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GRAPHIC, LINGUISTIC, AND ETHNIC DIMENSIONS OF PHILIPPINE LITERARY HISTORY

Competency 1A: Identify the geographic, linguistic, and ethnic dimensions of Philippine
literary history from pre-colonial to the contemporary, EN12Lit-Ia-21 (2 hours)

What is literature?
The word literature is derived from the Latin term litera which means letter. It has been
defined differently by various writers. These are the following:
1. Literature expresses the feelings of people to society, to the government, to his
surroundings, to his fellowmen, and to his Divine Creator. (Brother Azurin)

2. Literature is anything that is printed as long as it is related to the ideas and

feelings of the people, whether it is true, or just a product of one’s imagination.
(Webster)

3. “True literature is a piece of written work which is undying. It expresses the

feelings and emotions of people in response to his everyday efforts to live, to be
happy in his environment and, after struggles, to reach his Creator” (PANITIKANG
FILIPINO)

Some loosely interpret literature as any printed matter written within a book, a
magazine or a pamphlet. Others define literature as a faithful reproduction of man’s manifold
experiences blended into one harmonious expression. Because literature deals with ideas,
thoughts and emotions of man, literature can be said to be the story of man. Man’s loves,
griefs, thoughts, dreams and aspirations coached in beautiful language is literature.

In Panitikang Pilipino written by Atienza, Ramos, Salazar and Nazal, it says that “true
literature is a piece of written work which is undying. It expresses the feelings and emotions of
people in response to his everyday efforts to live, to be happy in his environment and, after
struggles, to reach his Creator.”

Philippine Literature is a diverse and rich group of works that has evolved side- by-
side with the country’s history. Literature had started with fables and legends made by the
ancient Filipinos long before the arrival of Spanish influence. The main themes of Philippine
literature focus on the country’s pre-colonial cultural traditions and the socio-political
histories of its colonial and contemporary traditions.

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Literary History/Evolution of the Philippines
1. Pre-Colonial Period
 The evolution of Philippine literature depended on the influences of colonization and
the spirit of the age.
 The first Filipino alphabet called ALIBATA was replaced by the Roman alphabet.
 Indigenous Philippine literature was based on traditions and customs of a particular
area of the country.
 Philippines is an archipelago country, consisting several islands, (7,107 islands to be
exact), and each of those islands has its specifications of cultures and traditions,
bearing different set of native literature.
 Ancient literatures were written on the perishable materials like dried leaves, bamboo
cylinder, and bark of the trees.
 Literatures were handed down to us through the word of mouth.
There were two literary forms during the pre-colonial period:

A. Written literatures
Examples:
a. Riddles or bugtong. These are effective ways to inculcate the ability
of logical thinking of a child.
b. Epigrams or salawikain. It reflects the hidden meaning through
the good lines. It provides good values.
c. Poems or tanaga – These are common forms of poetry which has a quatrine
with 7 syllables each with the same rhyme at the end of each line. It also
expresses insights and lessons in life.

B. Oral literatures
Examples:
a. Chant. It is used in witchcraft and enchantment. While, ambahan is a
traditional poetry of Hanunoo Mangyans of Oriental Mindoro which
teaches lesson about life. It is recited by parents to educate their children
by the youth expressing their love, by the old to impart experiences, or by
the community in tribal ceremony. (slideshare.net/mobile/jessacerbito…)
b. Balagtasan .This is a Filipino form of debate done in verse. The
term is derived from the surname of Francisco Balagtas the author
of Filipino epic Florante at Laura.

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2. The Spanish Colonial Period (1565-1897)
Sixteenth Century was the start of the deprivation of the indigenous Philippine
literature. Spanish colonial government finally got in the scene. They were able to manipulate
literature by monopolizing it under the religious orders. Literature evolves mainly on the
themes of Spanish/ European culture and of course, the Roman Catholic religion.

Literary Influences during Spanish colonization

a. Christian Doctrine or Doctrina Christiana was the first book ever printed in the
Philippines in 1593 by the Dominican press.
b. Libro de la Lengua Tagala by Fernando Bagongbanta .Tagalog translations to the
Spanish lines, still the superiority of the Spanish language.
c. Pasyon influenced by the Spanish contexts of Christianity, at least they embodied
several Filipino sentiments and values (the feeling of Filipino mother towards a
suffering son).

Filipino writers in Spanish became conscious for the search for freedom
a. Pasyon Dapat Ipag-alab ng Puso by Marcelo H. del Pilar expressed his rebellious
writing style was identified.
b. Pascual Poblete’s Patnubay sa Binyagan associated Filipinos’ struggle for
independence with Jesus’ life.
c. Jose Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo made very powerful
contributions among the Filipinos the introduction of rejecting Spanish rule. He
also influenced the succeeding writers.
d. The narrative poems Awit and Corrido talked about world of royals, warriors and
lovers (the basic concept in Florante at Laura).
e. Komedya. Francisco Baltazar’s Florante at Laura embodied the concept of
colonization and oppression which gave voice to their revolutionary action towards
freedom.

3. The American Colonial Period (1898-1945)

 Philippine literature in Spanish was starting to lose its track on the first decade.
 The poems of Fernando Ma. Guerrero (Crisalidas), Balmori’s Se deshojo la Flor novel,
and many others discussed revolution and sentiments for patriotism and reform
proved that Philippine literature was used to claim freedom from the colonizers.
 Even if Philippine literature was in English, the preservation of the content for Filipino
experiences was achieved.

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  Short story writers in English like Manuel Arguilla in his “A Son is Born,” was one of
the foundations of the Philippine literature, not in Tagalog or in Spanish, but during
this time, in English. Poetry in English was also founded.
 Sarzuela was overpowered by English drama.

4. The Contemporary Period (1946 to present)

This period started during the rebirth of freedom in (1946-to present). The Americans
returned in 1945. Filipinos rejoiced and guerrillas that fled to the mountain joined the liberating
American Army. On July 4, 1946, the Philippines regained its freedom and the Filipino flag
waved joyously alone. The chains were broken.

The State of Literature during this Period

The early post-liberation period was marked by a kind of “struggle of mind and spirit”
posed by the sudden emancipation from the enemy, and the wild desire to see print.

a. Heart of The Islands (1947) – a collection of poems by Manuel Viray

b. Philippines Cross Section (1950) – a collection of prose and poetry by Maximo
Ramos and Florentino Valeros
c. Prose and Poems (1952) – by Nick Joaquin
d. Philippine Writing (1953) – by T.D. Agcaoili
e. Philippine Havest – by Amador Daguio
f. Horizons Least (1967) – a collection of works by the professors of UE, mostly in
English (short stories, essays, research papers, poem and drama) by Artemio
Patacsil and Silverio Baltazar. The themes of most poems dealt with the usual
love of nature, and of social and political problems. Toribia Maño’s poems
showed deep emotional intensity.
g. Who Spoke of Courage in His Sleep – by NVM Gonzales
h. Speak Not, Speak Also – by Conrado V. Pedroche
i. Other poets were Toribia Maño and Edith L. Tiempo, Jose Garcia Villa’s
Have Come, Am Here has won acclaim both here and abroad

The New Filipino Literature during this Period

Philippine literature in Tagalog was revived during this period. Most themes in the
writings dealt with Japanese brutalities, of the poverty of life under the Japanese government
and the brave guerilla exploits.

a. Period of Activism (1970-1972)

Many young people became activists to ask for changes in the government. In the
expression of this desire for change, keen were the writings of some youth who were fired
with nationalism in order to emphasize the importance of their petitions.

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 The Literary Revolution
The youth became completely rebellious during this period. This was proven not only
in the bloody demonstrations and in the sidewalk expressions but also in literature. Campus
newspapers showed rebellious emotions. The once aristocratic writers developed awareness
for society. They held pens and wrote on placards in red paint the equivalent of the word
MAKIBAKA (To dare!).

Writing During the Period of Activism

The irreverence for the poor reached its peak during this period of the mass revolution.
It was also during this period that Bomba films that discredit our ways as Filipinos started to
come out.

b. Period of the New Society (1972-1980)

The period of the New Society started on September 21, 1972. The Carlos Palanca
Awards continued to give annual awards. Almost all themes in most writings dealt with the
development or progress of the country –like the Green Revolution, family planning, proper
nutrition, environment, drug addiction and pollution. The New Society tried to stop
pornography or those writings giving bad influences on the morals of the people. All school
newspapers were temporarily stopped and so with school organizations.

Filipino Poetry during the Period of the New Society

Themes of most poems dealt with patience, regard for native culture, customs and the
beauties of nature and surroundings.

The Play under the New Society

The government led in reviving old plays and dramas, like the Tagalog Zarzuela,
Cenaculo and the Embayoka of the Muslims which were presented in the rebuilt Metropolitan
Theater, the Folk Arts Theater and the Cultural Center of the Philippines.

Radio and Television

Radio continued to be patronized during this period. The play series like Si Matar,
Dahlia, Ito Ang Palad Ko, and Mr. Lonely were the forms of recreation of those without
television

Filipino Films
A yearly Pista ng mga Pelikulang Pilipino (Yearly Filipino Film Festival) was held during
this time. During the festival which lasted usually for a month, only Filipino films were shown
in all theaters in Metro Manila.

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 1. Maynila…Sa Mga Kuko Ng Liwanag written by Edgardo Reyes and filmed under the
direction of Lino Brocka. Bembol Roco was the lead role.
2. Minsa’y Isang Gamu-Gamo, Nora Aunor was the principal performer here.
3. Ganito Kami Noon…Paano Kayo Ngayon led by Christopher de Leon and Gloria
Diaz.
4. Insiang: by Hilda Koronel
5. Aguila: led by Fernando Poe Jr., Jay Ilagan and Christopher de Leon
Comics, Magazines and other Publications
In this period of the New Society, newspapers donned new forms. News on economic
progress, discipline, culture, tourism and the like were favored more than the sensationalized
reporting of killings, rape and robberies.

c. Period of the Third Republic (1981-1985)

After ten years of military rule and some changes in the life of the Filipino which
started under the New Society, Martial Rule was at last lifted on January 2, 1981.

1. Filipino Poetry • Poems during this period of the Third Republic were romantic
and revolutionary. Writers wrote openly of their criticism against the government.
The supplications of the people were coached in fiery, colorful, violent, profane
and insulting language.

2. Filipino Songs • Many Filipino songs dealt with themes that were really true-to-
life like those of grief, poverty, aspirations for freedom, love of God, of country
and of fellowmen.

Philippine Films during the Period

The yearly Festival of Filipino Films continued to be held during this period. The
people’s love for sex films also was unabated. Below is the table of the list of Philippine Films
during the Third Republic.

Film Director Cast Genre

Kontrobersyal Lino Brocka Philip Salvador, Gina Alajar, Charo Drama
(1981) Santos
Relasyon Ishmael Vilma Santos, Christopher de Leon Drama
(1982) Bernal
Dugong Buhay CarloJ. Ramon Revilla, Bong Revilla, Imelda Action
(1983) Caparas Ilanan
Ang Panday Ronwaldo Fernando Poe, Jr, Marianne dela Riva, Action/F
(1984) Reyes Max Alvarado antasy

Tinik sa Dibdib Leroy Nora Aunor, Dina Bonnevie, Phillip Drama

(1985) Salvador Salvador

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d. Rebirth of Freedom (1986-present)
History took another twist. Once more, the Filipino people regained their independence
which they lost twenty years ago. In the span of four days from February 21-25, 1986, the so-
called People Power (Lakas ng Bayan) prevailed. Together, the people barricaded the streets
petitioning the government for changes and reforms.

Newspapers and other Publications

Newspapers which were once branded crony newspapers became instant opposition
papers overnight. This was true of BULLETIN TODAY which became the opposition paper.

Books
The Philippine revolution of 1986 and the fire of its spirit that will carry the Filipinos
through another epoch in Philippine history is still being documented just as they have been
in the countless millions who participated in body and spirit in its realization.

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TEXTS AND AUTHORS FROM
LESSON 2EACH REGION

NCR-National Capital Region-Metro Manila is made up of the following cities: Manila,

Caloocan, Las Pinas, Makati, Malabon, Mandaluyong, Marikina, Muntinlupa, Navotas,
Quezon City, Pasay, Pasig, Paranaque, San Juan, Taguig, Valenzuela, and Pateros
 Writers associated with this region: Michael M. Coroza, Jessica Zafra, Charlson
Ong, Norman Wilwayco, Ana Maria Villanueva-Lykes, Janet B. Villa, Naya Valdellon,
Rosmon Tuazon, Lourd de Veyra

Region 1- Ilocos Region-Ilocos Norte, Ilocos Sur, La Union, Pangasinan and Dagupan City
 Writers associated with this region: Paul B. Zafaralla, Santiago B. Villafania, Cles B.
Rambaud, Jan Marc Austria, Ariel S. Tabag, Manuel Arguilla

Region 2-Cagayan Valley Region - Batanes, Cagayan, Isabela, Nueva Viscaya, and Quirino
 Writers associated with this region: Jun Lisondra, Lovella G. Velasco

CAR (Cordillera Administrative Region) - Abra, Apayao, Benguet, Ifugao, Kalinga- Apayao,
and Mountain Province
 Writers associated with this region: Ma. Luisa Aguillar-Carino, Dion Michael
Fernandez, Rachel Pitlogay, Chinee Sanchez Palatino, Charisse Acquisio

Region 3 - Central Luzon Region Aurora, Bataan, Bulacan, Nueva Ecija, Pampanga, Tarlac,
and Zambales
 Writers associated with this region; Virgilio Almario, Rolando F. Santos, D.M.
Reyes, Danton Remote, Marl Anthony Cayanan

Region 4-A-CALABARZON - Cavite, Laguna, Batangas, Rizal, and Quezon

 Writers associated with this region: Joel M. Toledo, Frank G. Rivera, Jimmuel C.
Naval

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Region 4-B - MIMAROPA (Occidental Mindoro and Oriental Mindoro),
Marinduque, Romblon, and Palawan
 Writer associated with this region: Jose Dalisay Jr.

Region 5-Bicol Region - Camarines Norte, Camarines Sur, Albay, Catanduanes, Masbate,
and Sorsogon
 Writers associated with this region: Merlinda Bobis, Ricardo Lee, Victor Dennis
Tino Nierva

Region 6- Western Visayas Region - Aklan Antique, Capiz, Guimaras, and Iloilo
 Writers associated with this region: Felino GarciaJr., John Iramil, Isidro Cruz

NIR-Negros Island Region - Negros Occidental and Negros Oriental

 Writers associated with this region: Isabel D. Sibullen, Marianne Villanueva

Region 7- Central Visayas Region - Bohol, Cebu, Siquijor

 Writers associated with this region: Michael Obenieta, Jeneen R. Garcia

Region 8 - Eastern Visayas region - Samar, Leyte, and Biliran

 Writers: Voltaire Oyzon, Timothy R. Montes

Region 9 - Zamboanga Peninsula - Zamboanga del Norte, Zamboanga del Sur, Zamboanga
Sibugay, Zamboanga City, and Isabela
 Writers: Mig Alvarez Enriquez, Servando D. Halili Jr. Antonio R. Enriquez

Region 10- Northern Mindanao Region- Bukidnon, Camiguin, Lanao del Norte, Misamis
Oriental, Misamis Occidental
 Writers: Ralph Semino Galan, Judith R. Dharmdas, Anthony Tan

Region 11- Davao Region or Southern Mindanao Region-Compostela Valley, Daval del
Norte, Davao del Sur, Davao Oriental, and Davao Occidental
 Writers: Candy Gourlay, Salud M. Carrido

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 Region 12 - SOCCSKSARGEN or Central Mindanao Region- South Cotabato, Cotabato,
Sultan Kudarat, Sarangani, and General Santos
 Writers: Christine Godines-Ortega, Jaime An Lim

Region 13 - CARAGA Region- Agusan del Sur, Agusan del Norte, Surigao del Norte,
Surigao del Sur, and Dinagat Islands
 Writers: Joey Ayala, Tita Lacambra-Ayala

ARMM (Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao) - Asila (except Isabela City), Lanao del
Sur, Maguindanao, Sulu, and Tawi-Tawi
 Writers: Steven Prince Patrick C. Fernandez, Mehol K. Sadain

Source: Beyond Borders (Reading Literature in the 21st century) by MARIA GABRIELA P MARTIN
et.al.
SOME NOTABLE WRITERS FROM DIFFERENT REGIONS AND THEIR
CONTRIBUTIONS TO PHILIPPINE LITERATURES

Michael M. Coroza writes poetry, fiction, critical essays

and is engaged in literary translation. The writer's works
have been published in national and international literary
magazines: Kritika Kultura, Philippine Studies, Unitas,
Tomas, Bulawan Journal of Arts and Culture, Daluyan,
Loyola Schools Review, and the Malay Indonesian
Studies. He is famous for promoting the traditional poetic
genre of the Philippines "Balagtasan". He participated in
international poetry readings "Kuala Lumpur-10" (2004)
and the Second literary festival "Korea-ASEAN" in
Jakarta (2011). Among his works are: ASEANO: An
Source: Anthology of Poems from Southeast Asia (1995), Dili’t
Dilim (1997), Sounds of Asia (2011), Ang mga Lambing
ni Lolo Ding (2012), and Nawawala si Muningning
(2015).
Retrieved: May 20, 2020

Source: panitikan.ph

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 MANUEL E. ARGUILLA (1911-1944) was an Ilocano who wrote in
English. He was best known for his short story, "How My Brother
Leon Brought Home a Wife", which received first prize in the
Commonwealth Literary Contest in 1940. Most of his stories
depict life in Barrio Nagrebcan, Bauang, La Union, where he was
born in 1911.

Source: http://pinoylit.hypermart.net
Retrieved: May 20, 2020
Source:
http://pinoylit.hyperm
art.net
Retrieved:
May 20, 2020

Anthony Tan was born on 26 August 1947, Siasi [Muddas], Sulu.

His degrees AB English, 1968, MA Creative Writing, 1975, and
Ph.D. English Lit., 1982 were all obtained from the Silliman
University where he edited Sands and Coral, 1976. For more
than a decade, he was a member of the English faculty at SU and
regular member of the panel of critics in the Silliman Writers
Workshop. He taught briefly at the DLSU and was Chair of the
English Dept. at MSU- Iligan Institute of Technology where he
continues to teach. A member of the Iligan Arts Council, he helps
Jaime An Lim and Christine Godinez-Ortega run the Iligan Writers
Workshop/Literature Teachers Conference. He also writes fiction
and children’s stories. He has won a number of awards, among
Source:
them, the Focus Award for poetry, the Palanca 1st prize for
https://www.xu.edu.p
Poems for Muddas in 1993; also, the Palanca for essay. Among
h/xavier-news his works are The Badjao Cemetery and Other Poems, 1985 and
Retrieved: Poems for Muddas, Anvil, 1996.
May 25, 2020
Source:
https://www.xu.edu.ph/images/Kinaadman_Research_Center/doc
Retrieved: May 25, 2020

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 José Iñigo Homer Lacambra Ayala or also known
as Joey Ayala was born on June 1, 1956 in Bukidnon, Philippines.
He was known for his folk and contemporary pop music artist in
the Philippines, he is also known for his songs that are more on
the improvement of the environment. He is a finalist of Philippine
Popular Music Festival 2013.

Source: songhits.ph
Source: songhits.ph Retrieved: May 28, 2020
Retrieved:
May 28, 2020

Merlie M. Alunan graduated from Silliman University with an MA

in Creative Writing in 1974. She teaches at the Creative Writing
Center, University of the Philippines Visayas Tacloban College.
She lives in Tacloban City. She received various awards like
Lillian Jerome Thornton Award for Nonfiction, Don Carlos
Palanca Memorial Award for Literature, National Book Award,
Sunthorn Phu Literary Awards, and Ani ng Dangal. Among her
works are Heartstone, Sacred Tree, Amina among the angels,
Selected poems, Kabilin: 100 Years of Negros Oriental, Fern
Garden: An Anthology of Women Writing in the South, Songs of
ourselves: writings by Filipino women in English, and many other
Source: philstar.com Retrieved: May 25, 2020
Source: philstar.com
Retrieved:
May 25, 2020

Ivy Alvarez is a New Zealand-based Filipino Australian poet,

editor, and reviewer. Alvarez has had her work featured in various
publications in Australia, Canada, England, the Philippines, New
Zealand, Ireland, Russia, Scotland, Wales, the US, South Africa,
and online. Alvarez was born in the Philippines and grew up in
Tasmania, Australia. While reading English at the University of
Tasmania, she published in various literary journals and
anthologies, and subsequently became the reviews editor of
Cordite Poetry Review, an Australian online poetry journal.

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ivy_Alvarez
Source: Retrieved: May 20, 2020
https://en.wikipedia.
org/wiki/Ivy_Alvarez
Retrieved: May 20,
2020

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 Suzette Severo Doctolero (born December 16, 1968 Calabanga,
Camarines Sur) is a Filipino screenwriter for film and television.
She is best known for being the creator of Encantadia
in 2005 and the succeeding related television series including the
Encantadia 2016 reboot. She is mostly credited as screenwriter,
series creator and creative consultant for GMA Network. Her
other works include Amaya, Indio[ and My Husband's Lover. She
also wrote the story for the film Let the Love Begin and became
Source: the creative consultant for the television series Alyas Robin
https://en.wikipedia.or Hood[ and Destined to be Yours.
g/wiki/Suzette_Doctol
ero Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suzette_Doctolero
Retrieved: Retrieved: June 1, 2020
June 1, 2020

Aida Rivera-Ford was born in Jolo, Sulu. She became the editor
of the first two issues of Sands and Coral, the literary magazine
of Silliman University. In 1949, she graduated with an AB degree,
major in English, Cum Laude. In 1954, she obtained an MA in
English Language and Literature at the University of Michigan
and won the prestigious Jules and Avery Hopwood for fiction. In
1980, she founded the first school of Fine Arts in Mindanao – the
Learning Center of the Arts, now known as the Ford Academy of
the Arts.

Source: panitikan.ph Source: panitikan.ph

Retrieved: May 24, Retrieved: May 24, 2020
2020

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Middle summer
By: Manuel Arguilla
(American Colonial Literature)

He pulled down his hat until the wide brim touched his shoulders. He crouched lower under
the cover of his cart and peered ahead. The road seemed to writhe under the lash of the noon-day
heat; it swum from side to side, humped and bent itself like a feeling serpent, and disappeared behind
the spur of a low hill on which grew a scrawny thicket of bamboo.

There was not a house in sight. Along the left side of the road ran the deep, dry gorge of a
stream, the banks sparsely covered by sun-burned cogon grass. In places, the rocky, waterless bed
showed aridly. Farther, beyond the shimmer of quivering heat waves rose ancient hills not less blue
than the cloud-palisaded sky. On the right stretched a land waste of low rolling dunes. Scattered
clumps of hardy ledda relieved

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the otherwise barren monotony of the landscape. Far away he could discern a thin indigo line that
was the sea.

The grating of the cartwheels on the pebbles of the road and the almost soundless shuffle of
the weary bull but emphasized the stillness. Now and then came the dry rustling of falling earth as
lumps from the cracked sides of the gorge fell down to the bottom.

He struck at the bull with the slack of the rope. The animal broke into a heavy trot. The dust
stirred slumbrously. The bull slowed down, threw up his head, and a glistening thread of saliva spun
out into the dry air. The dying rays of the sun were reflected in points of light on the wet, heaving
flanks.

The man in the cart did not notice the woman until she had rounded the spur of land and
stood unmoving beside the road, watching the cart and its occupant come toward her. She was
young, surprisingly sweet and fresh amidst her parched surroundings. A gaily stripped kerchief
covered her head, the ends tied at the nape of her neck. She wore a homespun bodice of light red
cloth with small white checks. Her skirt was also homespun and showed a pattern of white checks
with narrow stripes of yellow and red. With both hands she held by the mouth a large, apparently
empty, water jug, the cool red of which blended well with her dress. She was barefoot.

She stood straight and still beside the road and regarded him with frank curiosity. Suddenly
she turned and disappeared into the dry gorge. Coming to where she had stood a few moments
before, he pulled up the bull and got out of the cart. He saw where a narrow path had been cut into
the bank and stood a while lost in thought, absently wiping the perspiration from his face. Then he
unhitched his bull and for a few moments, with strong brown fingers, kneaded the hot neck of the
beast. Driving the animal before him, he followed the path. It led up the dry bed of the stream; the
sharp fragments of sun-heated rocks were like burning coals under his feet. There was no sign of the
young woman.

He came upon her beyond a bed in the gorge, where a big mango tree, which had partly
fallen from the side of the ravine, cast its cool shade over a well.

She had filled her jar and was rolling the kerchief around her hand into a flat coil which she
placed on her head. Without glancing at him, where he had stopped some distance off, she sat down
of her heels, gathering the fold of her skirt between her wide-spread knees. She tilted the brimful jar to
remove part of the water. One hand on the rim, the other supporting the bottom, she began to raise it
to her head. She knelt on one knee resting, for a moment, the jar onto her head, getting to her feet at
the same time. But she staggered a little and water splashed down on her breast. The single bodice
instantly clung to her bosom molding the twin hillocks of her breasts warmly brown through the wet
cloth. One arm remained uplifted, holding the jar, while the other shook the clinging cloth free of her
drenched flesh. Then not once having raised her eyes, she passed by the young man, who stood
mutely gazing beside his bull. The animal had found some grass along the path and was industriously
grazing.

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 He turned to watch the graceful figure beneath the jar until it vanished around a bend in the
path leading to the road. Then he led the bull to the well, and tethered it to a root of the mango tree.

"The underpart of her arm is white and smooth," he said to his blurred image on the water of
the well, as he leaned over before lowering the bucket made of half a petroleum can. "And her hair is
thick and black." The bucket struck with a rattling impact. It filled with one long gurgle. He threw his
hat on the grass and pulled the bucket up with both hands.

The twisted bamboo rope bit into his hardened palms, and he thought how... the same rope
must hurt her.

He placed the dripping bucket on a flat stone, and the bull drank. "Son of lightning!" he said,
thumping the side of the bull after it had drunk the third bucketful, "you drink like the great Kuantitao!"
A low, rich rumbling rolled through the cavernous body of the beast. He tied it again to the root, and
the animal idly rubbed its horns against the wood. The sun had fallen from the perpendicular, and
noticing that the bull stood partly exposed to the sun, he pushed it farther into shade. He fanned
himself with his hat. He whistled to entice the wind from the sea, but not a breeze stirred.

After a while he put on his hat and hurriedly walked the short distance through the gorge up to
the road where his cart stood. From inside he took a jute sack which he slung over one shoulder. With
the other arm, he gathered part of the hay at the bottom of the cart. He returned to the well, slips of
straw falling behind him as he picked his way from one tuft of grass to another, for the broken rocks of
the path has grown exceedingly hot.

He gave the hay to the bull, its rump was again in the sun, and he had to push it back. "Fool,
do you want to broil yourself alive?" he said good-humoredly, slapping the thick haunches. It switched
its long-haired tail and fell to eating. The dry, sweet- smelling hay made harsh gritting sounds in the
mouth of the hungry animal. Saliva rolled out from the corners, clung to the stiff hairs that fringed the
thick lower lip, fell and gleamed and evaporated in the heated air.

He took out of the jute sack a polished coconut shell. The top had been sawed off and holes
bored at opposite sides, through which a string tied to the lower part of the shell passed in a loop. The
smaller piece could thus be slipped up and down as a cover. The coconut shell contained cooked rice
still a little warm. Buried on the top was an egg now boiled hard. He next brought out a bamboo tube
of salt, a cake of brown sugar wrapped in banana leaf, and some dried shrimps. Then he spread the
sack in what remained of the shade, placed his simple meal thereon, and prepared to eat his dinner.
But first he drew a bucketful of water from the well, setting the bucket on a rock. He seated himself on
another rock and ate with his fingers. From time to time he drank from the bucket.

He was half through with his meal when the girl came down the path once more. She had
changed the wetted bodice. He watched her with lowered head as she

17
approached, and felt a difficulty in continuing to eat, but went through the motions of filling his mouth
nevertheless. He strained his eyes looking at the girl from beneath his eyebrows. How graceful she
was! Her hips tapered smoothly down to round thighs and supple legs, showing against her skirt and
moving straight and free. Her shoulders, small but firm, bore her shapely neck and head with shy
pride.

When she was very near, he ate more hurriedly, so that he almost choked. He did not look at
her. She placed the jar between three stones. When she picked up the rope of the bucket, he came to
himself. He looked up--straight into her face. He saw her eyes. They were brown and were regarding
him gravely, without embarrassment; he forgot his own timidity.

"Won't you join me, Ading?" he said simply. He remained seated.

Her lips parted in a half smile and a little dimple appeared high upon her right cheek. She
shook her head and said: "God reward you, Manong."

"Perhaps the poor food I have is not fit for you?"

"No, no. It isn't that. How can you think of it? I should be ashamed. It is that I have must eaten
myself. That is why I came to get water in the middle of the day--we ran out of it. I see you have eggs
and shrimps and sugar. Why, he had nothing but rice and salt."

"Salt? Surely you joke." "I

would be ashamed..."
"But what is the matter with salt?"

"Salt...salt...Makes baby stout," he intoned. "My grandmother used to sing that to me when I
complained of our food."

They laughed and felt more at ease and regarded each other more openly. He took a long
time fingering his rice before raising it to his mouth, the while he gazed up at her and smiled for no
reason. She smiles back in turn and gave the rope which she held an absent-minded tug. The bucket
came down from its perch of rock in a miniature flood. He leaped to his feet with a surprised yell, and
the next instant the jute sack on which he lay his meal was drenched. Only the rice inside the coconut
shell and the bamboo of tube of salt were
saved from the water.

She was distressed, but he only laughed.

"It is nothing," he said. "It was time I stopped eating. I have filled up to my neck." "Forgive me,
Manong," she insisted. "It was all my fault. Such a clumsy creature

18
 I am."

"It was not your fault," she assured him. "I am to blame for placing the bucket of water where I
did."

"I will draw you another bucketful," he said. "I am stronger than you." "No, you
must let me do it."
But when he caught hold of the bucket and stretched forth a brawny arm for the coil of rope in
her hands, she surrendered both to him quickly and drew back a step as though shy of his touch. He
lowered the bucket with his back to her, and she had time to take in the tallness of him, the breadth of
his shoulders, the sinewy strength of his legs. Down below in the small of his back, two parallel ridges
of rope-like muscle stuck out against the wet shirt. As he hauled up the bucket, muscles rippled all
over his body. His hair, which was wavy, cut short behind but long in fronts fell in a cluster over his
forehead.

"Let me hold the bucket while you drink," she offered.

He flashed her a smile over his shoulders as he poured the water into her jar, and again
lowered the bucket.

"No, no, you must not do that." She hurried to his side and held one of his arms "I couldn't let
you, a stranger..."
"Why not?" He smiled down at her, and noticed a slight film of moisture clinging to the down
on her upper lip and experienced a sudden desire to wipe it away with his forefinger. He continued to
lower the bucket while she had to stand by.

"Hadn't you better move over to the shade?" he suggested, as the bucket struck the water.

"What shall I do there?" she asked sharply, as though the idea of seeking protection from the
heat were contemptible to her.

"You will get roasted standing here in the sun," he said, and began to haul up the bucket.

But she remained beside him, catching the rope as it fell from his hands, coiling it carefully.
The jar was filled, with plenty to drink as she tilted the half-filled can until the water lapped the rim. He
gulped a mouthful, gargled noisily, spewed it out, then commenced to drink in earnest. He took long,
deep droughts of the sweetish water, for he was more thirsty than he had thought. A chuckling sound
persisted in forming inside his throat at every swallow. It made him self-conscious. He was breathless
when through, and red in the face.

19
 "I don't know why it makes that sound," he said, fingering his throat and laughing
shamefacedly.

"Father also makes that sound when he drinks, and mother always laughs at him," she said.
She untied the headkerchief over her hair and started to roll it.

Then sun had descended considerably and there was now hardly any shade under the tree.
The bull was gathering with its tongue stray slips of straw. He untied the animal to lead it to the other
side of the girl who spoke; "Manong, why don't you come to our house and bring your animal with
you? There is shade and you can sleep, though our house is very poor."

She had already placed the jar on her head and stood, half-turned to him, waiting for his
answer.

path.

20
"I would be troubling you, Ading."
"No. You come. I have told mother about you." She turned and went down the

He sent the bull after her with smart slap on its side. Then he quickly gathered the remains of
his meal, put them inside the jute sack which had almost dried, and himself followed. Then seeing that
the bull had stopped to nibble the tufts of grass that dotted the bottom of the gorge, he picked up the
dragging rope and urged the animal on into a trot. They caught up with the girl near the cart. She
stopped to wait.

He did not volunteer a word. He walked a step behind, the bull lumbering in front. More than
ever he was conscious of her person. She carried the jar on her head without holding it. Her hands
swung to her even steps. He drew back his square shoulders, lifted his chin, and sniffed the
motionless air. There was a flourish in the way he flicked the rump of the bull with the rope in his
hand. He felt strong. He felt very strong. He felt that he could follow the slender, lithe figure to the end
of the world.

Sample 2

LOVE IN THE CORNHUSKS

By: Aida Rivera-Ford

Tinang stopped before the Señora’s gate and adjusted the baby’s cap. The dogs that came to
bark at the gate were strange dogs, big-mouthed animals with a sense of superiority. They stuck their
heads through the hogfence, lolling their tongues and straining. Suddenly, from the gumamela row, a
little black mongrel emerged and slithered through the fence with ease. It came to her, head down and
body quivering.
“Bantay! Ay, Bantay!” she exclaimed as the little dog laid its paws upon her shirt to sniff the
baby on her arm. The baby was afraid and cried. The big animals barked with displeasure.

21
 Tito, the young master, had seen her and was calling to his mother. “Ma, it’s Tinang. Ma, Ma,
it’s Tinang.” He came running down to open the gate.
“Aba, you are so tall now, Tito.” He smiled his girl’s smile as he stood by, warding the dogs
off. Tinang passed quickly up the veranda stairs lined with ferns and many-colored bougainvilla. On
landing, she paused to wipe her shoes carefully. About her, the Señora’s white and lavender butterfly
orchids fluttered delicately in the sunshine. She noticed though that the purple waling-waling that had
once been her task to shade from the hot sun with banana leaves and to water with mixture of
charcoal and eggs and water was not in bloom.
“Is no one covering the waling-waling now?” Tinang asked. “It will die.” “Oh, the
maid will come to cover the orchids later.”
The Señora called from inside. “Tinang, let me see your baby. Is it a boy?” “Yes, Ma,” Tito
shouted from downstairs. “And the ears are huge!”
“What do you expect,” replied his mother; “the father is a Bagobo. Even Tinang looks like a
Bagobo now.”
Tinang laughed and felt warmness for her former mistress and the boy Tito. She sat self-
consciously on the black narra sofa, for the first time a visitor. Her eyes clouded. The sight of the
Señora’s flaccidly plump figure, swathed in a loose waist- less housedress that came down to her
ankles, and the faint scent of agua de colonia blended with kitchen spice, seemed to her the essence
of the comfortable world, and she sighed thinking of the long walk home through the mud, the baby’s
legs straddled to her waist, and Inggo, her husband, waiting for her, his body stinking of tuba and
sweat, squatting on the floor, clad only in his foul undergarments.
“Ano, Tinang, is it not a good thing to be married?” the Señora asked, pitying Tinang because
her dress gave way at the placket and pressed at her swollen breasts. It was, as a matter of fact, a
dress she had given Tinang a long time ago.
“It is hard, Señora, very hard. Better that I was working here again.”
“There!” the Señora said. “Didn’t I tell you what it would be like, huh? . . . that you would be a
slave to your husband and that you would work a baby eternally strapped to you. Are you not
pregnant again?”
Tinang squirmed at the Señora’s directness but admitted she was.
“Hala! You will have a dozen before long.” The Señora got up. “Come, I will give you some
dresses and an old blanket that you can cut into things for the baby.”
They went into a cluttered room which looked like a huge closet and as the Señora sorted out
some clothes, Tinang asked, “How is Señor?
“Ay, he is always losing his temper over the tractor drivers. It is not the way it was when
Amado was here. You remember what a good driver he was. The tractors

22
were always kept in working condition. But now . . . I wonder why he left all of a sudden. He said he
would be gone for only two days ”
“I don’t know,” Tinang said. The baby began to cry. Tinang shushed him with irritation.
“Oy, Tinang, come to the kitchen; your Bagobito is hungry.”
For the next hour, Tinang sat in the kitchen with an odd feeling; she watched the girl who was
now in possession of the kitchen work around with a handkerchief clutched I one hand. She had
lipstick on too, Tinang noted. the girl looked at her briefly but did not smile. She set down a can of
evaporated milk for the baby and served her coffee and cake. The Señora drank coffee with her and
lectured about keeping the baby’s stomach bound and training it to stay by itself so she could work.
Finally, Tinang brought up, haltingly, with phrases like “if it will not offend you” and “if you are not too
busy” the purpose of her visit–which was to ask Señora to be a madrina in baptism. The Señora
readily assented and said she would provide the baptismal clothes and the fee for the priest. It was
time to go.
“When are you coming again, Tinang?” the Señora asked as Tinang got the baby ready.
“Don’t forget the bundle of clothes and oh, Tinang, you better stop by
the drugstore. They asked me once whether you were still with us. You have a letter there and I was
going to open it to see if there was bad news but I thought you would be coming.”
A letter! Tinang’s heart beat violently. Somebody is dead; I know somebody is dead, she
thought. She crossed herself and after thanking the Señora profusely, she hurried down. The dogs
came forward and Tito had to restrain them. “Bring me some young corn next time, Tinang,” he called
after her.
Tinang waited a while at the drugstore which was also the post office of the barrio. Finally, the
man turned to her: “Mrs., do you want medicine for your baby or for yourself?”
“No, I came for my letter. I was told I have a letter.” “And
what is your name, Mrs.?” He drawled. “Constantina Tirol.”
The man pulled a box and slowly went through the pile of envelopes most of which were
scribbled in pencil, “Tirol, Tirol, Tirol..........................................” He finally pulled out a letter and
handed it to her. She stared at the unfamiliar scrawl. It was not from her sister and she could think of no
one else who could write to her.
Santa Maria, she thought; maybe something has happened to my sister. “Do you want me
to read it for you?”

23
 “No, no.” She hurried from the drugstore, crushed that he should think her illiterate. With the
baby on one arm and the bundle of clothes on the other and the letter clutched in her hand she found
herself walking toward home.
The rains had made a deep slough of the clay road and Tinang followed the prints left by the
men and the carabaos that had gone before her to keep from sinking mud up to her knees. She was
deep in the road before she became conscious of her shoes. In horror, she saw that they were coated
with thick, black clay. Gingerly, she pulled off one shoe after the other with the hand still clutching to
the letter. When she had tied the shoes together with the laces and had slung them on an arm, the
baby, the bundle, and the letter were all smeared with mud.
There must be a place to put the baby down, she thought, desperate now about the letter.
She walked on until she spotted a corner of a field where cornhusks were scattered under a
kalamansi tree. She shoved together a pile of husks with her foot and laid the baby down upon it. With
a sigh, she drew the letter from the envelope. She stared at the letter which was written in English.
My dearest Tinay,
Hello, how is life getting along? Are you still in good condition? As for myself, the
same as usual. But you’re far from my side. It is not easy to be far from our lover.
Tinay, do you still love me? I hope your kind and generous heart will never fade.
Someday or somehow I’ll be there again to fulfill our promise.
Many weeks and months have elapsed. Still I remember our bygone days. Especially
when I was suffering with the heat of the tractor under the heat of the sun. I was always in
despair until I imagine your personal appearance coming forward bearing the sweetest smile
that enabled me to view the distant horizon.
Tinay, I could not return because I found that my mother was very ill. That is why I
was not able to take you as a partner of life. Please respond to my missive at once so that I
know whether you still love me or not. I hope you did not love anybody except myself.
I think I am going beyond the limit of your leisure hours, so I close with best wishes to
you, my friends Gonding, Sefarin, Bondio, etc.
Yours forever, Amado

P.S. My mother died last month. Address your

letter:
Mr. Amado Galauran
Binalunan, Cotabato

24
 It was Tinang’s first love letter. A flush spread over her face and crept into her body. She re
ad the letter again. “It is not easy to be far from our lover. I imagine
your personal appearance coming forward. . . . Someday, somehow I’ll be there to fulfill our promise. .
. .” Tinang was intoxicated. She pressed herself against the kamansi tree.
My lover is true to me. He never meant to desert me. Amado, she thought.
Amado.
And she cried, remembering the young girl she was less than two years ago when she would
take food to Señor in the field and the laborers would eye her furtively. She thought herself above
them for she was always neat and clean in her hometown, before she went away to work, she had
gone to school and had reached sixth grade. Her skin, too, was not as dark as those of the girls who
worked in the fields weeding around the clumps of abaca. Her lower lip jutted out disdainfully when
the farm hands spoke to her with many flattering words. She laughed when a Bagobo with two
hectares of land asked her to marry him. It was only Amado, the tractor driver, who could look at her
and make her lower her eyes. He was very dark and wore filthy and torn clothes on the farm but on
Saturdays when he came up to the house for his week’s salary, his hair was slicked down and he
would be dressed as well as Mr. Jacinto, the school teacher. Once he told her he would study in the
city night-schools and take up mechanical engineering someday. He had not said much more to her
but one afternoon when she was bidden to take some bolts and tools to him in the field, a great
excitement came over her. The shadows moved fitfully in the bamboo groves she passed and the cool
November air edged into her nostrils sharply. He stood unmoving beside the tractor with tools and
parts scattered on the ground around him. His eyes were a black glow as he watched her draw near.
When she held out the bolts, he seized her wrist and said: “Come,” pulling her to the screen of trees
beyond. She resisted but his arms were strong. He embraced her roughly and awkwardly, and she
trembled and gasped and clung to him. . . .
A little green snake slithered languidly into the tall grass a few yards from the kamansi tree.
Tinang started violently and remembered her child. It lay motionless on the mat of husk. With a shriek
she grabbed it wildly and hugged it close. The baby awoke from its sleep and cries lustily. Ave Maria
Santisima. Do not punish me, she prayed, searching the baby’s skin for marks. Among the cornhusks,
the letter fell unnoticed.

Karaniwang Tao
Joey Ayala

25
 Ako po'y karaniwang tao lamang
Kayod-kabayo, 'yan ang alam
Karaniwang hanap-buhay
Karaniwan ang problema Pagkain,
damit at tirahan

'Di ko kabisado 'yang siyensya

Ako'y nalilito sa maraming salita
Alam ko lang na itong planeta'y
Walang kapalit at dapat ingatan
Kapag nasira, sino ang kawawa

Chorus
Karaniwang tao, saan ka tatakbo
Kapag nawasak iisang mundo
Karaniwang tao, anong magagawa
Upang bantayan ang kalikasan

Karaniwang bagay ay 'di pansin Kapag

naipon ay nagiging suliranin Kaunting
basura ngayo'y bundok Kotseng sira
ay umuusok
Sabong panlaba'y pumapatay sa ilog

May lason na galing sa industriya

Ibinubuga ng mga pabrika
Ngunit 'di lamang higante Ang
nagkakalat ng dumi
May kinalaman din ang tulad natin
[Repeat chorus twice]
Karaniwang tao [4x]
[Repeat chorus]

Karaniwang tao
[Repeat till fade]

WHAT’S MORE

FROM THE STORY “MIDSUMMER” BY MANUEL ARGUILLA

1. The two contrasting images in the story are
a. aridity and freshness b. love and hate c. hope and despair
2. Manong came upon Ading beyond a bend in the gorge where a big tree cast a cool shade
a. bamboo b. atis c. mango
3. Ading brought with her a __ when she met Manong.
a. jug b. coconut shell c. pail
4. The story “Midsummer” effectively depicts the _.
a. rural setting b. urban setting c. city life
5. The presence of Ading amidst the parch sorrounding added the sense of_ .
a. beauty b. freshness c. hope
26
6. The man showed his machismo to the woman by _.
a. inviting her to eat b. helping her to draw water c. looking at her intently

7. Ading showed that she also liked Manong when she __

a. invited him to come to their house to rest
b. went back to the gorge to fetch water again
c. gave him water to drink
8. The author of the story was .
a. Aida Rivera-Ford b. Manel Arguilla c. Ivy Alvarez
9. "Son of lightning!" is referred to
a. pig b. bull c. horse
10. The narrator of the story is .
a. writer himself b. Ading c. Manong

FROM THE STORY “LOVE IN THE CORNHUSK” by Aida Rivera-Ford

1. Tinang was married to a
a. Manobo b. Bagobo c. Muslim
2. The post office of the barrio was the .
a. school b. drugstore c. barangay hall
3. Amado left the seńora’s house because his was sick.
a. mother b. sister c. father

27
4. The purpose of Tinang’s visit was to ask the seńora to be the madrina in her son’s
a. wedding b. confirmation c. baptism
5. “Love in the Cornhusks” was written by__.
a. Aida Rivera-Ford b. Manuel Arguilla c. Joey Ayala
6. The story was entitled “Love in the Cornhusks” because .
a. Tinang received her first love letter
b. Tinang remebered her lost love when she read the letter amidst the cornhusks
c. Tinang and Amado fell in love in the cornhusks.

7. At what point in her life did Tinang make a serious mistake?

a. When she married a Bagobo without waiting for Amado’s return.
b. When she allowed herself to fall in love with Amado.
c. When she left the seńora’s house.
8. The main theme of the story is .
a. Making impulsive decisions in life can cause misery.
b. The consequences of one’s action is irreparable.
c. In making life’s important decision, it is better to think twice.
9. What did Amado say in his letter that made Tinang intoxicated?
a. “It is not easy to be far from our lover. . .
b. I imagine your personal appearance coming forward. . .
c. Someday, somehow I’ll be there to fulfill our promise…
d. all of the above
10. What do these mean, “Ave Maria Santisima. Do not punish me”?
a. Tinang realized that she should not have thought intensely about Amado.
b. Tinang should not put her baby on the cornhusk to sleep
c. both a and b
Instructions: What word in the box that corresponds to each of the following
statements below. Write the letter of your choice in your notebook.

a. Lourd de Veyra h. Anthony Tan

b. Ralph Semino Galan i. Joey Ayala
c. Internet j. Aida Rivera Ford
d. blogs k. Ivy Alvarez
e. Sen. Alan Peter Cayetano l. Manuel Arguilla
f. magazines m. Merlie M. Alunan
g. Suzette Severo Doctolero

1. Through its existence, many contempohra. ryAnatuhtohnoyrsTaanre publishing their work

online.

28
 i. Joey Ayala
2. He is a writer associated in National Caj.pitaAlidRaeRgiivoenr.a Ford
3. An example of 21st Century Literature okf. thIveyPAhlvilaiprepzines.
4. He remarked that government should slt.opMgaivniunegl tAhregubiullalk of its national
budget
to Metro Manila alone.

29
 m. Merlie M. Alunan
5. A writer who comes from Northern Mindanao.
6. She is a Filipino screenwriter for film and television.
7. He is a writer and Chair of the English Dept. at MSU-Iligan Institute of Technology
where he continues to teach.
8. He is a singer and composer of “Karaniwang Tao” song.
9. The writer of “Midsummer”
10. The writer of “Love in the Cornhusks”

30
21ST CENTURY LITERARY GENRES

LESSON 3ELEMENTS, STRUCTURES AND TRADITIONS

INSTRUCTIONS: Read and answer the following statements. Write the letter with correct answer
in your notebook.
1. These are forms of folk lyric that speak volumes of the typical rural lives and reflect
people’s aspirations and lifestyles.
a. proverbs b. riddles c. songs d. epics

2. These are called sawikain or salawikain.

a. riddles b. folk songs c. epics d. proverbs

3. These are long narrative accounts of heroic exploits.

a. epics b. legends c. chants d. fables

4. It is a hybrid genre that incorporates elements of fiction and poetry in retelling of a

personal experience.
a. drama b. creative nonfiction c. creative fiction d. novel
5. Defined as narrative literary works whose content is produced by the imagination
a. drama b. nonfiction c. fiction d. creative nonfiction

What is the definition of literary genre?

Literary genre is a category of literary composition. Genres may be determined by
literary technique, tone, content, or even (as in the case of fiction) length. The distinctions
between genres and categories are flexible and loosely defined, often with subgroups.

The most general genres in literature are epic, tragedy, comedy, and creative
nonfiction. They can all be in the form of prose or poetry. Additionally, a genre such as satire,
allegory or pastoral might appear in any of the above, not only as a sub- genre, but as a
mixture of genres
Finally, they are defined by the general cultural movement of the historical period in
which they were composed. Genre should not be confused with age categories, by which
literature may be classified as either adult, young-adult, or children's. They also must not be
confused with format, such as graphic novel or picture book.-SHS Curriculum Guide, 21st
Century Literature of the Philippines and the World.

What are the Literary Genres in the Philippines?

The multiplicity of Philippine literature progressed alongside its rich history. Its themes
are rooted in the context of the Philippine’s pre-colonial cultural traditions and the socio-
political histories of its colonial and contemporary ways. However, some Filipinos encounter
unfamiliarity with the literature of the past essentially due to what has been taught upon us,
that our country was ‘discovered’ and, hence, Philippine ‘history’ began in March 1521.
Through the comprehensive works of archaeologists, anthropologists, and
ethnologists, we have known more information about our pre-colonial times established
against loads of material about early Filipinos as recorded by chroniclers
of the past. Let us now look into the different Philippine literary genres that emerged through
time.
The Pre-colonial Period
The Pre-colonial Filipinos demonstrated rich-lived experiences orally expressed in
their folk speeches, songs, narratives, and indigenous rituals and mimetic dances. These are
passed down from generation to generation. The most common of these are:
a. Riddles – These are mystifying statements or questions phrased and rhymed to require
ingenuity in determining its answer. These are presented as a game and considered as
forms of entertainment during the earlier times. Talinghaga or metaphor is dominant in any
riddles as it discloses subtle comparisons between unlike things, thus, wit and
observation are required in this mental exercise.
For the Visayans, these are called tigmo, for the Tagalogs, bugtong. For the Ilongos,
paktakon and for the Bicolanos, atototdon. Here are the examples:

Tigmo
Baboy sa lasang (A wild pig in the forest,)
Ang tunok puro lansang. (Is covered with spikes)
Answer: Nangka (Jackfruit)

Paktakon
Ano nga tuboran Masulog sa tag-init, (What spring flow in summer)
Ginabubsan kong tag-ulan?. (and run dry on rainy days?) Answer:
Balhas (Sweat)

b. Proverbs - These are called sawikain or salawikain in Tagalog or sarsarita in Ilocano.

Philippine proverbs are wise sayings that prescribe codes of behavior, mirror societal
norms, traditions, and beliefs and impart lessons in brief, rhyming verse. Read the
examples below:
Ilocano on Guilt Hiligaynon on Suffering
Ti agutak, (He who cackles) Kon indi ikaw mag-antos (If you don’t sacrifice)
Isut nagitlog. (laid the egg.) Indi ka gid magsantos.( You can’t be a saint.)
c. Songs – These are forms of folk lyric speak volumes of the typical rural lives and reflect people’s
aspirations and lifestyles. Here are some song categories of our ancestors:
Folk Lullaby Serenade
Songs
(Oyayi) (Harana)
(Awit ng
i. Folk Songs (Awit ng Bayan) – These are songs with lines often described as
repetitive, didactic, and sonorous. The following are examples of famous Filipino folk
songs

ii. Lullaby (Oyayi) – These are soothing songs often sung to put babies to sleep. The
following is an Ilocano lullaby with its English translation:

iii. Serenade (Harana) – These are courtship songs used by young men to capture
the heart of the girl they love.

d. Chants (Bulong) – These are used to give respect, excuse, or apology to unseen or other
elemental spirits our ancestors believed in to deliver them from danger or harm. Moreover, these
are utilized in enchantments and even in withcfraft. Read the examples below:

Tabi-tabi po, Ingkong, makikiraan po lamang (Tagalog) Bari-bari

po, Apo, umisbo la ting tao. (Ilokano)
Ikaw ang nagnanakaw ng bigas ko
Lumuwa sana ang mata mo Mamaga
sana ang katawan mo Patayin ka ng mga
anito.
 e. Epics – These are long narrative accounts of heroic exploits. Examples of these are Darangen in
Maranaw, Aliguyon at Hudhud in Ifugao, Ibalon in Bicol.
Below is a guman or epic of the Subanen people of Zamboanga, which is chanted during
Buklog or festivals.

f. Myths – These are symbolic narratives, usually of unknown origin and at least partly traditional,
that ostensibly relate actual events and are especially associated with religious belief. Ancient
Filipino myths include The Story of Bathala, and Ang Pag-aaway ng Dagat at Langit.

g. Legends – These are stories that explain the origin of things and phenomena in the surrounding
world. Some of the most famous legends are: The Legend of Maria Makiling, The Legend of
Mayon, and The Legend of Sampaguita.

h. Fables – These are brief stories for the children of the native Filipinos. These talk about
supernatural or extraordinary people and usually follow in the form of narration that demonstrates
a useful truth. These stories use animals as characters to represent a particular attribute or
characteristic. One of the most orally narrated Filipino fables is Ang Kuneho at ang Pagong.

Folk tales (Kwentong Bayan) – These are stories that deal with the power of nature-personified, their
submission to a deity (Bathala), and how the deity is responsible for the blessings and the curses in the
form of calamities. These are often passed on from generation to generation by word of mouth.

After knowing the literary genres of the Pre-colonial Philippines, can you cite local/ regional examples of
riddles, proverbs, songs, epics, myths, and folktales? Share it in class.
The Spanish Period
The Spanish colonizers ruled the country for over 300 years. They used the cross to influence
and impose their religion upon the natives. For more than three centuries of colonization in the
Philippines, not only was our history as a nation altered but also our traditions, lifestyles, and belief
systems. This has immensely influenced our literature. A shift of interest from writing about nature to
writing about the Christian faith – of hymns, saints, miracles, and the teaching of the church, took
place. Most of the writings were religious, secular, and at the latter part, propaganda and
revolutionary.
Religious matters were in the form of prose as prayer books, novenas, biographies of saints,
and the likes. Senakulo, a Filipino dramatization of the life and times of Jesus Christ presented during
the Lent, was widely held. Pasyon, Philippine epic narrative of the life of Jesus Christ, was written in
stanzas with five lines of eight syllables each and focused on his Passion, Death, and Resurrection.
Dalit (psalm), a song praising God or the Virgin Mary and containing a philosophy of life, also became
popular.
Secular or Non-religious literature also flourished. These are prominently tales of valiance
and adventure. They include the following:
a. Awit (Song)– These have measures of twelve syllables (dodecasyllabic) and are slowly
sung to the accompaniment of a guitar or banduria. Francisco Baltazar’s Florante at
Laura is the best example for this.
b. Kurido (Corrido) - These are metrical romances and tales that follow a structure of a
poem. These have measures of eight syllables (octosyllabic) and recited to a martial beat.
More often, these are tales of chivalry where a knight saves a princess. Ibong Adarna is
an example of this.
c. Karagatan - This is a poetic vehicle of a socio-religious nature celebrated during the
death of a person.
d. Duplo – This is a poetic joust in speaking and reasoning.
e. Prose Narratives – These are instructional materials that teach Filipinos proper
decorum. Pagsusulatan ng Dalawang Binibini na si Urbana at Feliza (1864) is an
example.
f. Sarswela – This is a type of drama that originated in Spain. It includes singing and
dancing on stage with lyrics alternatively spoken and sung in operatic and popular styles.
 The exposure of the Filipinos to Europe’s liberal idealism, the martyrdom of GomBurZa, the
Cavite Mutiny in 1872 and the Spanish Revolution in 1868 led to Filipino consciousness (Martin,
Guevarra, del Campo, 2016). This gave birth to two crucial and historic movements during this time –
the Propaganda movement and the Revolutionary movement which awakened nationalism. The
Propaganda movement
was reformatory in objective and its members were Jose Rizal, Marcelo H. del Pilar, and Graciano Lopez-Jaena.
They have published news, editorial, and satires that attacked Spanish rule.
The exposure of the evils of the Spanish rule in the Philippines was because of Rizal’s novels: Noli Me
Tangere and El Filibusterismo and has paved the way to a revolution against Spain. Del Pilar’s essays and
editorials in Diariong Tagalog which he founded with Lopez-Jaena’s articles in La Solidaridad (where he was an
editor) reflected nationalism that was dominant at this time. Lopez Jaena’s Fray Botod (1876) exposed how some
friars were greedy, immoral, and ambitious. Del Pilar’s Dasalan at Tocsohan (Prayers and Jokes) was similar to
that of a catechism but sarcastically done against the Spanish priests.
Revolutionary literature also loomed with exposes that sparked revolution and resistance among the
Filipinos. Andres Bonifacio’s Katungkulang Gagawin ng mga Anak ng Bayan (Obligations of our Countrymen)
outlined the obligations of Filipinos toward nationalism. Apolinario Mabini’s essay titled El Desarollo y Caida de la
Republica Filipina (The Rise and Fall of Philippine Republic) highlighted the establishment of Philippine Republic
and its subsequent downfall due to disunity among the Filipinos. Emilio Jacinto’s collection of essays called
Liwanag at Dilim (Light and Darkness) was on work, faith, freedom, government, and patriotism.

The American Period

The Philippines had a great leap in education and culture during the American colonization. During their
time in the country, public school system was introduced and the usage of both English and Filipino was
practiced.
The literature during the American period was imitative of the form of American writing. Forms of poetry
still followed the old structure but had contents that ranged from free writing and societal concerns under the
American regime. Some poems focused on non-traditional themes such that of Jose Corazon de Jesus’ Mga
Gintong Dahon (1920). This is a collection poem that tackled themes on passion-slaying, grief- induced, insanity
and lover’s suicide. Drama also became popular as it was used to degrade the Spanish rule and immortalized the
heroism of Filipinos who fought under the Katipunan. Remake novels also took up Dr. Jose Rizal’s portrayal of
social conditions under colonial repression.
Severino Reyes led the movement to supplant the komedya with a new type of drama, the sarswela
(adaptation of the Spanish zarzuela). Sarswelas such as Juan Abad’s Tanikalang Guinto (1902), Juan Matapang
Cruz’s Hindi Ako Patay (1903), and Aurelio Tolentino’s Kahapon, Ngayon, at Bukas (1903) allegorically
presented the history of nationalist struggle.
The Japanese Period and the Republic
With the coming of the Japanese invaders, Philippine literature came to a halt. The English
language was banned and the Filipino language was mandated under Japanese rule. For some, this
seemed to be a problem but for others it was a blessing in disguise. Filipino literature was given a
break in this period as many wrote plays, novels, poems, short stories with themes circling on life in
the province, the arts, nationalism, and the likes. Many plays were reproduced from English to
Tagalog.
Writing during the Japanese reign were journalistic in nature. People felt suppressed but the
spirit of nationalism slowly seeped into their consciousness. Thus, essays were composed to glorify
Filipinos and to figuratively attack the Japanese.

21st Century Literature of the Philippines

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

Just as technology advanced in the 21st century, Filipinos have also adapted, invented, and
written some literary innovations far different from before. Philippine literature, nowadays, deals with
current themes on technological culture and traces artistic representation of shared experiences.
These works are characterized as gender sensitive, technologically alluding, culturally pluralistic,
operates on the extreme reality or extreme fiction, and questions conventions and supposedly
absolute norms. There are a lot of new forms from the basic genres of literature; thus, proving how far
the literature in the Philippines has gone and how far it will go on from here.
The following are the most notable literary genres in the 21st century:
a. Drama- It is the genre of literature with stories composed of verse or prose which is meant to be
dramatically or theatrically performed. Its emotions and conflicts are expressed through dialogue
and movements or actions.

b. Creative nonfiction – It is also known as literary nonfiction or narrative nonfiction, is a genre of

writing that uses literary styles and techniques to create factually accurate narratives.

c. Blog – It is a web log containing short articles called posts that can be changed regularly. Some
blogs are written by one person (called blogger) containing his/her hobbies or interests, opinions,
and experiences, while others are written by many different people.
d. Poetry – It is a verse and rhythmic writing with imagery that evokes an emotional response from
the reader. Mina Roy defines poetry as “prose bewitched”. If fiction is concerned with plot action,
poetry is “life distilled” through words and language. Poetry works via suggestion, implication, and
ambiguity rather than straightforward communication. The art of poetry is rhythmical in
composition, written or spoken. Poetry is for entertaining and exciting pleasure by beautiful,
imaginative, or elevated thoughts.

i. Mobile phone Text tula - A particular example of this poem is a tanaga, a type of
Filipino poem, consisting of four lines with seven syllables each with the same rhyme
at the end of each line - that is to say a 7-7-7-7 syllabic verse, with an AABB rhyme
scheme. The modern tanaga still uses the 7777 syllable count, but rhymes range from
dual rhyme forms: AABB, ABAB, ABBA; to freestyle forms such as AAAB, BAAA, or
ABCD. Tanagas do not have titles traditionally because the tanaga should speak for
itself. However, moderns can opt to give them titles. Text tula is often read on cellular
phones.
ii. Hyperpoetry – It is a form of digital poetry that uses links using hypertext mark-up. It
is a very visual form, and is related to hypertext fiction and visual arts. The links mean
that a hypertext poem has no set order, the poem moving or being generated in
response to the links that the reader/user chooses. It can either involve set words,
phrases, lines, etc. that are presented in variable order but sit on the page much as
traditional poetry does, or it can contain parts of the poem that move and
/ or mutate. It is usually found online. The earliest examples date to no later than the
mid-1980s.
iii. Spoken word poetry – It is a poem that has made its way into the hearts and souls
of thousands of Filipinos especially the millennials. It is a type of poem performed or
read in artistic and emotive manner which can be accompanied by music or
presented in the streets or bars, even café shops. It is an oral art that focuses on the
aesthetics of word play such as intonation and voice inflection. It is a "catchall" term
that includes any kind of poetry recited aloud, including poetry readings, poetry
slams, jazz poetry, and hip hop, and can include comedy routines and prose
monologues. The most viewed YouTube Filipino spoken word artist is Juan Miguel
Severo whose original poems have been performed in TV dramas like On The Wings
of Love.

e. Fiction - Fiction has genres that can be defined as narrative literary works whose content is
produced by the imagination and is not necessarily based on fact. In fiction something is feigned,
invented, or imagined; a made-up story.
Examples are the following:

i. Short Story – This is brief fiction that can be read in one seating and is not able to
support any subplots.

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

iii. Flash fiction – This is a style of fictional literature or fiction of extreme brevity. There
is no widely accepted definition of the length of the category. Some self-described
markets for flash fiction impose caps as low as three hundred words, while others
consider stories as long as a thousand words to be flash fiction.
iv. Realistic Fiction – It is a story that can actually happen and is true to real life.

v. Historical Fiction- It is a story with fictional characters and events in a historical

setting.
vi. Horror – These are frightfully shocking, terrifying, or revolting stories.

vii. Mystery – It deals with unraveling of secrets and solution of a crime.

viii. Illustrated Novels – These are stories through text and illustrated images.
ix. Graphic Novels – These are narratives in comic book formats.
x. Speculative Fiction – It is a term encompassing the more fantastical fiction genres,
specifically science fiction, fantasy, horror, weird fiction, supernatural fiction,
superhero fiction, utopian and dystopian fiction, apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic
fiction, and alternate history in literature as well as related static, motion, and virtual
arts.

a. Science Fiction – It is a story based on impact of potential science, either actual

or imagined and is set in the future or on other planets.

b. Fantasy – It is the forming of mental images with strange or other worldly

settings or characters and invites suspension of reality.
c. Humor – It is the faculty of perceiving what is amusing or comical. It is fiction full of
fun, fancy, and excitement which meant to entertain. This genre of literature can
actually be seen and contained within all genres
Fantasy – It is the forming of mental images with strange or other worldly settings or characters and invites
suspension of reality.
Humor – It is the faculty of perceiving what is amusing or comical. It is fiction full of fun, fancy,
and excitement which meant to entertain. This genre of literature can actually be seen and
contained within all genres.
 i. Songs – These are forms of folk lyric speak volumes of the typical rural lives and reflect people’s
aspirations and lifestyles. Here are some song categories of our ancestors:
Folk Lullaby Serenade
Songs
(Oyayi) (Harana)
(Awit ng
i. Folk Songs (Awit ng Bayan) – These are songs with lines often described as
repetitive, didactic, and sonorous. The following are examples of famous Filipino folk
songs

ii. Lullaby (Oyayi) – These are soothing songs often sung to put babies to sleep. The
following is an Ilocano lullaby with its English translation:

iii. Serenade (Harana) – These are courtship songs used by young men to capture
the heart of the girl they love.

j. Chants (Bulong) – These are used to give respect, excuse, or apology to unseen or other
elemental spirits our ancestors believed in to deliver them from danger or harm. Moreover, these
are utilized in enchantments and even in withcfraft. Read the examples below:

Tabi-tabi po, Ingkong, makikiraan po lamang (Tagalog) Bari-bari

po, Apo, umisbo la ting tao. (Ilokano)
Ikaw ang nagnanakaw ng bigas ko
Lumuwa sana ang mata mo Mamaga
sana ang katawan mo Patayin ka ng mga
anito.

k. Epics – These are long narrative accounts of heroic exploits. Examples of these are Darangen in
Maranaw, Aliguyon at Hudhud in Ifugao, Ibalon in Bicol.
Below is a guman or epic of the Subanen people of Zamboanga, which is chanted during
Buklog or festivals.

l. Myths – These are symbolic narratives, usually of unknown origin and at least partly traditional,
that ostensibly relate actual events and are especially associated with religious belief. Ancient
Filipino myths include The Story of Bathala, and Ang Pag-aaway ng Dagat at Langit.

m. Legends – These are stories that explain the origin of things and phenomena in the surrounding
world. Some of the most famous legends are: The Legend of Maria Makiling, The Legend of
Mayon, and The Legend of Sampaguita.

n. Fables – These are brief stories for the children of the native Filipinos. These talk about
supernatural or extraordinary people and usually follow in the form of narration that demonstrates
a useful truth. These stories use animals as characters to represent a particular attribute or
characteristic. One of the most orally narrated Filipino fables is Ang Kuneho at ang Pagong.

Folk tales (Kwentong Bayan) – These are stories that deal with the power of nature-personified, their
submission to a deity (Bathala), and how the deity is responsible for the blessings and the curses in the
form of calamities. These are often passed on from generation to generation by word of mouth.

After knowing the literary genres of the Pre-colonial Philippines, can you cite local/ regional examples of
riddles, proverbs, songs, epics, myths, and folktales? Share it in class.
The Spanish Period
The Spanish colonizers ruled the country for over 300 years. They used the cross to influence
and impose their religion upon the natives. For more than three centuries of colonization in the
Philippines, not only was our history as a nation altered but also our traditions, lifestyles, and belief
systems. This has immensely influenced our literature. A shift of interest from writing about nature to
writing about the Christian faith – of hymns, saints, miracles, and the teaching of the church, took
place. Most of the writings were religious, secular, and at the latter part, propaganda and
revolutionary.
Religious matters were in the form of prose as prayer books, novenas, biographies of saints,
and the likes. Senakulo, a Filipino dramatization of the life and times of Jesus Christ presented during
the Lent, was widely held. Pasyon, Philippine epic narrative of the life of Jesus Christ, was written in
stanzas with five lines of eight syllables each and focused on his Passion, Death, and Resurrection.
Dalit (psalm), a song praising God or the Virgin Mary and containing a philosophy of life, also became
popular.
Secular or Non-religious literature also flourished. These are prominently tales of valiance
and adventure. They include the following:
g. Awit (Song)– These have measures of twelve syllables (dodecasyllabic) and are slowly
sung to the accompaniment of a guitar or banduria. Francisco Baltazar’s Florante at
Laura is the best example for this.
h. Kurido (Corrido) - These are metrical romances and tales that follow a structure of a
poem. These have measures of eight syllables (octosyllabic) and recited to a martial beat.
More often, these are tales of chivalry where a knight saves a princess. Ibong Adarna is
an example of this.
i. Karagatan - This is a poetic vehicle of a socio-religious nature celebrated during the
death of a person.
j. Duplo – This is a poetic joust in speaking and reasoning.
k. Prose Narratives – These are instructional materials that teach Filipinos proper
decorum. Pagsusulatan ng Dalawang Binibini na si Urbana at Feliza (1864) is an
example.
l. Sarswela – This is a type of drama that originated in Spain. It includes singing and
dancing on stage with lyrics alternatively spoken and sung in operatic and popular styles.
The exposure of the Filipinos to Europe’s liberal idealism, the martyrdom of GomBurZa, the
Cavite Mutiny in 1872 and the Spanish Revolution in 1868 led to Filipino consciousness (Martin,
Guevarra, del Campo, 2016). This gave birth to two crucial and historic movements during this time –
the Propaganda movement and the Revolutionary movement which awakened nationalism. The
Propaganda movement
was reformatory in objective and its members were Jose Rizal, Marcelo H. del Pilar, and Graciano
Lopez-Jaena. They have published news, editorial, and satires that attacked Spanish rule.
The exposure of the evils of the Spanish rule in the Philippines was because of Rizal’s
novels: Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo and has paved the way to a revolution against Spain.
Del Pilar’s essays and editorials in Diariong Tagalog which he founded with Lopez-Jaena’s articles in
La Solidaridad (where he was an editor) reflected nationalism that was dominant at this time. Lopez
Jaena’s Fray Botod (1876) exposed how some friars were greedy, immoral, and ambitious. Del Pilar’s
Dasalan at Tocsohan (Prayers and Jokes) was similar to that of a catechism but sarcastically done
against the Spanish priests.
Revolutionary literature also loomed with exposes that sparked revolution and resistance
among the Filipinos. Andres Bonifacio’s Katungkulang Gagawin ng mga Anak ng Bayan (Obligations
of our Countrymen) outlined the obligations of Filipinos toward nationalism. Apolinario Mabini’s essay
titled El Desarollo y Caida de la Republica Filipina (The Rise and Fall of Philippine Republic)
highlighted the establishment of Philippine Republic and its subsequent downfall due to disunity
among the Filipinos. Emilio Jacinto’s collection of essays called Liwanag at Dilim (Light and
Darkness) was on work, faith, freedom, government, and patriotism.

The American Period

The Philippines had a great leap in education and culture during the American colonization.
During their time in the country, public school system was introduced and the usage of both English
and Filipino was practiced.
The literature during the American period was imitative of the form of American writing. Forms
of poetry still followed the old structure but had contents that ranged from free writing and societal
concerns under the American regime. Some poems focused on non-traditional themes such that of
Jose Corazon de Jesus’ Mga Gintong Dahon (1920). This is a collection poem that tackled themes on
passion-slaying, grief- induced, insanity and lover’s suicide. Drama also became popular as it was
used to degrade the Spanish rule and immortalized the heroism of Filipinos who fought under the
Katipunan. Remake novels also took up Dr. Jose Rizal’s portrayal of social conditions under colonial
repression.
Severino Reyes led the movement to supplant the komedya with a new type of drama, the
sarswela (adaptation of the Spanish zarzuela). Sarswelas such as Juan Abad’s Tanikalang Guinto
(1902), Juan Matapang Cruz’s Hindi Ako Patay (1903), and Aurelio Tolentino’s Kahapon, Ngayon, at
Bukas (1903) allegorically presented the history of nationalist struggle.
The Japanese Period and the Republic
With the coming of the Japanese invaders, Philippine literature came to a halt. The English
language was banned and the Filipino language was mandated under Japanese rule. For some, this
seemed to be a problem but for others it was a blessing in disguise. Filipino literature was given a
break in this period as many wrote plays, novels, poems, short stories with themes circling on life in
the province, the arts, nationalism, and the likes. Many plays were reproduced from English to
Tagalog.
Writing during the Japanese reign were journalistic in nature. People felt suppressed but the
spirit of nationalism slowly seeped into their consciousness. Thus, essays were composed to glorify
Filipinos and to figuratively attack the Japanese.

21st Century Literature of the Philippines

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

Just as technology advanced in the 21st century, Filipinos have also adapted, invented, and
written some literary innovations far different from before. Philippine literature, nowadays, deals with
current themes on technological culture and traces artistic representation of shared experiences.
These works are characterized as gender sensitive, technologically alluding, culturally pluralistic,
operates on the extreme reality or extreme fiction, and questions conventions and supposedly
absolute norms. There are a lot of new forms from the basic genres of literature; thus, proving how far
the literature in the Philippines has gone and how far it will go on from here.
The following are the most notable literary genres in the 21st century:
f. Drama- It is the genre of literature with stories composed of verse or prose which is meant to be
dramatically or theatrically performed. Its emotions and conflicts are expressed through dialogue
and movements or actions.

g. Creative nonfiction – It is also known as literary nonfiction or narrative nonfiction, is a genre of

writing that uses literary styles and techniques to create factually accurate narratives.

h. Blog – It is a web log containing short articles called posts that can be changed regularly. Some
blogs are written by one person (called blogger) containing his/her hobbies or interests, opinions,
and experiences, while others are written by many different people.
i. Poetry – It is a verse and rhythmic writing with imagery that evokes an emotional response from
the reader. Mina Roy defines poetry as “prose bewitched”. If fiction is concerned with plot action,
poetry is “life distilled” through words and language. Poetry works via suggestion, implication, and
ambiguity rather than straightforward communication. The art of poetry is rhythmical in
composition, written or spoken. Poetry is for entertaining and exciting pleasure by beautiful,
imaginative, or elevated thoughts.

i. Mobile phone Text tula - A particular example of this poem is a tanaga, a type of
Filipino poem, consisting of four lines with seven syllables each with the same rhyme
at the end of each line - that is to say a 7-7-7-7 syllabic verse, with an AABB rhyme
scheme. The modern tanaga still uses the 7777 syllable count, but rhymes range from
dual rhyme forms: AABB, ABAB, ABBA; to freestyle forms such as AAAB, BAAA, or
ABCD. Tanagas do not have titles traditionally because the tanaga should speak for
itself. However, moderns can opt to give them titles. Text tula is often read on cellular
phones.
ii. Hyperpoetry – It is a form of digital poetry that uses links using hypertext mark-up. It
is a very visual form, and is related to hypertext fiction and visual arts. The links mean
that a hypertext poem has no set order, the poem moving or being generated in
response to the links that the reader/user chooses. It can either involve set words,
phrases, lines, etc. that are presented in variable order but sit on the page much as
traditional poetry does, or it can contain parts of the poem that move and
/ or mutate. It is usually found online. The earliest examples date to no later than the
mid-1980s.
iii. Spoken word poetry – It is a poem that has made its way into the hearts and souls
of thousands of Filipinos especially the millennials. It is a type of poem performed or
read in artistic and emotive manner which can be accompanied by music or
presented in the streets or bars, even café shops. It is an oral art that focuses on the
aesthetics of word play such as intonation and voice inflection. It is a "catchall" term
that includes any kind of poetry recited aloud, including poetry readings, poetry
slams, jazz poetry, and hip hop, and can include comedy routines and prose
monologues. The most viewed YouTube Filipino spoken word artist is Juan Miguel
Severo whose original poems have been performed in TV dramas like On The Wings
of Love.

j. Fiction - Fiction has genres that can be defined as narrative literary works whose content is
produced by the imagination and is not necessarily based on fact. In fiction something is feigned,
invented, or imagined; a made-up story.
Examples are the following:

i. Short Story – This is brief fiction that can be read in one seating and is not able to
support any subplots.

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

iii. Flash fiction – This is a style of fictional literature or fiction of extreme brevity. There
is no widely accepted definition of the length of the category. Some self-described
markets for flash fiction impose caps as low as three hundred words, while others
consider stories as long as a thousand words to be flash fiction.
iv. Realistic Fiction – It is a story that can actually happen and is true to real life.

v. Historical Fiction- It is a story with fictional characters and events in a historical

setting.
vi. Horror – These are frightfully shocking, terrifying, or revolting stories.

vii. Mystery – It deals with unraveling of secrets and solution of a crime.

viii. Illustrated Novels – These are stories through text and illustrated images.
ix. Graphic Novels – These are narratives in comic book formats.
x. Speculative Fiction – It is a term encompassing the more fantastical fiction genres,
specifically science fiction, fantasy, horror, weird fiction, supernatural fiction,
superhero fiction, utopian and dystopian fiction, apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic
fiction, and alternate history in literature as well as related static, motion, and virtual
arts.

a. Science Fiction – It is a story based on impact of potential science, either actual

or imagined and is set in the future or on other planets.
b. Fantasy – It is the forming of mental images with strange or other worldly
settings or characters and invites suspension of reality.

c. Humor – It is the faculty of perceiving what is amusing or comical. It is fiction full

of fun, fancy, and excitement which meant to entertain. This genre of literature
can actually be seen and contained within all genres.
Ag Tobig Nog Keboklagan (The Kingdom of Keboklagan)
The epic begins with Timoway’s quandary as to how to support his wife who is about
to giving birth. He decides to earn money by being a whetter of tools in the neighboring
villages. He leaves Sirangan with his assistant Kasangolan and fifteen datus. However, their
boat refuses to move until Timoway beheads one of his companions.
In the village Batotobig, Datu Sakandatar decides to join Timoway, although his wife,
like Timoway’s, is pregnant. While they are cruising, Diwata Pegeraman- the goddess of wind,
lighting, and thunder-invites them to her abode to chew mamaq, betel nut. Rejected by the
datu, she creates a storm that breaks Timoway’s vessel and kills Timoway and his
companions. The broken and now empty vessel returns to Sirangan.
Learning about the incident, Timoway’s wife, Balo Libon, cries so intensely that she
gives birth to a boy. At this same instance, Sakadanbar’s wife in Batotoy also gives birth to a
boy. Balo Libon names her son Taake. He grows quickly, and after seven months, Taake asks
about his father. When he is told that his father’s death was not caused by a mortal, he
becomes happy. Learning that his father was a fisher,

Taake asks for his father’s hook and line. With the aid of his magic, he establishes himself as
an excellent fisher.
One day, Taake, now a young man, ask his mother for clothes to go deep-sea fishing.
The request surprises her, for Taake has never asked for clothes. Questioned, he explains that
he is embarrassed to be naked in the company of ladies. Balo Libon then grooms her son.
At sea, Taake hooks a fish with golden scales, but it drags him farther and farther away
from the shore. The tug of war lasts for months, until an eel warns Taake to go home and
offers him help to get there. But Taake only kills the eel. A storm develops, and Taake sinks.
He sees a shore under the sea and sets foot on it. Finding a horse with his hook and line in its
mouth, he pursues it with karisan or sword, but the animal escapes him. Taake has reached
Keboklagan.
Taake sees a tower. He climbs a ladder with golden rungs to reach the top of the tower.
There, he finds a woman, nearly naked, sewing. Called the Lady of Pintawan, she invites him
to chew mamaq. As they chew, their eyes meet an exchange message of love. Taake courts
her for seven days. Finally, the Lady of Pintawan accepts Taake’s offer of marriage. However,
the romance is blocked by two men, Towan Salip and Soratan Domatong, who abhor the idea
of the Lady of Pintawan marrying a Subanon. The two rally the folks of Keboklagan and urge
them to kill Taake. The Lady of Pintogan, a close friend of the Lady of Pintawan, learns about
the plot and flies on her monsala or scarf to the Lady of Pintawan’s place. She advises Taake
to take his wife to Sirangan. Taake however, insists on his innocence and refuses to leave
Keboklagan. He fights the people who attack him.
In Sirangan, the Datu Tomitib Manaon dreams of a lone Subanon fighting in
Keboklagan. When he awakes, he prepares to help Taake, whom he discovers has been away
from Sirangan for a long time. Accompanied by two other datus, he proceeds to Keboklagan.
Although they lose their way at first, they finally arrive at Keboklagan, following Taake’s route.
Taake approaches Tomitib for fighting without first asking for the reason for the fight.
Saulagya Maola, the datu of Keboklagan and the Lady of Pintawa’s brother arrive. The Ladies
of Keboklagan explain to him the cause of the fight. He recalls his promise to his sister that
anyone who can climb the ladder with rungs of blades shall be his sister’s husband. Saulagya
Maola tells the two datus about the promise, but they insist on fighting. Saulagya, therefore,
divides his kingdom between those who decide to fight and those who decide to withdraw
from the battle.
Tomitib Manaon asks Saulagya Maola if he can marry the Lady of Pintogan. But
because of his incivility, she rejects Tomitib. Tomitib runs back to the crowd and starts
fighting. Datu Liyo-liyo, hearing about the fight, rides his horse and proceeds to the
battleground. Datu Liyo-liyo engages Tomitib in a hand-to-hand battle. Eventually, the datu of
Sirangan defeats the datu of Keboklagan.

The datus then proceed to other kingdoms to fight further. First, they challenge the
chief of Dibaloy, Datu Bataqelo. Lilang Diwata, his sister, renames Taake Malompyag, or “he
fights in all places”. Taake and Tomitib would have exterminated the whole kingdom had
compassion not overtaken them after half of the population had fallen to their sword. In
Todong-todong, Taake and Tomitib are invited by its chief to chew mamaq before they start
fighting. After the chew, they annihilate the kingdom. The datus then proceed to Walo Sabang,
ruled by Egdodan Magsorat and Egdodan Sabagan, who themselves do not fight. Their
subjects, however, are sufficient, for they get resurrected after having been killed. Taake tires
after seven months of fighting and falls asleep, leaving Tomitib to fight alone. In Taake’s
dream, a girl instructs him to disguise himself as Towan Salip Palasti and to go to the Tower of
Walo Sabang to get magical medicines by which to prevent the enemies from coming back to
life. When he awakes, he does as instructed, and he and Tomitib defeat the army of Walo
Sabang. At one point in the battle, Tomitib falls dead, but the women of Keboklagan restore
 him to life.
The massive destruction disturbs the god Asog. He descends to the earth and
reprimands the Sirangan. He instructs them to go home and hold a buklog, in which each of
them will be given his partner. Asog fans his kerchief, bringing the dead to life. The datus
return to Sirangan, where Taake finds his mother dying of longing for him. He kisses her and
she revives. All the datus of the different kingdoms are invited to a buklog, and Asog gives
each of them a partner in life.

Middle summer
By: Manuel Arguilla
(American Colonial Literature)

He pulled down his hat until the wide brim touched his shoulders. He crouched lower under
the cover of his cart and peered ahead. The road seemed to writhe under the lash of the noon-day
heat; it swum from side to side, humped and bent itself like a feeling serpent, and disappeared behind
the spur of a low hill on which grew a scrawny thicket of bamboo.

There was not a house in sight. Along the left side of the road ran the deep, dry gorge of a stream, the
banks sparsely covered by sun-burned cogon grass. In places, the rocky, waterless bed showed aridly.
Farther, beyond the shimmer of quivering heat waves rose ancient hills not less blue than the cloud-
palisaded sky. On the right stretched a land waste of low rolling dunes. Scattered clumps of hardy ledda
relieved the otherwise barren monotony of the landscape. Far away he could discern a thin indigo line
that was the sea.

The grating of the cartwheels on the pebbles of the road and the almost soundless shuffle of
the weary bull but emphasized the stillness. Now and then came the dry rustling of falling earth as
lumps from the cracked sides of the gorge fell down to the bottom.

He struck at the bull with the slack of the rope. The animal broke into a heavy trot. The dust
stirred slumbrously. The bull slowed down, threw up his head, and a glistening thread of saliva spun
out into the dry air. The dying rays of the sun were reflected in points of light on the wet, heaving
flanks.

The man in the cart did not notice the woman until she had rounded the spur of land and
stood unmoving beside the road, watching the cart and its occupant come toward her. She was
young, surprisingly sweet and fresh amidst her parched surroundings. A gaily stripped kerchief
covered her head, the ends tied at the nape of her neck. She wore a homespun bodice of light red
cloth with small white checks. Her skirt was also homespun and showed a pattern of white checks
with narrow stripes of yellow and red. With both hands she held by the mouth a large, apparently
empty, water jug, the cool red of which blended well with her dress. She was barefoot.

She stood straight and still beside the road and regarded him with frank curiosity. Suddenly
she turned and disappeared into the dry gorge. Coming to where she had stood a few moments
before, he pulled up the bull and got out of the cart. He saw where a narrow path had been cut into
the bank and stood a while lost in thought, absently wiping the perspiration from his face. Then he
unhitched his bull and for a few moments, with strong brown fingers, kneaded the hot neck of the
beast. Driving the animal before him, he followed the path. It led up the dry bed of the stream; the
sharp fragments of sun-heated rocks were like burning coals under his feet. There was no sign of the
young woman.

He came upon her beyond a bed in the gorge, where a big mango tree, which had partly
fallen from the side of the ravine, cast its cool shade over a well.

She had filled her jar and was rolling the kerchief around her hand into a flat coil which she
placed on her head. Without glancing at him, where he had stopped some distance off, she sat down
of her heels, gathering the fold of her skirt between her wide-spread knees. She tilted the brimful jar to
remove part of the water. One hand on the rim, the other supporting the bottom, she began to raise it
to her head. She knelt on one knee resting, for a moment, the jar onto her head, getting to her feet at
the same time. But she staggered a little and water splashed down on her breast. The single bodice
instantly clung to her bosom molding the twin hillocks of her breasts warmly brown through the wet
cloth. One arm remained uplifted, holding the jar, while the other shook the clinging cloth free of her
drenched flesh. Then not once having raised her eyes, she passed by the young man, who stood
mutely gazing beside his bull. The animal had found some grass along the path and was industriously
grazing.
He turned to watch the graceful figure beneath the jar until it vanished around a bend in the
path leading to the road. Then he led the bull to the well, and tethered it to a root of the mango tree.

"The underpart of her arm is white and smooth," he said to his blurred image on the water of
the well, as he leaned over before lowering the bucket made of half a petroleum can. "And her hair is
thick and black." The bucket struck with a rattling impact. It filled with one long gurgle. He threw his
hat on the grass and pulled the bucket up with both hands.

The twisted bamboo rope bit into his hardened palms, and he thought how... the same rope
must hurt her.

He placed the dripping bucket on a flat stone, and the bull drank. "Son of lightning!" he said,
thumping the side of the bull after it had drunk the third bucketful, "you drink like the great Kuantitao!"
A low, rich rumbling rolled through the cavernous body of the beast. He tied it again to the root, and
the animal idly rubbed its horns against the wood. The sun had fallen from the perpendicular, and
noticing that the bull stood partly exposed to the sun, he pushed it farther into shade. He fanned
himself with his hat. He whistled to entice the wind from the sea, but not a breeze stirred.

After a while he put on his hat and hurriedly walked the short distance through the gorge up to
the road where his cart stood. From inside he took a jute sack which he slung over one shoulder. With
the other arm, he gathered part of the hay at the bottom of the cart. He returned to the well, slips of
straw falling behind him as he picked his way from one tuft of grass to another, for the broken rocks of
the path has grown exceedingly hot.

He gave the hay to the bull, its rump was again in the sun, and he had to push it back. "Fool,
do you want to broil yourself alive?" he said good-humoredly, slapping the thick haunches. It switched
its long-haired tail and fell to eating. The dry, sweet- smelling hay made harsh gritting sounds in the
mouth of the hungry animal. Saliva rolled out from the corners, clung to the stiff hairs that fringed the
thick lower lip, fell and gleamed and evaporated in the heated air.

He took out of the jute sack a polished coconut shell. The top had been sawed off and holes
bored at opposite sides, through which a string tied to the lower part of the shell passed in a loop. The
smaller piece could thus be slipped up and down as a cover. The coconut shell contained cooked rice
still a little warm. Buried on the top was an egg now boiled hard. He next brought out a bamboo tube
of salt, a cake of brown sugar wrapped in banana leaf, and some dried shrimps. Then he spread the
sack in what remained of the shade, placed his simple meal thereon, and prepared to eat his dinner.
But first he drew a bucketful of water from the well, setting the bucket on a rock. He seated himself on
another rock and ate with his fingers. From time to time he drank from the bucket.

He was half through with his meal when the girl came down the path once more. She had
changed the wetted bodice. He watched her with lowered head as she
approached, and felt a difficulty in continuing to eat, but went through the motions of filling his mouth
nevertheless. He strained his eyes looking at the girl from beneath his eyebrows. How graceful she
was! Her hips tapered smoothly down to round thighs and supple legs, showing against her skirt and
moving straight and free. Her shoulders, small but firm, bore her shapely neck and head with shy
pride.

When she was very near, he ate more hurriedly, so that he almost choked. He did not look at
her. She placed the jar between three stones. When she picked up the rope of the bucket, he came to
himself. He looked up--straight into her face. He saw her eyes. They were brown and were regarding
him gravely, without embarrassment; he forgot his own timidity.

"Won't you join me, Ading?" he said simply. He remained seated.

Her lips parted in a half smile and a little dimple appeared high upon her right cheek. She
shook her head and said: "God reward you, Manong."

"Perhaps the poor food I have is not fit for you?"

"No, no. It isn't that. How can you think of it? I should be ashamed. It is that I have must eaten
myself. That is why I came to get water in the middle of the day--we ran out of it. I see you have eggs
and shrimps and sugar. Why, he had nothing but rice and salt."

"Salt? Surely you joke." "I

would be ashamed..."
"But what is the matter with salt?"

"Salt...salt...Makes baby stout," he intoned. "My grandmother used to sing that to me when I
complained of our food."

They laughed and felt more at ease and regarded each other more openly. He took a long
time fingering his rice before raising it to his mouth, the while he gazed up at her and smiled for no
reason. She smiles back in turn and gave the rope which she held an absent-minded tug. The bucket
came down from its perch of rock in a miniature flood. He leaped to his feet with a surprised yell, and
the next instant the jute sack on which he lay his meal was drenched. Only the rice inside the coconut
shell and the bamboo of tube of salt were
saved from the water.

She was distressed, but he only laughed.

"It is nothing," he said. "It was time I stopped eating. I have filled up to my neck." "Forgive me,
Manong," she insisted. "It was all my fault. Such a clumsy creature
I am."

"It was not your fault," she assured him. "I am to blame for placing the bucket of water where I
did."

"I will draw you another bucketful," he said. "I am stronger than you." "No, you
must let me do it."
But when he caught hold of the bucket and stretched forth a brawny arm for the coil of rope in
her hands, she surrendered both to him quickly and drew back a step as though shy of his touch. He
lowered the bucket with his back to her, and she had time to take in the tallness of him, the breadth of
his shoulders, the sinewy strength of his legs. Down below in the small of his back, two parallel ridges
of rope-like muscle stuck out against the wet shirt. As he hauled up the bucket, muscles rippled all
over his body. His hair, which was wavy, cut short behind but long in fronts fell in a cluster over his
forehead.

"Let me hold the bucket while you drink," she offered.

He flashed her a smile over his shoulders as he poured the water into her jar, and again
lowered the bucket.

"No, no, you must not do that." She hurried to his side and held one of his arms "I couldn't let
you, a stranger..."
"Why not?" He smiled down at her, and noticed a slight film of moisture clinging to the down
on her upper lip and experienced a sudden desire to wipe it away with his forefinger. He continued to
lower the bucket while she had to stand by.

"Hadn't you better move over to the shade?" he suggested, as the bucket struck the water.

"What shall I do there?" she asked sharply, as though the idea of seeking protection from the
heat were contemptible to her.

"You will get roasted standing here in the sun," he said, and began to haul up the bucket.

But she remained beside him, catching the rope as it fell from his hands, coiling it carefully.
The jar was filled, with plenty to drink as she tilted the half-filled can until the water lapped the rim. He
gulped a mouthful, gargled noisily, spewed it out, then commenced to drink in earnest. He took long,
deep droughts of the sweetish water, for he was more thirsty than he had thought. A chuckling sound
persisted in forming inside his throat at every swallow. It made him self-conscious. He was breathless
when through, and red in the face.

"I don't know why it makes that sound," he said, fingering his throat and laughing
shamefacedly.

"Father also makes that sound when he drinks, and mother always laughs at him," she said.
She untied the headkerchief over her hair and started to roll it.

Then sun had descended considerably and there was now hardly any shade under the tree.
The bull was gathering with its tongue stray slips of straw. He untied the animal to lead it to the other
side of the girl who spoke; "Manong, why don't you come to our house and bring your animal with
you? There is shade and you can sleep, though our house is very poor."

She had already placed the jar on her head and stood, half-turned to him, waiting for his
answer.

"I would be troubling you, Ading."

"No. You come. I have told mother about you." She turned and went down the
 He sent the bull after her with smart slap on its side. Then he quickly gathered the remains of
his meal, put them inside the jute sack which had almost dried, and himself followed. Then seeing that
the bull had stopped to nibble the tufts of grass that dotted the bottom of the gorge, he picked up the
dragging rope and urged the animal on into a trot. They caught up with the girl near the cart. She
stopped to wait.

He did not volunteer a word. He walked a step behind, the bull lumbering in front. More than
ever he was conscious of her person. She carried the jar on her head without holding it. Her hands
swung to her even steps. He drew back his square shoulders, lifted his chin, and sniffed the
motionless air. There was a flourish in the way he flicked the rump of the bull with the rope in his
hand. He felt strong. He felt very strong. He felt that he could follow the slender, lithe figure to the end
of the world.
 LOVE IN THE CORNHUSKS
By: Aida Rivera-Ford

Tinang stopped before the Señora’s gate and adjusted the baby’s cap. The dogs that came to
bark at the gate were strange dogs, big-mouthed animals with a sense of superiority. They stuck their
heads through the hogfence, lolling their tongues and straining. Suddenly, from the gumamela row, a
little black mongrel emerged and slithered through the fence with ease. It came to her, head down and
body quivering.
“Bantay! Ay, Bantay!” she exclaimed as the little dog laid its paws upon her shirt to sniff the
baby on her arm. The baby was afraid and cried. The big animals barked with displeasure.

Tito, the young master, had seen her and was calling to his mother. “Ma, it’s Tinang. Ma, Ma,
it’s Tinang.” He came running down to open the gate.
“Aba, you are so tall now, Tito.” He smiled his girl’s smile as he stood by, warding the dogs
off. Tinang passed quickly up the veranda stairs lined with ferns and many-colored bougainvilla. On
landing, she paused to wipe her shoes carefully. About her, the Señora’s white and lavender butterfly
orchids fluttered delicately in the sunshine. She noticed though that the purple waling-waling that had
once been her task to shade from the hot sun with banana leaves and to water with mixture of
charcoal and eggs and water was not in bloom.
“Is no one covering the waling-waling now?” Tinang asked. “It will die.” “Oh, the
maid will come to cover the orchids later.”
The Señora called from inside. “Tinang, let me see your baby. Is it a boy?” “Yes, Ma,” Tito
shouted from downstairs. “And the ears are huge!”
“What do you expect,” replied his mother; “the father is a Bagobo. Even Tinang looks like a
Bagobo now.”
Tinang laughed and felt warmness for her former mistress and the boy Tito. She sat self-
consciously on the black narra sofa, for the first time a visitor. Her eyes clouded. The sight of the
Señora’s flaccidly plump figure, swathed in a loose waist- less housedress that came down to her
ankles, and the faint scent of agua de colonia blended with kitchen spice, seemed to her the essence
of the comfortable world, and she sighed thinking of the long walk home through the mud, the baby’s
legs straddled to her waist, and Inggo, her husband, waiting for her, his body stinking of tuba and
sweat, squatting on the floor, clad only in his foul undergarments.
“Ano, Tinang, is it not a good thing to be married?” the Señora asked, pitying Tinang because
her dress gave way at the placket and pressed at her swollen breasts. It was, as a matter of fact, a
dress she had given Tinang a long time ago.
“It is hard, Señora, very hard. Better that I was working here again.”
“There!” the Señora said. “Didn’t I tell you what it would be like, huh? . . . that you would be a
slave to your husband and that you would work a baby eternally strapped to you. Are you not
pregnant again?”
Tinang squirmed at the Señora’s directness but admitted she was.
“Hala! You will have a dozen before long.” The Señora got up. “Come, I will give you some
dresses and an old blanket that you can cut into things for the baby.”
They went into a cluttered room which looked like a huge closet and as the Señora sorted out
some clothes, Tinang asked, “How is Señor?
“Ay, he is always losing his temper over the tractor drivers. It is not the way it was when
Amado was here. You remember what a good driver he was. The tractors
were always kept in working condition. But now . . . I wonder why he left all of a sudden. He said he
would be gone for only two days ”
“I don’t know,” Tinang said. The baby began to cry. Tinang shushed him with irritation.
“Oy, Tinang, come to the kitchen; your Bagobito is hungry.”
For the next hour, Tinang sat in the kitchen with an odd feeling; she watched the girl who was
now in possession of the kitchen work around with a handkerchief clutched I one hand. She had
lipstick on too, Tinang noted. the girl looked at her briefly but did not smile. She set down a can of
evaporated milk for the baby and served her coffee and cake. The Señora drank coffee with her and
lectured about keeping the baby’s stomach bound and training it to stay by itself so she could work.
Finally, Tinang brought up, haltingly, with phrases like “if it will not offend you” and “if you are not too
busy” the purpose of her visit–which was to ask Señora to be a madrina in baptism. The Señora
readily assented and said she would provide the baptismal clothes and the fee for the priest. It was
time to go.
“When are you coming again, Tinang?” the Señora asked as Tinang got the baby ready.
“Don’t forget the bundle of clothes and oh, Tinang, you better stop by
the drugstore. They asked me once whether you were still with us. You have a letter there and I was
going to open it to see if there was bad news but I thought you would be coming.”
A letter! Tinang’s heart beat violently. Somebody is dead; I know somebody is dead, she
thought. She crossed herself and after thanking the Señora profusely, she hurried down. The dogs
came forward and Tito had to restrain them. “Bring me some young corn next time, Tinang,” he called
after her.
Tinang waited a while at the drugstore which was also the post office of the barrio. Finally, the
man turned to her: “Mrs., do you want medicine for your baby or for yourself?”
“No, I came for my letter. I was told I have a letter.” “And
what is your name, Mrs.?” He drawled. “Constantina Tirol.”
The man pulled a box and slowly went through the pile of envelopes most of which were
scribbled in pencil, “Tirol, Tirol, Tirol..........................................” He finally pulled out a letter and
handed it to her. She stared at the unfamiliar scrawl. It was not from her sister and she could think of no
one else who could write to her.
Santa Maria, she thought; maybe something has happened to my sister. “Do you want me
to read it for you?”
 “No, no.” She hurried from the drugstore, crushed that he should think her illiterate. With the
baby on one arm and the bundle of clothes on the other and the letter clutched in her hand she found
herself walking toward home.
The rains had made a deep slough of the clay road and Tinang followed the prints left by the
men and the carabaos that had gone before her to keep from sinking mud up to her knees. She was
deep in the road before she became conscious of her shoes. In horror, she saw that they were coated
with thick, black clay. Gingerly, she pulled off one shoe after the other with the hand still clutching to
the letter. When she had tied the shoes together with the laces and had slung them on an arm, the
baby, the bundle, and the letter were all smeared with mud.
There must be a place to put the baby down, she thought, desperate now about the letter.
She walked on until she spotted a corner of a field where cornhusks were scattered under a
kalamansi tree. She shoved together a pile of husks with her foot and laid the baby down upon it. With
a sigh, she drew the letter from the envelope. She stared at the letter which was written in English.
My dearest Tinay,
Hello, how is life getting along? Are you still in good condition? As for myself, the
same as usual. But you’re far from my side. It is not easy to be far from our lover.
Tinay, do you still love me? I hope your kind and generous heart will never fade.
Someday or somehow I’ll be there again to fulfill our promise.
Many weeks and months have elapsed. Still I remember our bygone days. Especially
when I was suffering with the heat of the tractor under the heat of the sun. I was always in
despair until I imagine your personal appearance coming forward bearing the sweetest smile
that enabled me to view the distant horizon.
Tinay, I could not return because I found that my mother was very ill. That is why I
was not able to take you as a partner of life. Please respond to my missive at once so that I
know whether you still love me or not. I hope you did not love anybody except myself.
I think I am going beyond the limit of your leisure hours, so I close with best wishes to
you, my friends Gonding, Sefarin, Bondio, etc.
Yours forever, Amado

P.S. My mother died last month. Address your

letter:
Mr. Amado Galauran
Binalunan, Cotabato
 It was Tinang’s first love letter. A flush spread over her face and crept into her body. She re
ad the letter again. “It is not easy to be far from our lover. I imagine
your personal appearance coming forward. . . . Someday, somehow I’ll be there to fulfill our promise. .
. .” Tinang was intoxicated. She pressed herself against the kamansi tree.
My lover is true to me. He never meant to desert me. Amado, she thought.
Amado.
And she cried, remembering the young girl she was less than two years ago when she would
take food to Señor in the field and the laborers would eye her furtively. She thought herself above
them for she was always neat and clean in her hometown, before she went away to work, she had
gone to school and had reached sixth grade. Her skin, too, was not as dark as those of the girls who
worked in the fields weeding around the clumps of abaca. Her lower lip jutted out disdainfully when
the farm hands spoke to her with many flattering words. She laughed when a Bagobo with two
hectares of land asked her to marry him. It was only Amado, the tractor driver, who could look at her
and make her lower her eyes. He was very dark and wore filthy and torn clothes on the farm but on
Saturdays when he came up to the house for his week’s salary, his hair was slicked down and he
would be dressed as well as Mr. Jacinto, the school teacher. Once he told her he would study in the
city night-schools and take up mechanical engineering someday. He had not said much more to her
but one afternoon when she was bidden to take some bolts and tools to him in the field, a great
excitement came over her. The shadows moved fitfully in the bamboo groves she passed and the cool
November air edged into her nostrils sharply. He stood unmoving beside the tractor with tools and
parts scattered on the ground around him. His eyes were a black glow as he watched her draw near.
When she held out the bolts, he seized her wrist and said: “Come,” pulling her to the screen of trees
beyond. She resisted but his arms were strong. He embraced her roughly and awkwardly, and she
trembled and gasped and clung to him. . . .
A little green snake slithered languidly into the tall grass a few yards from the kamansi tree.
Tinang started violently and remembered her child. It lay motionless on the mat of husk. With a shriek
she grabbed it wildly and hugged it close. The baby awoke from its sleep and cries lustily. Ave Maria
Santisima. Do not punish me, she prayed, searching the baby’s skin for marks. Among the cornhusks,
the letter fell unnoticed.
the otherwise barren monotony of the landscape. Far away he could discern a thin indigo line that was
the sea.

The grating of the cartwheels on the pebbles of the road and the almost soundless shuffle of the weary
bull but emphasized the stillness. Now and then came the dry rustling of falling earth as lumps from the
cracked sides of the gorge fell down to the bottom.

He struck at the bull with the slack of the rope. The animal broke into a heavy trot. The dust stirred
slumbrously. The bull slowed down, threw up his head, and a glistening thread of saliva spun out into
the dry air. The dying rays of the sun were reflected in points of light on the wet, heaving flanks.

The man in the cart did not notice the woman until she had rounded the spur of land and stood
unmoving beside the road, watching the cart and its occupant come toward her. She was young,
surprisingly sweet and fresh amidst her parched surroundings. A gaily stripped kerchief covered her
head, the ends tied at the nape of her neck. She wore a homespun bodice of light red cloth with small
white checks. Her skirt was also homespun and showed a pattern of white checks with narrow stripes
of yellow and red. With both hands she held by the mouth a large, apparently empty, water jug, the cool
red of which blended well with her dress. She was barefoot.

She stood straight and still beside the road and regarded him with frank curiosity. Suddenly she turned
and disappeared into the dry gorge. Coming to where she had stood a few moments before, he pulled
up the bull and got out of the cart. He saw where a narrow path had been cut into the bank and stood a
while lost in thought, absently wiping the perspiration from his face. Then he unhitched his bull and for a
few moments, with strong brown fingers, kneaded the hot neck of the beast. Driving the animal before
him, he followed the path. It led up the dry bed of the stream; the sharp fragments of sun-heated rocks
were like burning coals under his feet. There was no sign of the young woman.

He came upon her beyond a bed in the gorge, where a big mango tree, which had partly fallen from the
side of the ravine, cast its cool shade over a well.

She had filled her jar and was rolling the kerchief around her hand into a flat coil which she placed on
her head. Without glancing at him, where he had stopped some distance off, she sat down of her heels,
gathering the fold of her skirt between her wide-spread knees. She tilted the brimful jar to remove part
of the water. One hand on the rim, the other supporting the bottom, she began to raise it to her head.
She knelt on one knee resting, for a moment, the jar onto her head, getting to her feet at the same time.
But she staggered a little and water splashed down on her breast. The single bodice instantly clung to
her bosom molding the twin hillocks of her breasts warmly brown through the wet cloth. One arm
remained uplifted, holding the jar, while the other shook the clinging cloth free of her drenched flesh.
Then not once having raised her eyes, she passed by the young man, who stood mutely gazing beside
his bull. The animal had found some grass along the path and was industriously grazing.
He turned to watch the graceful figure beneath the jar until it vanished around a bend in the path
leading to the road. Then he led the bull to the well, and tethered it to a root of the mango tree.

"The underpart of her arm is white and smooth," he said to his blurred image on the water of the well,
as he leaned over before lowering the bucket made of half a petroleum can. "And her hair is thick and
black." The bucket struck with a rattling impact. It filled with one long gurgle. He threw his hat on the
grass and pulled the bucket up with both hands.

The twisted bamboo rope bit into his hardened palms, and he thought how... the same rope must hurt
her.

He placed the dripping bucket on a flat stone, and the bull drank. "Son of lightning!" he said, thumping
the side of the bull after it had drunk the third bucketful, "you drink like the great Kuantitao!" A low, rich
rumbling rolled through the cavernous body of the beast. He tied it again to the root, and the animal idly
rubbed its horns against the wood. The sun had fallen from the perpendicular, and noticing that the bull
stood partly exposed to the sun, he pushed it farther into shade. He fanned himself with his hat. He
whistled to entice the wind from the sea, but not a breeze stirred.

After a while he put on his hat and hurriedly walked the short distance through the gorge up to the road
where his cart stood. From inside he took a jute sack which he slung over one shoulder. With the other
arm, he gathered part of the hay at the bottom of the cart. He returned to the well, slips of straw falling
behind him as he picked his way from one tuft of grass to another, for the broken rocks of the path has
grown exceedingly hot.

He gave the hay to the bull, its rump was again in the sun, and he had to push it back. "Fool, do you
want to broil yourself alive?" he said good-humoredly, slapping the thick haunches. It switched its long-
haired tail and fell to eating. The dry, sweet- smelling hay made harsh gritting sounds in the mouth of
the hungry animal. Saliva rolled out from the corners, clung to the stiff hairs that fringed the thick lower
lip, fell and gleamed and evaporated in the heated air.

He took out of the jute sack a polished coconut shell. The top had been sawed off and holes bored at
opposite sides, through which a string tied to the lower part of the shell passed in a loop. The smaller
piece could thus be slipped up and down as a cover. The coconut shell contained cooked rice still a
little warm. Buried on the top was an egg now boiled hard. He next brought out a bamboo tube of salt, a
cake of brown sugar wrapped in banana leaf, and some dried shrimps. Then he spread the sack in
what remained of the shade, placed his simple meal thereon, and prepared to eat his dinner. But first
he drew a bucketful of water from the well, setting the bucket on a rock. He seated himself on another
rock and ate with his fingers. From time to time he drank from the bucket.

He was half through with his meal when the girl came down the path once more. She had changed
the wetted bodice. He watched her with lowered head as she
approached, and felt a difficulty in continuing to eat, but went through the motions of filling his mouth
nevertheless. He strained his eyes looking at the girl from beneath his eyebrows. How graceful she
was! Her hips tapered smoothly down to round thighs and supple legs, showing against her skirt and
moving straight and free. Her shoulders, small but firm, bore her shapely neck and head with shy pride.

When she was very near, he ate more hurriedly, so that he almost choked. He did not look at her. She
placed the jar between three stones. When she picked up the rope of the bucket, he came to himself.
He looked up--straight into her face. He saw her eyes. They were brown and were regarding him
gravely, without embarrassment; he forgot his own timidity.

"Won't you join me, Ading?" he said simply. He remained seated.

Her lips parted in a half smile and a little dimple appeared high upon her right cheek. She shook her
head and said: "God reward you, Manong."

"Perhaps the poor food I have is not fit for you?"

"No, no. It isn't that. How can you think of it? I should be ashamed. It is that I have must eaten myself.
That is why I came to get water in the middle of the day--we ran out of it. I see you have eggs and
shrimps and sugar. Why, he had nothing but rice and salt."

"Salt? Surely you joke." "I would be ashamed..."

"But what is the matter with salt?"

"Salt...salt...Makes baby stout," he intoned. "My grandmother used to sing that to me when I
complained of our food."

They laughed and felt more at ease and regarded each other more openly. He took a long time
fingering his rice before raising it to his mouth, the while he gazed up at her and smiled for no reason.
She smiles back in turn and gave the rope which she held an absent-minded tug. The bucket came
down from its perch of rock in a miniature flood. He leaped to his feet with a surprised yell, and the next
instant the jute sack on which he lay his meal was drenched. Only the rice inside the coconut shell and
the bamboo of tube of salt were saved from the water.

She was distressed, but he only laughed.

"It is nothing," he said. "It was time I stopped eating. I have filled up to my neck." "Forgive me,
Manong," she insisted. "It was all my fault. Such a clumsy creature
I am."

"It was not your fault," she assured him. "I am to blame for placing the bucket of water where I did."

"I will draw you another bucketful," he said. "I am stronger than you." "No, you must let me do it."
But when he caught hold of the bucket and stretched forth a brawny arm for the coil of rope in her
hands, she surrendered both to him quickly and drew back a step as though shy of his touch. He
lowered the bucket with his back to her, and she had time to take in the tallness of him, the breadth of
his shoulders, the sinewy strength of his legs. Down below in the small of his back, two parallel ridges
of rope-like muscle stuck out against the wet shirt. As he hauled up the bucket, muscles rippled all over
his body. His hair, which was wavy, cut short behind but long in fronts fell in a cluster over his forehead.

"Let me hold the bucket while you drink," she offered.

He flashed her a smile over his shoulders as he poured the water into her jar, and again lowered the
bucket.

"No, no, you must not do that." She hurried to his side and held one of his arms "I couldn't let you, a
stranger..."
"Why not?" He smiled down at her, and noticed a slight film of moisture clinging to the down on her
upper lip and experienced a sudden desire to wipe it away with his forefinger. He continued to lower the
bucket while she had to stand by.

"Hadn't you better move over to the shade?" he suggested, as the bucket struck the water.

"What shall I do there?" she asked sharply, as though the idea of seeking protection from the heat were
contemptible to her.

"You will get roasted standing here in the sun," he said, and began to haul up the bucket.

But she remained beside him, catching the rope as it fell from his hands, coiling it carefully. The jar was
filled, with plenty to drink as she tilted the half-filled can until the water lapped the rim. He gulped a
mouthful, gargled noisily, spewed it out, then commenced to drink in earnest. He took long, deep
droughts of the sweetish water, for he was more thirsty than he had thought. A chuckling sound
persisted in forming inside his throat at every swallow. It made him self-conscious. He was breathless
when through, and red in the face.
"I don't know why it makes that sound," he said, fingering his throat and laughing shamefacedly.

"Father also makes that sound when he drinks, and mother always laughs at him," she said. She untied
the headkerchief over her hair and started to roll it.

Then sun had descended considerably and there was now hardly any shade under the tree. The bull
was gathering with its tongue stray slips of straw. He untied the animal to lead it to the other side of the
girl who spoke; "Manong, why don't you come to our house and bring your animal with you? There is
shade and you can sleep, though our house is very poor."

She had already placed the jar on her head and stood, half-turned to him, waiting for his answer.

path.
"I would be troubling you, Ading."
"No. You come. I have told mother about you." She turned and went down the

He sent the bull after her with smart slap on its side. Then he quickly gathered the remains of his meal,
put them inside the jute sack which had almost dried, and himself followed. Then seeing that the bull
had stopped to nibble the tufts of grass that dotted the bottom of the gorge, he picked up the dragging
rope and urged the animal on into a trot. They caught up with the girl near the cart. She stopped to wait.

He did not volunteer a word. He walked a step behind, the bull lumbering in front. More than ever he
was conscious of her person. She carried the jar on her head without holding it. Her hands swung to
her even steps. He drew back his square shoulders, lifted his chin, and sniffed the motionless air. There
was a flourish in the way he flicked the rump of the bull with the rope in his hand. He felt strong. He felt
very strong. He felt that he could follow the slender, lithe figure to the end of the world.

Sample 2

LOVE IN THE CORNHUSKS

By: Aida Rivera-Ford

Tinang stopped before the Señora’s gate and adjusted the baby’s cap. The dogs that came to bark at
the gate were strange dogs, big-mouthed animals with a sense of superiority. They stuck their heads
through the hogfence, lolling their tongues and straining. Suddenly, from the gumamela row, a little
black mongrel emerged and slithered through the fence with ease. It came to her, head down and body
quivering.
“Bantay! Ay, Bantay!” she exclaimed as the little dog laid its paws upon her shirt to sniff the baby on her
arm. The baby was afraid and cried. The big animals barked with displeasure.
Tito, the young master, had seen her and was calling to his mother. “Ma, it’s Tinang. Ma, Ma, it’s
Tinang.” He came running down to open the gate.
“Aba, you are so tall now, Tito.” He smiled his girl’s smile as he stood by, warding the dogs off. Tinang
passed quickly up the veranda stairs lined with ferns and many-colored bougainvilla. On landing, she
paused to wipe her shoes carefully. About her, the Señora’s white and lavender butterfly orchids
fluttered delicately in the sunshine. She noticed though that the purple waling-waling that had once
been her task to shade from the hot sun with banana leaves and to water with mixture of charcoal and
eggs and water was not in bloom.
“Is no one covering the waling-waling now?” Tinang asked. “It will die.” “Oh, the maid will come to cover
the orchids later.”
The Señora called from inside. “Tinang, let me see your baby. Is it a boy?” “Yes, Ma,” Tito shouted from
downstairs. “And the ears are huge!”
“What do you expect,” replied his mother; “the father is a Bagobo. Even Tinang looks like a Bagobo
now.”
Tinang laughed and felt warmness for her former mistress and the boy Tito. She sat self-consciously on
the black narra sofa, for the first time a visitor. Her eyes clouded. The sight of the Señora’s flaccidly
plump figure, swathed in a loose waist- less housedress that came down to her ankles, and the faint
scent of agua de colonia blended with kitchen spice, seemed to her the essence of the comfortable
world, and she sighed thinking of the long walk home through the mud, the baby’s legs straddled to her
waist, and Inggo, her husband, waiting for her, his body stinking of tuba and sweat, squatting on the
floor, clad only in his foul undergarments.
“Ano, Tinang, is it not a good thing to be married?” the Señora asked, pitying Tinang because her dress
gave way at the placket and pressed at her swollen breasts. It was, as a matter of fact, a dress she had
given Tinang a long time ago.
“It is hard, Señora, very hard. Better that I was working here again.”
“There!” the Señora said. “Didn’t I tell you what it would be like, huh? . . . that you would be a slave to
your husband and that you would work a baby eternally strapped to you. Are you not pregnant again?”
Tinang squirmed at the Señora’s directness but admitted she was.
“Hala! You will have a dozen before long.” The Señora got up. “Come, I will give you some dresses and
an old blanket that you can cut into things for the baby.”
They went into a cluttered room which looked like a huge closet and as the Señora sorted out some
clothes, Tinang asked, “How is Señor?
“Ay, he is always losing his temper over the tractor drivers. It is not the way it was when Amado was
here. You remember what a good driver he was. The tractors
were always kept in working condition. But now . . . I wonder why he left all of a sudden. He said he
would be gone for only two days ”
“I don’t know,” Tinang said. The baby began to cry. Tinang shushed him with irritation.
“Oy, Tinang, come to the kitchen; your Bagobito is hungry.”
For the next hour, Tinang sat in the kitchen with an odd feeling; she watched the girl who was now in
possession of the kitchen work around with a handkerchief clutched I one hand. She had lipstick on too,
Tinang noted. the girl looked at her briefly but did not smile. She set down a can of evaporated milk for
the baby and served her coffee and cake. The Señora drank coffee with her and lectured about keeping
the baby’s stomach bound and training it to stay by itself so she could work. Finally, Tinang brought up,
haltingly, with phrases like “if it will not offend you” and “if you are not too busy” the purpose of her visit–
which was to ask Señora to be a madrina in baptism. The Señora readily assented and said she would
provide the baptismal clothes and the fee for the priest. It was time to go.
“When are you coming again, Tinang?” the Señora asked as Tinang got the baby ready. “Don’t forget
the bundle of clothes and oh, Tinang, you better stop by
the drugstore. They asked me once whether you were still with us. You have a letter there and I was
going to open it to see if there was bad news but I thought you would be coming.”
A letter! Tinang’s heart beat violently. Somebody is dead; I know somebody is dead, she thought. She
crossed herself and after thanking the Señora profusely, she hurried down. The dogs came forward and
Tito had to restrain them. “Bring me some young corn next time, Tinang,” he called after her.
Tinang waited a while at the drugstore which was also the post office of the barrio. Finally, the man
turned to her: “Mrs., do you want medicine for your baby or for yourself?”
“No, I came for my letter. I was told I have a letter.” “And what is your name, Mrs.?” He drawled.
“Constantina Tirol.”
The man pulled a box and slowly went through the pile of envelopes most of which were scribbled in
pencil, “Tirol, Tirol, Tirol ” He finally pulled out a letter and
handed it to her. She stared at the unfamiliar scrawl. It was not from her sister and she could think of no
one else who could write to her.
Santa Maria, she thought; maybe something has happened to my sister. “Do you want me to read it for
you?”
“No, no.” She hurried from the drugstore, crushed that he should think her illiterate. With the baby on
one arm and the bundle of clothes on the other and the letter clutched in her hand she found herself
walking toward home.
The rains had made a deep slough of the clay road and Tinang followed the prints left by the men and
the carabaos that had gone before her to keep from sinking mud up to her knees. She was deep in the
road before she became conscious of her shoes. In horror, she saw that they were coated with thick,
black clay. Gingerly, she pulled off one shoe after the other with the hand still clutching to the letter.
When she had tied the shoes together with the laces and had slung them on an arm, the baby, the
bundle, and the letter were all smeared with mud.
There must be a place to put the baby down, she thought, desperate now about the letter. She walked
on until she spotted a corner of a field where cornhusks were scattered under a kalamansi tree. She
shoved together a pile of husks with her foot and laid the baby down upon it. With a sigh, she drew the
letter from the envelope. She stared at the letter which was written in English.
My dearest Tinay,
Hello, how is life getting along? Are you still in good condition? As for myself, the same as usual. But
you’re far from my side. It is not easy to be far from our lover.
Tinay, do you still love me? I hope your kind and generous heart will never fade. Someday or somehow
I’ll be there again to fulfill our promise.
Many weeks and months have elapsed. Still I remember our bygone days. Especially when I was
suffering with the heat of the tractor under the heat of the sun. I was always in despair until I imagine
your personal appearance coming forward bearing the sweetest smile that enabled me to view the
distant horizon.
Tinay, I could not return because I found that my mother was very ill. That is why I was not able to take
you as a partner of life. Please respond to my missive at once so that I know whether you still love me
or not. I hope you did not love anybody except myself.
I think I am going beyond the limit of your leisure hours, so I close with best wishes to you, my friends
Gonding, Sefarin, Bondio, etc.
Yours forever, Amado

P.S. My mother died last month. Address your letter:

Mr. Amado Galauran Binalunan, Cotabato
It was Tinang’s first love letter. A flush spread over her face and crept into her body. She re ad the letter
again. “It is not easy to be far from our lover. I imagine
your personal appearance coming forward. . . . Someday, somehow I’ll be there to fulfill our
promise. . . .” Tinang was intoxicated. She pressed herself against the kamansi tree.
My lover is true to me. He never meant to desert me. Amado, she thought.
Amado.
And she cried, remembering the young girl she was less than two years ago when she would take food
to Señor in the field and the laborers would eye her furtively. She thought herself above them for she
was always neat and clean in her hometown, before she went away to work, she had gone to school
and had reached sixth grade. Her skin, too, was not as dark as those of the girls who worked in the
fields weeding around the clumps of abaca. Her lower lip jutted out disdainfully when the farm hands
spoke to her with many flattering words. She laughed when a Bagobo with two hectares of land asked
her to marry him. It was only Amado, the tractor driver, who could look at her and make her lower her
eyes. He was very dark and wore filthy and torn clothes on the farm but on Saturdays when he came
up to the house for his week’s salary, his hair was slicked down and he would be dressed as well as
Mr. Jacinto, the school teacher. Once he told her he would study in the city night-schools and take up
mechanical engineering someday. He had not said much more to her but one afternoon when she was
bidden to take some bolts and tools to him in the field, a great excitement came over her. The shadows
moved fitfully in the bamboo groves she passed and the cool November air edged into her nostrils
sharply. He stood unmoving beside the tractor with tools and parts scattered on the ground around him.
His eyes were a black glow as he watched her draw near. When she held out the bolts, he seized her
wrist and said: “Come,” pulling her to the screen of trees beyond. She resisted but his arms were
strong. He embraced her roughly and awkwardly, and she trembled and gasped and clung to him. . . .
A little green snake slithered languidly into the tall grass a few yards from the kamansi tree. Tinang
started violently and remembered her child. It lay motionless on the mat of husk. With a shriek she
grabbed it wildly and hugged it close. The baby awoke from its sleep and cries lustily. Ave Maria
Santisima. Do not punish me, she prayed, searching the baby’s skin for marks. Among the cornhusks,
the letter fell unnoticed.
72