedience, which is due to me,
To stubborn harshness: and, my gracious duke,
Be it so she; will not here before your grace
Consent to marry with Demetrius,
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens,

As she is mine, I may dispose of her:

Which shall be either to this gentleman
Or to her death, according to our law
Immediately provided in that case,
THESEUS
What say you, Hermia? be advised fair maid:
To you your father should be as a god;
One that composed your beauties, yea, and one

To whom you are but as a form in wax
By him imprinted and within his power
To leave the figure or disfigure it,

Demetrius is a worthy gentleman,

HERMIA
So is Lysander,

THESEUS
In himself he is;
But in this kind, wanting your father’
father ’s voice,
The other must be held the worthier,
HERMIA
I would my father look’d but with my eyes,

THESEUS
Rather your eyes must with his judgment look

HERMIA
I do entreat your grace to pardon me,
I know not by what power I am made bold,
Nor how it may concern my m
modesty
odesty,,
In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;
But I beseech your grace that I may know
The worst that may befall me in this case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

THESEUS
Either to die the death or to abjure

For ever the society of men.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;
Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father’s choice,
You can endure the livery of a nun,
For aye to be in shady cloister mew’d,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood,
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;
But earthlier happy is the rose distill’d,
Than that which withering on the virgin thorn
Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.

ERMIA
So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,

Ere I will my virgin patent up
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

THESEUS
Take time to pause; and, by the next new moon—The
sealing-day betwixt my love and me,

For everlasting bond of fellowship—
Upon that day either prepare to die
For disobedience to your father’s will,

Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would;
Or on Diana’s altar to protest
For aye austerity and single life.

DEMETRIUS
Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield
Thy crazed title to my certain right.

LYSANDER
You have her father’s love, Demetrius;
Let me have Hermia’s: do you marry him.

EGEUS
Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love,
And what is mine my love shall render him.
And she is mine, and all my right of her

I do estate unto Demetrius.

LYSANDER
I am, my lord, as well derived as he,
As well possess’d; my love is more than his;
My fortunes every way as fairly rank’d,
If not with vantage, as Demetrius’;

And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
I am beloved of beauteous Hermia:
Why should not I then prosecute my right?

Demetrius, I’ll avouch it to his head,
Made love to Nedar’s daughter,
daughter, Helena,
And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,
Upon this spotted and inconstant man,

THESEUS
I must confess that I have heard so much,
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
But, being over-full of self-affairs,
My mind did lose it, But, Demetrius, come;
And come, Egeus; you shall go with me,
I have some private schooling
sc hooling for you both,
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
To fit your fancies to your father’s will;
Or else the law of Athens yields you up—Which

by no means we
we may extenuate—
To death, or to a vow of single life,
Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?
Demetrius and Egeus, go along:
I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial and confer with you
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves,

EGEUS
With duty and desire we follow you,
Exeunt all but LYSANDER and HERMIA

LYSANDER
How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale?
How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

HERMIA
Belike for want of rain, which I could well
Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes,

LYSANDER
Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth;
But, either it was different in blood—

HERMIA
O cross! too high to be enthrall’d to low,

LYSANDER
LYSANDER
Or else misgraffed in respect of years—

HERMIA
O spite! too old to be engaged to young,

LYSANDER
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends—

HERMIA
O hell! to choose
c hoose love by another’s eyes,

LYSANDER
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentany as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say ‘Behold!’
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion,

HERMIA
If then true lovers have been ever cross’d,
It stands as an edict in destiny:
Then let us teach our trial patience,
Because it is a customary cross,
As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,
Wishes and tears, poor fancy’s followers,

LYSANDER
A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia,
I have a widow aunt, a dowager

Of great revenue, and she hath no child:
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;
And she respects me as her only son,
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pursue us, If thou lovest me then,
Steal forth thy father’s house to-morrow night;
And in the wood, a league without the town,
Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
To do observance to a morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.

HERMIA
My good Lysander!
I swear to thee, by Cupid’s strongest bow,
By his best arrow with the golden head,
By the simplicity of Venus’ doves,
By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,
And by that fire which burn d the Carthage queen,
When the false Troyan under sail was seen,
By all the vows that ever men have broke,
In number more than ever women spoke,
In that same place thou hast appointed me,

To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

LYSANDER
Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.
Enter HELENA

HERMIA
God speed fair Helena! whither away?

HELENA
Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.
Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!
Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue’s sweet air
More tuneable than lark to shepherd’s ear,
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.
Sickness is catching: O, were favor so,
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I’d give to be to you translated.
O, teach me how you look, and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart.

HERMIA
I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

HELENA
O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

HERMIA
I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

HELENA
O that my prayers could such affection move!

HERMIA
The more I hate, the more he follows me.

HELENA
The more I love, the more he hateth me.

HERMIA
His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

HELENA
None, but your
your beauty: would
would that fault were mine!
mine!

HERMIA
Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;
Lysander and myself will fly this place.
Before the time I did L

Lysander
ysander see,
Seem’d Athens as a paradise to me:
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn’d a heaven unto a hell!

LYSANDER
Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold
Her silver visage in the watery glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
A time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal,
Through Athens’ gates have we devised to steal.

HERMIA
And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,
There my Lysander and myself shall meet;
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Farewell, sweet playfellow: pray thou for us;
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!
Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight
From lovers’ food till morrow deep midnight.

LYSANDER
I will, my Hermia.
Exit HERMIA
Helena, adieu:
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!

Exit

HELENA
How happy some o’er other some can be!
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she,
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;
He will not know what all but he do know:
And as he errs, doting on Hermia’s eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities:
Things base and vile, folding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity:
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind:
Nor hath Love’s
Love’s mind of any
any judgement taste;
Wings
Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste:
And therefore is Love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguiled,
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear
forswear,,
So the boy Love is peIjured every where:
For ere Demetrius look’d on Hermia’s eyne,
He hail’d down oaths that he was only mine;
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt,

I will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight:
Then to the wood will he to-morrow night
Pursue her; and for this intelligence

If I have thanks, it is a dear expense:
But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
To have his sight thither and back again,
Exit
Source: http://shakespeare.mit.edu/midsummer/full.html
http://shakespeare.mit.edu/midsummer/full.html
If you find this version of A Midsummer Night’s

Night’s Dream difficult to
read, you may use the No Fear Shakespeare version offered by
Sparknotes to translate Old English to Modern English:
http://nfs.sparknotes.com/msnd/.
Read the two versions side by side, Discuss with your seatmate which
version you think is better, List the merits and issues of the two versions,
Together with your seatmate, decide on which one you both prefer.
You are working in an English and communications consultancy firm.

Part of your company·s corporate social responsibility project is to
volunteer in conducting review sessions to high school students for
college entrance examinations. In one of your school visits, you have
been tasked by the head of your team to conduct a session on figures of
speech. So you are going to demonstrate and explain a figure of speech
(to be assigned by the head of the team) and use “A Midsummer Night’s
Dream” and “Little Red-Cap” to illustrate how this figure of speech is
applied in literary text.

After your slide presentation, conduct a short quiz among the
students. The head of the team will evaluate your performance in terms
of mastery of lesson, properly identified examples, delivery, and visual
presentation prepared.
prepared.
Your Knowledge
There are so many sources of English literature online for you to

explore. Here are some Web links that you may use in the next activity:
Grimm’s Fairy Tales, a complete list of the folktales of the Brothers
Grimm (https://www.cs.cmu.edu/~spok/grimmtmp/)
Shakespeare’s Sonnets, a compilation of Shakespeare’s sonnets with
commentary on them (http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.co
(http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/) m/)
Essential Learning
European literature has so much to offer to the world. Not only did it
set so many of the standards you learn today in world literature, but it has
also contributed to the pool of brilliant writers who have shaped literature
as it is now. It is not surprising why European literature has always been
seen as canonical or important in the context of global literary traffic.
Closely related to European literature is the concept of romanticism,
which may be easily applied to any literary text. It is interesting to note
that despite its short existence as a literary movement back in the 1800s,
romanticism has prevailed as a popular concept up until now. This is
because the emphasis on the emotions, imagination, individualism,
individualism, and
freedom for a human being will never go away. Romanticism also proves
that the hunger for literature that is nostalgic, bizarre, experimental, and
innovative will always exist as long as humanity exists itself.

Module
The Magic of Latin America
15
1. Identify representative texts and authors from Latin America.
reading strategies.
4. Distinguish the literary uses of language from the nonliterary
and understand their use as well as the formal features and
conventions of literature.
Latin America and Its History

You have probably Big Idea
enjoyed literary selections
that have magic,

suspension fantasy,You
of belief. and Oftentimes,
event a significant
can be portrayed life
in creative and
must be a fan of some of imaginative ways. Magic realism is
these, and one of the oldest an example of this.
kinds of magic in fiction
comes from
from Latin Am
Latin America.
erica.
Despite being shrouded
Despite being shrouded by political instability and turmoil for much of
the 20th century, Latin America has prevailed as an influential area for
culture, history, and creativity.
When the stock market collapsed in 1929, followed by the worldwide
economic crisis, this effect rippled through Central and South America for
their colonizers had pulled back. Europe, one of the main colonizers of
Latin America (especially in the Caribbean), was also economically
challenged; thus, there needed to be changes. Eventually, the colonies in
Latin America were given independence or were integrated into the mother
country as a result of World War II.
The 1960s was another significant shift because there was a military
rule over most of the Latin American countries. This changed in the 1980s
when democracy prevailed even throughout the colonies. Now, in the 21st
century, multiparty states are dominant.
These experiences faced by Latin Americans have also shown in their
literature. Their literature is characterized by mysticism, magic, uniqueness,
raw creativity, and wonder. It all started in the pre-Colombian literature of
their times, when the ancient civilizations of the Aztecs and Mayans spread
stories through the oral tradition. Their mythologies and religious practices
or beliefs were then recorded after the European colonizers arrived.
When the colonizers came and called parts of La tin America as the
New World, the conquistadors there (one of them famously being
Christopher Columbus and Bernal Diaz del Castillo) wrote extensively of
their experiences in Latin America. These written accounts were also the
locus for debates, because they would detail the often cruel treatment of the
natives, and not everyone in Europe had agreed with it.
Colonial literature was influenced heavily by both mestizos and natives
in Latin America. It was also during this period that what was written were
first surveyed by the church.
In the 19th century, a new period emerged. Foundational fictions were
novels that were written in either the romantic or the naturalist tradition.
Latin Americans tried to come up with an idea of national identity and often
focused on separating the indigenous from the colonizers. They also
criticized the dichotomy of being barbaric and being civilized. It was also in
the 19th century that women were educated and their writings were
published. One of these novels is entitled Sab (published in 1841), which
was written by Gertrudis Gomez de Avellaneda, a Cuban. It is a novel that
is romantic in nature but has subtle critiques of the treatment of women in
Cuba.
In the late 19th century, a new poetic movement called modernismo
came from Nicaraguan poet Ruben Dario’s work entitled Azul . It is said to
be the first Latin American literary movement which was recognized
outside of the region and was also considered to be the first true Latin
American literature. It introduced critiques of the society as of the moment
and the related

closely plight of the indigenous
to another Latin
movement American
called citizens. Thiswhich
indigenismo—one is also
is
dedicated to the fostering of indigenous cultures and the injustices these
cultures were suffering from.
In the 1920S, particularly in Mexico, there was a lot of experimentation
with avant-garde techniques. The Mexican Revolution had inspired realist
novels based on their experiences with the war. It would only be in the
1940S when another literary technique was finally formed-one that was
famously associated with Latin America—when novelist and musician
Alejo Carpentier coined the terminology lo real maravilloso (which literally
means “marvelous realism”). It is believed that this technique became the
precursor for the
the concept of “magi
“magicc realism.”
1. What central themes are dominant in Latin American literature?

2. What are the similarities and differences between the themes and
experiences in Latin America and
those from the Philippines?
Watch discussions on magical realism and

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ShzOBA2kINk and
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hi60bKtA570. Then write 10 key
takeaways from the videos about what magical realism is and how it is
used in literature. Share your list
with the class.
Postmodernism
The idea of Big Idea
postmodernism first
originated in architecture. Notice how poststructuralism
Postmodernism simply came after structuralism, and how
rejected the modernist way modernism is followed by
of doing things-trying to postmodernism?? This goes to show
postmodernism
make things new or avant- that the scholarship i n literary theory
garde. Modernism has is evolving because people introduce
always been about rejecting new ways of seeing things. Also,
tradition and trying to literature itself takes a different form,
explore other ways of doing meaning, and function as time passes
things to see “where no man by..
by
has ever gone before.” It is
much associated with the
novelty of doing something, to create something unique. Modernism
explored possibilities and individuality.
Postmodernism was in contrast to this. It is a skeptical interpretation of
culture, art, history, architecture, and literature. What does it mean to be
“skeptical”? It means that there is always an air of critique and emphasis on
a certain work of art. Here, the postmodernist aims to look at the variety
rather than the ornamentation or novelty. It completely rejects its
predecessor, modernism, on the basis that it also rejects the idea of
predecessor,
“totality,” “unity,” or being “comprehensive.”
In the 1970S, the “literature of silence” (according to Arab-American

scholar Ihab Hassan) has begun with the works of Marquis de Sade, Franz
Kafka, Samuel Beckett, Ernest Hemingway, and so much more. These
works are known to focus on ontology, or the nature of being—the concept
of becoming, existing, living as a person. Postmodernism implores you to
make something new that moves beyond just the act or product itself; it
asks you to exist and to become the art.
1. What are the differences between the ontologies of modernism and

postmodernism?? Create a table and wr
postmodernism write
ite five differ
differences
ences in it.

2. Can postmodernism be applied as a lens in analyzing all kinds of
texts, or does it have to be applied only on certain texts that have a
postmodern theme?
theme? Defend youyour
r answer
answer..
Xavier Villanova is a Mexican screenwriter and playwright, who also

directs and acts on stage. He is the recipient of the 2010 National
Playwright Award
His Acheron: givenofby
The River the Universidad
Tragedy Autonoma De
has been workshopped Nuevo
at the LarkLeon.
Play
Development Center in New York. Villanova is the co-writer of the Netflix
show Ocean Blues, which is based on his eponymous play. He currently
also teaches theater history at the Universidad de la Comunicaciün in
Mexica City.
Fig. 15.1. Xavier Villanova at the Iowa International Writing Program

Source: http://www.dilmandila.com/pho
http://www.dilmandila.com/photography/portraits-o
tography/portraits-of-writers-iwp-2017
f-writers-iwp-2017
Excerpt from Nezahualcóyotl
from Nezahualcóyotl Dreams en Mictlán
By Xavier Villanova
Villanova
“By this Place of Fear / this huge void and these vast and silent realms,
renew the lifethread of Eurydice. / All things are due to you, and though on
earth it happens we may tarry a short while, / slowly or swiftly we must go
to one abode; and it will be our final home”
Rose E. Another one.

Oakwood:
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: Th
Thee b
bod
ody
y was
was in the
the lliv
ivin
ing
g room
room..
Ronald The police found it crumpled up on the mottled carpet.
Romero:
Juan
Juan U
Uri
ribe
be:: A neig
neighb
hbor
or cal
calle
led
d 91
911,
1, she
she ssme
mell
lled
ed a fet
fetid
id o
odo
dorr co
comi
ming
ng
from apartment 23 in a building off 79 th Street in North
Queens.
Rose E. So, what qualifies someone for the job? People willing to
Oakwood: go into disgusting apartments.
Ronald I’m 57, divorced. I try to build a life like it’s the last day.
Romero: One of my few God-given gifts is great parking skills.
Reflect Upon
How do you make friends? What do you do to create connections
with people?
Juan
Juan U
Uri
ribe
be:: Faci
Facing
ng so man
many
y dea
death
thss wear
wearss me down
down.. I ffea
earr so
some
meda
day
y it
will be me splayed on the floor in one of these apartments.
Ronald You never know when you will die.
Romero:
Juan
Juan Uribe
Uribe:: I turne
turned
d 52 in May
May,, al
also
so divorc
divorced,
ed, no chil
childre
dren;
n; that’
that’ss why
why I
try to make a new friend every day. The man who hands
you a flier, the server at the bar, the man who crashed into
your car this morning … Anyone can be your friend. If you
say an inspirational quote to a stranger
stranger,, he’ll turn around
and smile. There, you’ve just made a friend. It’s
unbelievable. Let’s
Let’s say you’re at the grocery store,
indecisive about what milk to get, there’s whole, one
percent, lactose-free … Lactose-free,
Lactose-free, is that still milk?
Anyway, you’re weighing if you’ll go with soy, almond,

coconut, pasteurized, ultrapasteurized, premium, diet, zero,
fortified,
front of anbuttermilk,
entire aisleraw, and so on; you’re
of multicolored standing
cartons in
that don’t
taste alike or have the same benefits, when suddenly some
guy yells at you: C’mon, move it! You don’t own this aisle.
And you realize you and your cart are blocking the way.
And of course, what you could say is, excuse me, man,
where’s the fire? But what I do say to him is: “With each
sunrise, may we value every minute”, or “Be kind, smile to
the world, and it will smile back”. Some look at me like:
“Get lost, weirdo”. But most lower their guard and bam!
Right then, I’ve made a friend who’ll smile at me every
time we meet, someone who, upon my passing, might feel
sorry about it and attend my funeral.
Ronald You’re an imbecile, Juan.
Romero:
Juan
Juan U
Uri
ribe
be:: I mig
might
ht be
be an im
imbe
beci
cile
le,, bu
butt when
when I die,
die, I’l
I’lll be
be a bel
belov
oved
ed
imbecile. Someone will know about my death before the
sun goes down. I won’t die alone.
Ronald People who show up at funerals without even really
Romero: knowing the deceased, are just thinking: Give me what he
had, gimme, gimme, gimme; yet when he was alive it was
more like: Sorry, can’t make it; see you later; what does
this creep wantfrom me? Why won’
won ’t he leave
lea ve me alone?
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: Can
Can y
yo
ou pas
passs th
the v
vap
apo
or sti
stick
ck??
Ronald How annoying.
Romero:
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: It all
allev
eviiates
ates my nose.
se.
Ronald The hell with your nose.
Romero:
Juan Ur
Juan Urib
ibe:
e: You know
know why
why the
they
y pai
paire
red
duuss tog
toget
ethe
her?
r?
Ronald Because they need two people for this shitty job.
Romero:
Juan Uribe: You love it.

Ronald Yes, of course. Actually, when I was little and grown-ups
Romero: asked me: Hey, Ronnie, what do you want to be when
you’re older? I always said: I’ll dedicate my life to
rummaging through the abandoned possessions of decayed
people.
Juan
Juan Urib
Uribe:
e: It’
It’ss n
not
ot anyone
anyone’’s drea
dream
m jjob
ob,, b
but
ut someon
someonee hhas
as tto
o do
do it.
it.
( Pause
Pause) Don’t you get excited to see what weird behaviors
they had, what team they rooted for for,, what fetishes they
kept? Who they loved or who loved them, if anyone loved
them at all? Please, we all fantasize about sniffing around
someone’ss house, without the fear of getting caught.
someone’
Ronald Not me.
Romero:
Juan
Juan U
Uri
ribe
be:: Ok,
Ok, but
but y
you
ou stil
stilll hav
haven
en’t
’t answ
answer
ered
ed m
my
y que
quest
stio
ion.
n.
Ronald To justify the budget, I guess.
Romero:
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: Are
Are you
you sayi
saying
ng you
you cou
could
ld do th
this
is jo
job
b alo
alone
ne??
Ronald And without dabbing my nostrils with Vaporub every ten
Romero: seconds.
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: I thi
think
nk it’
it’s to
to k
kee
eep
p eeac
ach
hooth
ther
er comp
compan
any
y.
Ronald Sure, Queens County really cares about keeping this job
Romero: from making us miserable.
(Pause)
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: Is that
that a V
Ver
erme
meer
er on the
the wal
wall?
l?
Rose E. They work in pairs to …
Oakwood:
Ronald How do you know it’s a … what’d you say?
Romero:
Juan Uribe: Vermeer.

Ronald That.
Romero:
Juan Uribe: I love the MET.
Ronald Everybody loves the Mets, so what?

Romero:
Juan Ur
Juan Urib
ibe:
e: Th
Thee M
Met
etro
ropo
poli
lita
tan
nMMus
useu
eum
m of
of Art
Art..
Ronald Why?
Romero:
Juan
Juan Uribe
Uribe:: It’s
It’s fr
free
ee eentr
ntry
y, well,
well, not
not free,
free, sug
sugges
gested
ted admiss
admission
ion is $25
$25,,
but you can pay a dollar or a quarter
quarter,, whatever’s in your
pocket, and boom!
boom! Instant culture.
culture.
Ronald And you recognize the artist by the painting?
Romero:
Juan Uribe: Don’t you?
Ronald No.
Romero:
Rose E. Investigators work in pairs to discourage theft.
Oakwood:
Juan Uribe: Grab it.
Ronald Really? I don’t even know the guy,
Romero:
Juan Uribe: Absolutely, ( Pause
Pause) Did I tell you about the woman that
died standing up?
Ronald You are kidding, right?
Romero:
Juan Uribe: Your loss,
Ronald It’s not a loss, I was there, not you, I told you that story,
Romero: remember?
Rose E. A woman, Leila Feldman, Feldsman, Friedman,
Oakwood: Feldespat… I don’t recall. Leila … Feldskin, 71 years old,
died alone, standing up, unable to collapse to the floor. We
know she died standing up because the police found her
standing up.
Juan
Juan U
Uri
ribe
be:: I’
I’ve
ve alw
alway
ayss wond
wonder
ered
ed if
if the
the agen
agents
ts w
wer
eree the
the ones
ones w
who
ho
stood her up.
Ronald You really mean that?
Romero:
Juan Ur
Uribe: I’m ju
just ssaaying.
Rose E. She didn’t know anyone, no relatives or friends claimed
Oakwood: her body, and who knows how many days she stood there
dead. There’s
There’s nothing on record, nor is there any physical
explanation on file that sheds light on how she could
maintain that position after death, or why gravity did not
claim her. “Hands clutching bars”, stated the report, I’d say,
clinging to life. (Pause) It was on us, well, on them, Ronald
Romero and Raymond Garcia, his former partner, to
submergee themselves in her stuff, looking for a clue as to
submerg
who might bury her or be entitled to her belongings. That
day, Raymond quit… On the letter he submitted, if you can
call that a letter, a couple lines stood out: “I want to die in
my bed. I don’t desire to be found staring out the window
waiting for something to come save me, perhaps love.”
Love? No one was going to fall in love with Raymond.
Ronald Look, 20 dollars.
Romero:
Juan Uribe: Dibs!
Ronald You give me the famous painting and you ask for 20
Romero: bones?
Juan Uribe
Juan Uribe:: I can
can use
use the
the 20 now,
now, you’l
you’lll need
need to
to sell
sell tthe
he pain
paintin
ting,
g, and
and it
won’t be easy, you might get caught. Where does a guy
with your salary get a painting like that? You’ll have to
hang it in your home or cut a deal on the black market…
It’s risky. What are the odds it’s an original? It’s obviously
a fake.
Big Idea
Any form of
investigation,
from
investigating a
text to a criminal
case, requires
keenness to
details, careful
observation, and
open-
mindedness.
Ronald 20 bucks says it’s real.

Romero:
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: The
herre’s
e’s n
no
o way
way to pro
prove it
it.
Ronald You are right. (Pause) Check the fridge.
Romero:
Juan Uribe: There’s
e’s no way.
Ronald Brilliant deduction, Einstein. Make a way.
Romero:
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: Why
Why do
do you
you thin
think
k tthe
here
re’’s peo
peopl
plee llik
ikee tha
that?
t?
Ronald Dead?
Romero:
Juan Ur
Uribe: Hoarders.
Ronald They don’t think someone will search through their crap.
Romero:
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: Or they
they wa
want
nt to pu
puni
nish
sh the
the w
wor
orld
ld..
Ronald Enough chitchat; go to the fridge.
Romero:
Juan
Juan U
Uri
ribe
be:: You th
thin
ink
k he
he has
has an
any
y bee
beerr th
that
at’’s stil
stilll good
good??
Ronald Doesn’t matter,
matter, Collect the post-its, messages, shopping
Romero: lists, anything with words on it,
Juan Ur
Juan Urib
ibe:
e: You’r
ou’ree suc
such
h a har
hard-
d-as
asss ssom
omet
etim
imes
es …
Ronald So?
Romero:
Juan
Juan Urib
Uribe:
e: Thr
Three
ee ove
overdu
rduee gas
gas bil
bills
ls and one sho
shopp
pping
ing list…
list… Items:
Items: Sea
salt, garlic, carrots, TV guide … Sea salt? That’s

That’s really
gourmet for someone who lived like this, don’t you think?
Or maybe some woman came and cooked for him?

Ronald Here?
Romero:
Juan Uribe: A lonely woman.
Ronald In this dump?
Romero:
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: No
Nott ev
ever
eryo
yone
ne ha
hass a pl
plac
acee to go.
go.
Ronald Anything else?
Romero:
Juan
Juan Urib
Uribe:
e: Sev
Seven
en fri
fridg
dgee magn
magnets
ets from
from the
the sam
samee p
pizz
izzeri
eriaa … Velo’
elo’s
Pizza. There’s a green Velociraptor on the logo, like Yoshi.
Who’d wanna eat in a dinosaur pizzeria? Did you know
Yoshi was a Velociraptor? That’s the dinosaur Mario rode
… Mario Bros? Where were you in the eighties? Anyway
… What I mean is … What kind of advertisement is that?
Are they saying their recipe is prehistoric? hey use
dinosaur meat? That if you don’t get your pizza before a
meteorite strikes, it’s
it’s free? What are they saying, Ron?
Ronnie? (Pause) Know the place? Like it? What’s
What’s wrong?
Ronald My sister used to go there with her husband before she
Romero: moved to Los Angeles and I lost track of her.
Juan
Juan Urib
Uribe:
e: With tha
thatt tran
translu
slucen
centt b
beac
eached
hed-wh
-whale
ale who thinks
thinks he’s
he’s a
golfer?
Ronald Basketball player.
Romero:
Juan Uribe: Same thing.
Ronald A White boy playing golf, that’s normal; a chunky White
Romero: boy playing golf, that’s
that’s even more common,
common, a nearly-
translucent obese mama’s
mama’s boy who claims he can play
basketball like a professional,
professional, and that if it weren’t
weren’t for his
injured knee he’d be playing for the NBA, well that’s
just… Yes,
Yes, with him.
Juan
Juan Urib
Uribe:
e: Well,
ell, loo
looks
ks like
like our
our un
unide
identi
ntifie
fied
d dead
dead gu
guyyw
was
as a huge
huge fa
fan
n
of this dinosaur pizzeria … Oh, I get it! The logo means if
you eat at this pizza place, you’ll be like a Tyrannosaurus.

Tyrannosaurus.
Ronald Bloodthirsty?
Romero:
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: Im
Imme
mens
nse,
e, like
like yo
your
ur br
brot
othe
herr iin
n law
law..
(Pause)
Ronald Hand me the magnet.
Romero:
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: Trip
riple pep
peppe
perron
oni,
i, pleas
lease.
e.
Ronald And mushrooms and double-cheese. I don’t get why you
Romero: like them so loaded.
Juan Uribe: Habit.
Ronald Pass the speaker.
Romero:
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: Do
Don’
n’tt be
be sti
sting
ngy
y. Use
Use yo
your
ur ow
own.
n.
Ronald You still haven’t found the phone?
Romero:
Juan
Juan Ur
Urib
ibe:
e: It must
must be so
some
mewh
wher
eree iin
n the
the di
disa
sast
ster
er area
area..
Ronald Try next to the window.
Romero:
Juan Uribe: Which one?
Ronald Landlines are usually next to windows. That way you can
Romero: pick up and stop listening to the person oon
n the other end
end,, to
look at the sunset or the lady carrying five grocery bags
who’s ready to drop.
1. What was the case being discussed by the characters? List five
findings on the said case.
2. Based on the excerpt, what can you say about the way of life of
Ronald Romero and Juan Uribe?
Read the following poems. Then answer the following questions.

1. Island on the Earth by Sara de Ibanez on this link:
http://www.jbeilharz.de/po
http://www .jbeilharz.de/poetas/ibanez/islas-e.html.
etas/ibanez/islas-e.html.
What is the poem about?
a bout?
To which social issue can you relate the poem? Why?
If challenges in life are characterized as “battles,” how do you think

can one win these battles?
What can you say about the Philippines being an island of Earth?
Write a short poem about it.
2. The Mythical Founding of Buenos Aires by Jorge Louis Borges

English Translation
Translation by Alastair Reid
What is your interpretation of the last two lines in the poem?
What did the poem insinuate about

the founding of Buenos Aires?
According to this poem, what is mythical about the founding of

Buenos Aires, according to this
poem?
Watch the videos on these sites. What do these performances tell you
about Latin American experiences and consciousness? What themes arise
from these performances from musicals? Discuss your findings with your
group mates and present your findings in class.
"Buenos Aires" from the musical “Evita”:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQ_ic3KmmLY
"America" from “West Side Story”:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qy6wo2wpT2k
1. Wh
What
at was
was tthe
he ter
term
m “m
“myt
ythi
hical
cal”” used
used iin
n the
the poem
poem o
off Borg
Borges?
es?

2. How was Buenos Aires founded, according to the poem? Write a

numbered step-by-step procedure.

3. Compare your answer in the second question to the actual poem. Both
have explained the founding of Buenos Aires, but what makes each
form (the poem and the numbered list) different? Write a short
paragraph to explain
explain your answer.
answer
.
You are volunteers of a nongovernmental organization (NGO) that

travels across the globe to send relief goods to people in need. For your
next engagement, your destination will be some countries in Latin
America. As part of your preparation, one of the bosses, who is inclined
in the arts and humanities, has suggested that you get to know your
country assignment more deeply by understanding its literature. Thus, in
preparation for your community immersion, your group will be assigned
a country, and you will prepare the following: (1) a short background of
the country’s literature landscape; (2) one poem or an excerpt of a story
or novel from that country, which will be read after reporting the
background; and (3) a short audiovisual presentation that will be played
on the screen while one or more members of the group are reading the
chosen piece.
Your presentation should be able to communicate the dominant
consciousness in the literature of the assigned country. You should also
represent the work with respect and admiration that is rightful for such a
masterpiece. Your presentation is under the scrutiny of the bosses of the

organization.
Your Knowledge
If you want to read more of the fascinating literature of Latin America,

go to http://flavorwire.com/409886. This website lists more Latin
American works of fiction. You can also go to your local bookstore and
library to browse books written by Latin American writers.
Essential Learning
There is no doubt that Latin American literature has greatly
contributed to world literature. For one, its turbulent history as a highly
colonized region has brought to life some of the most passionate works
of art through the desire of Latin Americans to speak and share about
what had happened to them. This makes you more inspired to look at the
bright side of life rather than its negative side. If the Latin Americans
were able to survive so much hurt and agony in their history, then you
would be able to do so to with your own daily struggles. One of the most
important outcomes of these desires is the concept of magic realism,
where magic is included in a realist story as if it were a normal
occurrence in daily life.
Modernismo, or oftentimes known as modernism, also began in Latin
America, but was quickly argued against by postmodernism.
Postmodernism aims to look at what is not in the text and interpret its
message with skepticism to arrive at a new interpretation.
Indeed, much has been learned from Latin America and its literature.
A lot oftexts
literary Filipino cultural
because youtraits
shareand
thevalues
same are also with
beliefs reflected
them.in Latin
their
America has contributed greatly to world literature and will continue to
contribute as long as Latin Americans continue to create new kinds of
literary magic with their words.

Module
Deep into Africa
16
1. Identify representative texts from Africa.
and their elements, structures, traditions from across the
globe.
4. Choose an appropriate multimedia form of interpreting a
literary text.
Africa and Its People

Scientists and historians Big Idea
mostly believe that Africa is
the birthplace of mankind. It Recall
social from
studies how your subjects
civilizations in
came
is generally said that
millions of years ago, the to be. Many advancements have been
first upright humans introduced over the years, but we
appeared in Africa, and they should never forget where everything
learned how
how to hunt,
hunt, create started.
tools, and make fire
fire.. From
Africa, they spread to
Europe and other parts of Asia.
The African continent has undergone so many changes due to its
climate. The Sahara Desert was actually a fertile area, suitable for farming.
Eventually, it grew drier and became a desert. Interestingly, Africans coped
with whatever challenge the climate would give them and they survived.
Progress followed soon after that. Writing
Writing was said to have been invented in
Northeast Africa during the Bronze Age—specifically,

Age—specifically, in Egypt. The
Egyptians, because of their rich resources, were able to make tools and
weapons out of bronze. They were also advanced in terms of culture and
government, because they had laws and punishments. Eventually, climate
change overtook the continent once again and changed the landscape of
Africa. The deserts began to occupy a wider area, and Africa was
increasingly cut off from the outside world. These deserts also hampered
transportation via the sea.
During the Middle Ages, Big Idea
the Arabs came to Egypt and
conquered them. This Because Africa has been
happened fast, and soon they colonized by the Europeans, their
were in charge of all of culture has been affected. However,
North Africa. When the the deepest parts of Africa have not
Arabs came, they spread been infiltrated by
by foreign cont
control.
rol.
Islam to North Africa and
converted everyone there.
After 800 AD, Northern Africa began to have organized kingdoms.
What were these? These were the powerful kingdoms that monopolized
trade with the Arabs and other countries up north. They traded gold and
slaves for luxury goods and salt—those which Africa does not have. These
kingdoms were known to be Ghana (a kingdom rich with gold), Ife of
Southwest Nigeria (they made terracotta sculptures and bronze statues),
Benin, Mali (which grew so powerful that, in its prime, its people traded
gold, slaves, horses, and salt), Songhai, and Kanem-Bornu (which traded
metal).
When the Europeans colonized parts of Africa in the 16th century, the
slave trade began to happen across the Atlantic. As was mentioned
previously,, the Africans traded their fellowmen for slaves before to the
previously
Arabs, but the European slave trade was unprecedented for it was so huge
in its extent. Almost millions and millions of Africans were forcibly taken
from theirthemselves
Africans own homes and
who were
grew brought
rich to unknown
from the shores
slave trade. Mostbyoffellow
them
suffered under the hands of their “owners.” This continued onto the 18th
century, and together with the slaves, the British also took sugar back to
their country. This was called the Triangular Trade.
In the 19th century, many European states banded together to stop the
slave trade and its cruel injustices. In 1807, Britain stopped the slave trade,
but Europe had colonized
colonized almost the whole of Afri
Africa
ca then. By 1914, Africa,
except for Libya and Ethiopia, had been taken over by the Europeans.
Reflect Upon
What comes to your mind when you hear Africa? After knowing its
history, what changed in the way
you see the continent?
In the 20th century, more and more Africans were becoming educated,
and as such, they clamored for independence. This movement became
unstoppable. By the 1950s-1960s, almost all of the African countries were
independent. By 1975, the last two countries that were held by Portugal-
Mozambique and Angola—had finally gained independence.
Now, Africa is on the rise. The African countries’ economies are on the
Now,
rise, thanks to tourism and investment. The developments are looking
positive, and it seems that Africa will become the great continent it was
intended to be in the beginning.
Many great people are Africans. Nelson Mandela or “Mandiba” was a
citizen who fiercely fought for Africa’s independence and eventually
became the first black and democratically
democratically elected president of South Af
Africa.
rica.
He is known to be the “Father of the Nation.” Another one is Desmond
Tutu who was a fierce opponent of the apartheid in Africa. He was the first
black South African bishop of Cape Town and because of his exhaustive
efforts to promote peace, he has won several awards, which include the
Nobel Peace Prize and the Gandhi Peace Prize. Probably another person
more
films familiar to youand
in Hollywood is Charlize
has wonTheron whoofhas
countless acted for
awards in many blockbuster
her talent. She is
known as the first South African to win an Academy Award or an Oscar.
Big Idea
The Philippines was also Take inspiration from people who

challenged the same way change the world. One day, you might
that Africa had been as a be able to change it too.
continent. As a citizen of a
country that has been
colonized extensively before, it is normal that you still experience the
stirrings of the kind of history that your country has gone through. The
turbulent yet challenging history of Africa is also mirrored not only by
these a forementioned people, but also by their literary writers. Of course,
you have learned about Chinua Achebe in a previous module. There are
other great writers who you will meet in this module: Nadine Gordimer,
Bessie Head, and Wole Soyinka.
1. How did the history of Africa affect ins literature?

2. What similar struggles in Africa and the Philippines can you think of?
How did these two places handle
these struggles?
Ghada Al-Absy is a writer, physician, and singer from Egypt. She has
written several short story volumes, as well as novels in her native
language, such as Angelica and Al-Fishawi. She has won the 2014
Organization of Cultural Palaces Award for The Son of Nymphs, the 2016
Short Story Competition by the Egyptian Club for House of Almond , and
the 2016 Akhbar Al-Adab Prize (runner-up) for her novel The Green
Cobbler . She sings as a soloist at the Cairo Opera House and has a master’s
degree in Hematology and Immunology.
Fig. 16.1. Ghada Al-Absy

Source: https://www.facebook.com/thewo
https://www.facebook.com/thewomenofegypt
menofegypt
An Excerpt of Al-Fishawi
of Al-Fishawi
By Ghada Al-Absy
Translation by Claire Jacobson

The Road
They say the Road is mute. They say it tells no stories. But no the Road
abounds with conversations no human has ever heard, with countless
secrets scattered across its surface. The very earth beneath your feet cares
for you, Mankind, a brown mother delighted by your presence.
No one else knows the story of this pair of shoes, crafted in a skilled
Tuscan cobbler’s worshop as he looked out over the Arno River, smiling at
the old bridges of his memories.
Reflect Upon
Compare the role of shoes or shoemakers in this story to other

Filipino stories such as Sandosenang Sapatos by Dr. Luis Gatmaitan,
who is also a doctor like Ghada Al-Absy, and White Shoes by Grace
Chong? What other stories about
shoes or shoemakers do you know?
Every crease in his face marked him uniquely Florentine; over time, the
heels of his many shoes had slowly worn a hollow where he held them
against his bowed chest. He made them with care, the leather in one hand
and his heart in the other, fingertips
fingertips stained with polish.
Now that pair of shoes is on the feet of a skinny young Egyptian man
who is unaware that the creased leather has come to resemble the creased
face of their maker more than its smooth new leather when it first arrived
from Tuscany. Now, the edges of their soles are scuffed and worn down
from years of use and the black insoles have grown thin under his feet,
worn away on the Road. One sole has almost detached from the upper,
dangling like the very first word on a child’s tongue. These are the tongues
that bit by bit recount everything — tongues of old, weary soles telling the
Road all their stories.
On the grounds of the College of Engineering, Egyptian soles stream in,
their shoealongside
through nails all rusted in, having
the English so long
leather and waited their turn.
the German Theyand
weave bustle
the
Bolognese stitching. Armenian stilettos crush hearts beating all the way
down to their feet, and all ears attend to the delicate tap of Greek kitten
heels ... a colorful world full of dreams.
The Tuscan soles tell me the story of their owner, Taha, a student at this
engineering school. They complain to me of his cruel misuse: not only
would he walk back and forth the whole distance from home (in Ezbet
Belial) to the school (on Shubra Street), but keep going, to catch a bus
heading to Mania!. There, twice a week, the shoes would sit and rest for
over three hours on a soft, blood-red rug in Mrs. Lawahez’s house while
Taha tutored her two middle-school children. (He had been there before, to
work with his art teacher, Dr. Adli, on decorating the house. So, when Mrs.
Lawahez asked him to tutor her children, he said yes.)
Every week, at the garden overlooking the Ismaili Canal, the shoes of
this skinny young man sat beside a pair of pink ones belonging to Lubna,
his girlfriend. Taha told her he loved her, baring all his joy and grief and
repeating “If only I hadn’t been sick at my entrance exam” until she cried.
And right away, to cheer her up, the skinny young man told her how he was
doing better than all his classmates, both Egyptian and foreign, and how his
professors expected him
him to do extremely
extremely well. He told her abou
aboutt all the girls
who begged him to draw them after they saw the charcoal drawing he did of
Eva, the Armenian girl, in his lecture notebook. Then Lubna got upset, and
he soothed her with a long hug and a kiss on her hand.
Taha spent six months at that school, studying and working and loving
and drawing and continuing to walk back and forth. Then one day he
arrived as usual at Mrs. Lawahez’s
Lawahez’s house, but before he could go in, he saw
policemen outside the house and overheard the neighbors saying that an
illicit brothel was just discovered inside. I couldn’t
couldn’t tell Taha that only a few
minutes before his arrival, I’d felt Mrs. Lawahez walking barefoot on me
followed by several other women, hastily covering themselves and
weeping. Rough, heavy officers’ boots were hemming them in, leading
them to police vans.
The Tuscan shoes froze in place. After a few moments, they departed
with their owner, never to return. He had no idea where to go, or how he
could live without the money he’d been earning, especially since he had
stopped working for Dr. Adli, who had fallen ill. Holding his notebook with
both hands, he hugged it to his chest, crying. No one could hear his sobs
except the Nile, the moon, and 1.
The owner of the shoes was not the only one crying; the next morning,
millions of footsteps were sobbing. This land had never seen such crowds
on the Road before, from the south to the north. The streets seemed to blend
together, anxious footsteps toppling every barrier on the way to a single
destination. A farmer ceased plowing his field to embrace his ox and cry,
his body still and barefoot in the mud but his heart bound for the same
place: Nasser’s casket.

The Road’s black stone heart forever breaks with sorrow for Adam and
his children, a heart that cannot bear the farewells of companions and
lovers. The Road knows from a person’s heavy steps the weight of the
burdens they carry

carry.. But troubles are like many-legged spiders or beetles;
their legs easily break, fall off, and disappear. My asphalt surface is littered
with fragments of their bodies and broken -off legs; the cloying odor of
their defeat seeps through my pores.
Many unforgettable nights followed for the owner of the Tuscan shoes.
He kept going back to a spot he’d never visited before, a place surrounded
by high fences. One day,
day, I found that tired pair of shoes jumping for joy
alongside a pair of Bata shoes (belonging to Taha’s friend Zakariya). Every
few days, a pair of plastic sandals belonging to Nabiyyat, Taha’s mother,
would walk quickly from Ezba to Ashmagha, as if she were trying to catch
something before it escaped. Each time she returned, her shuffling footsteps
heavy with despair. Until the name of the mobster Zinhom Ma’arek came
up, and then Nabiyyat came back home, this time with 21 Egyptian pounds.
She called excitedly to Taha that she had the money he needed, and her
sandals flew into the air with her cracked heels as Taha picked her up and
spun her around. Taha’s brothers and sisters joined them happily, and
everyone laughed when little Youssef marched around the room like a
solider.
You laugh, sons of Adam, and then you cry. The way of your lives is to
separate after meeting, and to arrive at your destination only after a long
journey.. But this young man feels lost - the Road can feel confusion in your
journey
footsteps. After seeing his friends at school for the last time, saying
sorrowful goodbyes and leaving behind his lecture notes and some of his
paintings as gifts, he will soon depart th
this
is colorful land to go to another
another,, one
he’s never seen before.
The whole time, his mind was on the owner of the pink shoes; when he
walked by, he looked up to her window to see her waiting as usual. This
time, he decided to go straight up to her apartment, and she opened the
door. She read his departure in his blue eyes, and buried her face in his
chest as he held her in his arms. He surrendered to the sanctity of the
moment. The Road says that where two lovers stand, created from one soul,
the love
lover in their
is not hearts
blind, castshis
but has a light
own for all toNo
vision. see.
oneThe Roadunderstand
would also says that
whya
Lubna’s mother, when she saw them united in their long embrace, stood
silently by. No one could guess what might happen a few minutes later if
her brother were to arrive and see them like that. This moment is beyond
fear and suspicion.
Tuscan shoes, how will you tell the pink ones not only that you are
traveling to a faraway land, but that you will be kept from seeing or
speaking to each other while you’re gone? How can you tell her that you
will get on a plane to Sudan and join the military academy there?
Earth, how can your children tell each other goodbye? How is a mother
supposed to give birth to a child, raise him up, only to let him go off alone?
How will Nabiyyat do it?
1. What is the role of the shoes in the story? How was it used by the
author?
2. What are the struggles of Taha?

3. What is the relationship between the shoes and the Road? How about
Taha and the Tuscan shoes?
4. Why do you think is the “Road” capitalized throughout the story?

What does this symbolize?
5. If your shoes could talk, what would it tell you?

Read the following selections. Answer the following questions.

1. Civilian and Soldier by
by Wole Soyinka
Akinwande Oluwole “Wole” Babatunde Soyinka, better known as
Wole Soyinka, is a Nigerian poet and playwright. He is the first African
to be honored the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1986. He studied in both
Nigeria and the UK, where he eventually worked with the Royal Court
Theatre of London. His plays has been performed both in Nigeria and
London. He has also been a staunch political activist, which led to his
arrest during the Nigerian Civil War and solitary confinement for two
years.
http://www.shigeku.org/xlib/lingshidao/waiwen/soyinka.htm
Do the poem reflects a civil war in a clear manner? Why or why
not?
What literary techniques does Soyinka use in the poem and how do
they enhance the central message
of the poem?
How can war change your personhood? Is it possible to survive a

war “unscathed”? Why or why
not?
2. Self Portrait by
by Bessie Head
Bessie Emery Head was from Pietermaritzburg, South Africa. She
was a child of a rich white South African woman and a black servant,
back when interracial relationships were illegal. She has published
numerous novels and short story collections during her short lifetime.
https://www.jstor.org/stable/4023882o?
seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents
How does this poem relate to Bessie Head’s life as a product of an
interracial union?
How can this poem be also a representative of African colonial

history?
Which parts do you think symbolize the “contradiction” being

talked about in the poem?
Reflect Upon
What kinds of war are we battling
nowadays?

1. How did Soyinka portray the civilian and the soldier in the poem?

2. What is a civil war? How was it portrayed in the poem?

The Cultural Center of the Philippines is organizing a multimedia

exhibit for its World Literature Month. Teachers, media practitioners,
writers, artists, critics, and people from the arts and humanities, such as
yourself, are invited to participate as exhibitors. The task is to choose one
literary piece from the module and create a multimedia presentation of
your choice as an interpretation of the piece. (Just think of the creative
mixture of text, image, video, or sound, among others, using your chosen
literary piece as the center
center.)
.)
Your multimedia presentation will be shown in your allocated spot in
the
lookexhibit, and you
at it. Guest willare
judges play your
also presentation
roaming aroundwhen visitors
to find come
the best to
piece
through the following criteria:
Criterion Points
Interpretation of literary piece 20
Effe
Effect
ctiv
ivee use
use of m
mu
ultim
ltimed
edia
ia fo
form
rm 20
Creativity 10
Total 50 points
Extend Your
Your Knowledge
K nowledge
There are many diverse African literatures available online. If you

wish to read more on literature from Africa, visit the link for you to start
your exploration:
https://library.stanford.edu/guides/childrens-b
https://library.stanford.edu/guides/childrens-books-african-them
ooks-african-themee
http://www.ama.africatoday.com/african_literature.htm
Essential Learning
Africa, being said to be the “seat of human civilization,” has a lot to

offer the rest of the world in terms of history, culture, and of course,
literature. Despite the turmoil and trauma that the people of Africa have
suffered under the hands of their own fellowmen or numerous colonizers,
Africans have prevailed and are now slowly rebuilding themselves as a
continent made up of free countries. Nelson Mandela and Chinua Achebe
are Africans known for their achievements.
African literature oftentimes refers back to its colonial past, and it is
in this reference that its literature becomes unique, subversive, and
expressive. African writers are not afraid to attack their colonizers and to
demand their freedom. Their struggles become yours when you read their
literature, and it is in this struggle that you may find your inner voice to
stand up for what you believe in.

Module
The Atlas of World Literature
17
1. Identify representative texts and authors from Asia, North
America, Europe, Latin America, and Africa.
literature.
globe.
Global Issues as of Now

Have you picked up the Big Idea
news lately via the
newspaper or the internet? Issues a re more accessible to us i
What is the current news that n terms of acquiring information and
you have read about? What of reacting on these issues because of
is your opinion about this the internet. Still, using the internet
particular issue, and
and do you entails great responsibil ity.
feel strongly
strongly abo
about
ut it?
it? Why
or why not?
Current events and global issues are always a hot topic for anyone who
wants to stay informed with what is happening around the world. Right
now, the internet has democratized the reach of information and how you
are able to receive them. You see issues and news on your social media
timelines, on search engines, and even on your cellular phones. This kind of
democracy when it comes to receiving news and being informed of global
issues has made young people like you smarter and more informed about
what is happening around you.
At the same time, however, this kind of information democracy has led
some people to believe that younger people nowadays are more apathetic to
what is happening around them. This is because being bombarded with
information at a constant pace has the possibility of “numbing” your
generation to the point of perceiving events of violence and injustice as
somewhat usual occurrences. You read, see, and hear about it every day, so
it is not new when you encounter another issue like this in the open. Do you
feel this way sometimes? The information democracy that the internet has
began is a two-way street—it has its pros
pros and cons.
1. What are the functions of the internet?

2. Does the internet help in better shaping society,

society, or is it a source of
destruction? Defend your answer.

Reflect Upon
Have you accessed any literary content using the internet? How was
your experience?
One of the pros of using the internet is the increasing concern and
information campaign for the people’s stand against climate change or
environmental hazards. There are thousands of internet sites and social
media accounts dedicated to informing normal citizens of what they can do
to help preserve the ecosystem and conserve our natural resources, lest we
all suffer the consequences. “Climate change,” “ecological health,” “global
warming” and “carbon footprint” are some of the buzz words that trigger
headlines every single day. You hear people saying that climate change has
brought about
about super typh
typhoons
oons such as Yolanda
Yolanda and Pabl
Pablo.
o.
Reflect Upon
Can environmental studies and literature be connected? Explain your
answer.
In literature, the concern for the environment and the human being’s
overall safety has been highlighted in a fairly new discourse called
ecocriticism. Ecocriticism is the union of science and literature that look at
certain texts or literary selections as commentaries or sources of possible
ideas or solutions against environmental degradation. It may include topics
as broad as animal studies, archipelagic discourse, romantic poems,
dismantling of disasters, and so much more. With the democratization of the
Internet, ecocriticism has been able to reach so many scholars and
researchers all over the world, so that the contribution of literature to the
environmental debate and discourse can be tangible and real.
1. How does the internet affect literature?

2. What is the purpose of ecocriticism?

3. What does this module say about the purpose of literature?

The premier publisher of children’s storybooks will be anthologizing

a collection of short stories for children
c hildren that features contemporary issues
that thetoday’s
writers child faces
time, in
youthehave
society.
been As one by
invited of the
the editors
premiertostorybook
submit a
work for the anthology. So you have to write a 1000-word short story for
children, where the theme is a social issue experienced by children not
only in the country but around the world. In your story, the child should
be an empowered character. Make sure to properly capture direct speech
in your short story, and follow the conventions of writing fiction.
Literary Workshop
One of the most common practices in literature and creative writing is

joining and/or giving of creative or critical writing workshops. A workshop
is meant to gather both professional and nonprofessional writers together to
share their ideas about one another and to facilitate constructive criticisms
about one another’s works. In this way, learning is communal and there is a
friendly community that aims to help one another learn the tricks and trades
of the craft.
For you to conduct a successful writing workshop in your class, you
must remember the following:
Big Idea
Do not feel bad when someone
criticizes your piece, because
criticism can be seen as one step
toward improving your work. At the
same time, share your thoughts on the
work of others so that you can help
them improve as well.
1. If your teacher gives you the work you need to workshop

beforehand, make
make sure to read it tthe
he night befo
before.
re. Wr
Write
ite your
comments on the margins. Then on a blank page, construct your
comments in a way that you feel is more positive.
2. Your comments must, more or less, follow the “sandwich” rule:
start with
piece), gothe positives
to what
wh (usually
at can be by congratulating
improved,
improved, theawriter
and then end on on the
positive
positive
note.
3. Wait for your turn during the workshop. Listen carefully to what
your other classmates have to say; if they have said what you
already intend to, then do not repeat it anymore.
4. Keep your comments clear and concise. There is no need to ramble
on about your suggestions or referring to your own work.
Remember,, when you do a workshop on a literary piece, the
Remember
workshop has to be about that piece and not about your own work.
5. Do not mention the writer’s name. Usually
Usually,, a workshop will entail
a blind peer review process. When you are given the paper
paper,, you do
not have the name of the writer there. Doing so removes any sort
of bias that may be present in commenting on the paper. Even if
you feel that you know who the writer is, do not mention it and
refer to the writer as “writer.”
6. When you have said your comments, let the others take their turns
and try not to disagree or agree with anyone saying their own
opinions.
7. When the writer gets a turn to explain his or her work, congratulate
him or her. If the writer does not agree with your comments, then
accept it. That is his or her own opinion, as your comments are
your own.
If you do have other concerns about the workshop, your teacher will
help in facilitating the rest of the discussion. Enjoy the workshop!
1. What is the purpose of a workshop?

2. What is expected from someone who is participating in a literary

workshop?
3. What are some forms of etiquette during literary workshops?

4. Some workshops would require participants to resubmit the work that

underwent through the workshop. Do you think this is necessary?
Why or why not?
5. Who do you think should participate in a workshop-a writer or a

critic? Defend your answer.
The Young Writers Society facilitates online workshops by allowing

writers to submit their works so that other members can comment, share
insights, and interact in relation to the works. These works contain a
diverse range of cultural backgrounds and themes as writers are from
different parts of the globe. Go to https://www.youngwriterssociety.com/.
Choose one of the works posted and read it. Then give a helpful
comment to the author. Take a screenshot of your participation and share
the photo with the class. Articulate the good and bad aspects of the work,
and share how the work can be improved.
You are a publisher who is scouting for the next storybook to publish,
as your last storybooks such as “The Talking Tablet” and “The Turtle and
the Laptop” have become global success. Your Your bosses have tasked you to
acquire the next big hit in the children’s literature scene, so you decide to
attend a speed pitching/workshop. The moderator will read the first

paragraph of some short stories for children (the one the class has written
for a previous activity). Then, everyone will share his or her comments
about the story based on the title and the first paragraph, given that these
should already stir the interest of the writer
writer..
Each publisher should be able to acquire one work by announcing
that he or she is interested in the work during the whole session (one
publisher can only get one story). Make sure that you share insightful
comments, as your bosses will be with you to also evaluate you as a
publisher during the speech pitching/workshop.
pitching/workshop. Articulate the good and
bad aspects of the work,
work, and share h
how
ow the work can b
bee improved.
Your Knowledge
Here are some helpful websites which allow you to self-publish your
own work:
https://www.lulu.com/
http://teacher.scholastic.com/writei
http://teacher.scholastic.com/writeit/pubhome.asp
t/pubhome.asp
https://www.wattpad.com/
Essential Learning
Literature is now a democratic avenue where everyone can have his
or her ideas read, analyzed, and appreciated by anyone from any part of
the world—all thanks to the internet. Thus, whatever you have learned in
the previous modules may now be used in creating your own literary
work that may be published online. In this way, you reach not only your
classmates, but also potential readers around the world.
Truly, literature has the capacity to reach out and extend its ideas to
everyone thanks to its universality and timelessness. It is also
multidisciplinary, for it may discuss a wide range of topics such as
science, history, philosophy, values, and ethics, to name a few. The ideas
that literature may tackle are endless, and you should take advantage of
that.
Hopefully, the discussion of literature and all its different aspects
within these modules have opened your mind, heart, and spirit to what
literature may offer to you. It is now in your hands to use these new
discoveries to also open the minds, hearts, and spirits of those around you
through your own literature. The power is now in your hands.

Culminating Output
Track: Academic
The International Association on Comparative Literature is holding
its annual research conference, which seeks to invite scholars in the arts
and humanities to share their research on various literatures. As a scholar
scholar,,
you plan to submit a research to the conference. So you need to write a
comparative critical paper that contains the following:
1. Three works from authors from different countries (from this
textbook or from other sources)
2. A central theme, such as a social issue, that is common to the
three works
3. A literary theory that serves as a framework
4. A discussion of findings of the comparative analysis using the
framework
5. Concluding statements based on the analysis.
These elements of the critical paper should be written on a 10-page
double-spaced paper that has the following parts:
1. Title
2. Abstract
3. Five keywords
4. Introduction that also contains some related
related research literature,
ending with a set of objectives
5. Framework
6. Analysis
7. Conclusions and implications
After writing your paper, you will also prepare a 10-minute slide
presentation that showcases your analysis and findings. Y
You
ou are going to
present your paper in the research conference, where best papers will be
awarded based on the following criteria:
Clarity of objectives 20%

and framework
Sound analysis of 20%
literary works
Relevance o
off rreesearch 20%
Well-crafted 20%
conclusion statements
Clarity and creativity 10%
of visuals
Manner of 10%
presentation
Total 100%

Quarter Challenge
A. Briefly explain the dominant themes and styles of the following
literatures (5 points each):
1. Southeast Asia
2. EastAsia

3. South and Western Asia
4. Anglo-America and Europe

5. Africa
6. Latin America

B. Choose one literary theory
theory.. Use that theory to analyze Edgar Allan
Poe’s “Annabel” Lee. Write a 500-word analysis about it. (10
points)
Annabel Lee
By Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes !-that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons
demons down under the
the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me
dreams
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling-my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
C. Answer the following questions. (2 points each)
1. What is the importance of using literary theory in analyzing a
literary text?
2. Explain the difference between postmodernism and new
criticism.
3. Explain the difference between fiction and creative nonfiction.
4. What is the function of literature in the society?
5. Wha
Whatt d
do
o you
you think
think will
will happ
happen
en wit
with
hoour
ur lit
litera
eratur
turee in the next
next
generation? What forms will it take? What themes will arise?
What interactions with literature will be introduced?

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CHEENO MARLO M. SAYUNO holds a master’s degree in

This book is produced by an academic publisher whose quality management

awareness of young readers. When you encounter opportune

In Unit II, your sojourn to world literature starts—you go beyond

different but equally

Unit I 21st Century Philippine Literature from the

Unit II 21st Century Literature from the World

Module 15 The Magic of Latin America

Module 16 Deep into Africa

While contemplating on the country’s history in 1887 shortly after

Learning Outcomes for the Unit

Philippine Precolonial Literature

at night, how a mountain

stories have been

(Whatever the tree, so is the fruit.)

(If you don’t persevere, you can expect no reward.)

Sa araw ay bungbong, sa gabi ay dahon. (Roll in the morning, leaf in

Folksongs are beautiful songs that are informal expressions of our

sing in a harana or a serenade for a girl), to lullabies, harvests,

Beyond Walls 1.1 Read and Answer

Durunuun, sister of Sumpoy, the lord of the underworld and whose

and eventually he gave up and was imprisoned by Saragnayan beneath

Humadapnon married the goddess and brought her home.

With the aid of Dumasig, Dumalapdap killed Balanakon. However,

equal. But ankle

2. Who are the three sons of Alunsina and Datu Paubari?

3. What did Humadapnon do to win the hand of the daughter of

What Have I Learned So Far?

Spanish Colonial Philippine Literature

Corrido is a legendary religious narrative form that usually details the

Beyond Walls 1.2 Go Online

What Have I Learned So Far?

Compare the precolonial literature and Spanish colonial literature in the

Points of Precolonial Philippine Spanish Colonial

A hunter has recounted a face-to-face encounter with the enigma

would that you were now. For example, in “Mariang

Beyond Walls 1.3 Apply It in Real Life

1. If you are interested in further readings on Philippine precolonial

and transcribed in English almost a thousand precolonial myths.

At the end of this module, I can:

Poetry is probably the most sophisticated of all literary genres. Your

Beyond Walls 2.1 Apply It in Real Life

The nongovernment organization (NGO) where you are working as a

Philippine Poetry: Its Form, Language, and

her senses. The kinds of sense impressions in poetry are categorized in

Fig. 2.1. Carlos Angeles

Carlos Angeles was born on 25 May 1921 in Tacloban, Leyte. He

poetry collection, Stun of Jewels, won the Republic Cultural Heritage

Beyond Walls 2.2 Go Online

Draw your visual imagery of “Gabu” as described in the poem on a

Fig. 2.2. Marjorie Evasco

Close Reading of Filipino Poetry

Beyond Walls 2.3 Go Online

Watch this crash course on prejudice and discrimination found at

1. What is implicit bias? How does this lead to prejudice and

2. Based on what you have watched, how can prejudice and

poetry? What is theshow

What Have I Learned So Far?