For Love of Country

The two most 'stand-out' male characters for me were the protagonist Jess, and his father (I did not get his name), while the female character that caught my eye was Annette. These particular characters caught my eye, because they are the ones who develop and change throughout the movie. The development I saw is as follows:

Jess, appears to be your regular run of the mill sort of Filipino, trying to get the hell out the country towards a better life. His initial motivation seem to be a reunion with his fiance and monetary gains, the impression that stood out most was the latter. Also, his life in the Philippines seems to be a hassle: His father has high blood pressure, and is almost deaf, his fiance is abroad, he's got money problems, he can't get a visa, he works a low to medium paying job, in short: life sucks. But as the story progresses, this down and out cab driver, realizes he's got more reasons to stay than to leave. He's got a son, he rekindles his romance with Mara and after all the bending over backwards just to get a visa, he realizes he wouldn't trade in his father, his family and his dignity just to go to the United States. He trades in material wealth for emotional wealth, which in itself is a social commentary - as many Filipinos are making the exact opposite choice. So in short, instead of running away from his responsibilities at home (i.e. the Philippines) to start anew in a foreign land (US or wherever), he elects to stay to fulfill said responsibilities. More on that later.

Next Character is the father. At first he appears to be a bumbling buffoon, tripping on Viagras and giving Jess a hard time. In other words, he's a joke. Further down the line however, the father becomes a source of knowledge and good advice for Jess. He helps to turn Jess' attitude and ideas around. He serves as an emotional anchor for our hero, thus helping our hero's transformation! I believe that he also goes from, an antagonist (nagger, bothersome, etc.) to a very good friend of Jess', once Jess comes around.

The reverse happens to Annette. At the beginning of the story she appears to be the model fiance, awaiting the arrival of her betrothed. This is established by telephone calls early in the movie. She inquires about Jess' fathers health and even sends him hearing aids. Perfect. But wait. Trouble starts to surface, as her calls become increasingly impatient and suspicious. She quickly develops into something quite similar as Jess' father in the beginning. A hassle. A constant thorn in Jess' side. This builds up gradually until he searches for alternatives to his.... uh.... loneliness. She never seems content. Perhaps this is a commentary on how Americans are raised? To consume. Never content. Always asking for more. The western way. Perhaps she is consumerism / capitalism embodied?

Next come the cultural references. Aside from what was mentioned above, there are other disguised social commentary in the movie, some hidden, others more obvious. First off, are the crabs. One is led to believe the two young boys are selling prostitutes but they are actually selling crabs. As many people know, the Philippines is not actually known for its cuisine, but more as a sex tourism spot. So they disguised the issue behind comedy. Also a characteristic of Filipino culture. When we see something wrong, we tend to make fun of the issue rather than deal with it.
Next that I saw was desperation. The applicants at the United States Embassy all had Ash Wednesday crosses on their forehead. As if they were all praying. They turn to God for their solutions. This is later added on at a prayer rally. Where Jess' father needs to defecate. Jess jokingly says: we'll pray for your urge to take a dump to go away. This looks like another critique disguised with a joke. As if prayer could make a NATURAL URGE go away - or perhaps poverty, for that matter?
The next major social issue that was shown throughout the movie was that 'EVERYTHING IS A SCAM'. The scene with the faith healer, their 'Christo' who gave them a French exit, before they could shoot etc. It depicts the Filipinos doing anything to make a quick buck. In fact, Nigel's whole shoot is a fake. He just replaces Jess with the missing 'Christo'.
The movie also shows the extremes of our society. The scene in the strip club where Jess takes his two foreign guests for a beer and a snack. They don't serve meat during holy week, but they are in a house of baud. How ironic. We will stick to the tenets of Christianity - it's not ok to eat meat during holy week, but it's acceptable to have strip clubs. What has society come to. In this same scene there is -i don't know whether to call it - class or race discrimination. The waiter allows one of the foreigners to smoke, while he promptly tells Jess that he can't smoke within the premises of the club.
As far as other major symbolism goes, I think the biggest one was Jess symbolically dying on the cross. This symbolizes his turning point in the story. He undergoes a change after being crucified, but he doesn't know it until he's about to leave. The similarity to Christs alleged sacrifice is there. Christ supposedly died for the sins of the world, then rises again. For Jess on the other hand this 'death' symbolizes rebirth. It also symbolizes the ultimate sacrifice. After all he has done, all the trials and efforts to find a way into the United States, his 'Promised Land', he now pays 'the ultimate price'. He slowly gains a new perspective on things, and sees things for what they are. He begins to appreciate the little things around him. Things that he will miss abroad and these are the same things that are worth staying for and things may not be perfect here, but they aren't perfect there either and it's appreciating the things that you have here that counts. NAKS. The woman who reminds Jess of his mother is perhaps a personification of what he might become once he makes the move to Florida. She is ashamed of her country.

I think all the comedy aside, the central theme of this movie is responsibility. In other words take responsibility. Don't flee the country in hopes of a better life, rather stay and do what you can here. Running away from problems won't solve anything. In fact, it just makes them worse. Our protagonist learned this the hard way.
The grand idea behind the story and theme, I would venture to say is a critique and encouragement to people planning to leave the country for no better reason than material gain. It is a call to remain here and do what one can. It's a call to count ones blessings and to contentment. On the other side however, it's easy for the film's producers to make such a comment, when they are part of the middle or upper class. I think convincing people to stay and do their patriotic duty is gong to be a little tougher. I also find it ironic that they critique our society for covering up our shortcomings by making jokes out of it, by making a comedy to the opposite effect. (This is going to sound so elitist, but here it goes.) I doubt the masses even have the education level to recognize the somewhat sophisticated works of symbolism in the fil, (which is perhaps why they added the chorus? For some old school flavor and more direct commentary?). I'll be bold enough to suggest my take on the subject. I would have approached the subject in a more direct manor. Straight to the point in your face realities.
So, do I like the movie? Yes, I do. I just think all the symbolism and social critique went to waste. But it doesn't diminish the films entertainment value.

Looking past the Cover

It's difficult not to judge. Just as much as I hate being subjected as such, I can't help but do it myself. Science  explains the tendency to 'judge a book by its cover' as an early warning defense system. If a person or place doesn't look safe / sane / nice, then perhaps it is best if you stay away, because you might get hurt. This is reducing 'judgment' to its most primitive form of course. But nonetheless, I am convinced this is why people judge others.

As mentioned above, I have had my share of surprises from people, some that I had judged to be good, others bad. Humans never cease to amaze me with their capability for surprise. Sometimes, you think you know a person, only for them to stab you in the back. (How bitter.) Anyways. The point is, I have found that you can never say you really know a person unless you've seen them at their worst, or when push comes to shove. When people's backs are up against the wall, that's when you see who they really are. Take this story for example:

I once trusted a (what I thought) was a good friend with my electric guitar. I had known this person for the better part of a year and played in a band with him. However, after I lent him my prize possession, he suddenly disappeared without a trace. So much for friends. I later found out that he was strapped for cash, due to an out of control gambling habit - in short he owed some big people an equally big amount of cash. That taught me a lesson in trust and boundaries with people. I'm a much more cautious person nowadays, when lending people my things.

But for all the capacity for double crossing, some people surprise me with their capacity to perform. Many a time have I thought that certain people couldn't or wouldn't contribute to academic projects, only for them to pull through. Just goes to show there's always two sides that need to be examined.

What's the Point?

What's the point of the story Document? To me, there is a lesson to be learned here. I still stand by my assumption that the girl in the story is trying to communicate something to the protagonist; namely that she is leaving, or is about to leave or give up on him, or something of the sort. This is evident from what the story 'Disappear' is about. A woman who is slowly fading. Like she is disappearing from life itself. Next, if both of them are comfortable enough to go in and out of the guys room, so much so that the landlord assumes her to be his girlfriend, then to me these are signs of a certain comfort between the two. This doesn't necessarily mean there is a romantic or physically intimate bond, but there must be something happening. The main character doesn't seem to understand this, because he strikes me as socially inept and awkward. So what is the lesson to be learned here? It is to act, before it is too late, because if you procrastinate, you may just end up regretting it and losing something that is dear to you. Now, the main character may not be aware of the fact that the girl likes him, but the story does spur his thoughts and gets his gears turning so to speak. A whole spectrum of possibility has been opened to him through the story. He didn't recognize the opportunity of being with the girl for what it was, thus putting him in this precarious position now. So, the greater point of the story is: Seize the opportunity.

Language Barrier

I think the fundamental problem here goes beyond just trust. Behind the lack of faith, there is an inability to communicate directly, whether this stems from her lack of self confidence or the advancement in communication technology, is a topic for debate. For me, it's a little of both. Technology has made communication so impersonal and so much more complicated. Perhaps the rapid advancement in technology and the de-personalized way we communicate because of it, have caused us to lose our face-to-face communication skills. It's like the woman in this story has to find out things via clandestine means, when she could simply be straight forward with the guy. I think modern technology is at fault.

The way I would like the story to end is for the guy to play along with the girls little game, and through some elaborate scheme gets back at her. For example: He'd agree to meet up with the girl, giving her the impression that he thinks that she is in fact his ex. Then show up and pick her out of the crowd and telling her he was in on it the whole time and the next time she feels the need to REALLY check up on him, she can do so without having to pretend she's someone else. Oh, and that if she could please limit the calls to after work hours.

A Magnificent Display of Power

If you type 'define:magnificence' into the Google search field, the first explanation reads:

• impressiveness: splendid or imposing in size or appearance; "the grandness of the architecture"; "impressed by the richness of the flora"

The Princeton website says:

• magnificent - brilliant: characterized by grandeur; "the brilliant court life at Versailles"; "a glorious work of art"; "magnificent cathedrals"; "the splendid coronation ceremony"

Now, taking what we can gather from these explanations and from my own understanding, I think the 'magnificence' in the story pertains to the simultaneous display of control and wrath that the mother unleashes upon the would be sexual predator Vicente. 

'Hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned.' However, the mother is not one to act rashly: She is all at once, the prudent tactician, taking first and foremost the safety and well being of her children into consideration, as well as the bringer of righteous vengeance - impressive, grand, undeniable in her intent. In fact, so effective is her plan that Vicente offers no resistance and asks for no quarter, as it is obvious none will be given. This combination of traits is what characterizes the 'magnificence' in the story.

My feeling after the discussion were mixed. I wanted it to continue, and further explore the effect such an experience may leave upon a child. When I was in treatment, there were many such stories, so I know all too well what these things can do to either sex. Individuals have confided to me that behavior such as promiscuity and other 'attention-getting' attitudes can stem from such incidents. So, it is quite a topic. However, these discussions before were presided over by psychologists, but I still find it of particular interest. If anything, the discussion made me want to look into it more.

As for my own experience... well... this experience is not mine, but I witnessed it happen. It was about six years ago, in Makati that one of my friends got into a dispute with another man over his girlfriend, who was flirting with said friend. Push came to shove and before we knew it, we were standing in a parking lot near 'Capones' with the jealous boyfriend pointing a gun at my friend, the barrel aimed neatly between his eyes. This is where true grit and nerves of steel kick in. I watched calmly as my friend reasoned with the pistol toting man. Telling him that nothing would be gained. Dropping a few names. A real show of bravery. And soon my friend was on the offensive and the guy backed down and left with his girlfriend. My friend Jose could have died that night. But he lived because of his quick wit. No wonder he's an international lawyer (graduated from the Universidad Central de Madrid) in Spain today.

The Dilemma of the Shoes

First of all, on choices: Everybody has got to make them. It's a fact of life. The possibilities are endless. Which school to go to, whether to brush first before flossing, vice versa, or even your lifestyle; in Pilars case it's whom to love - if such a choice can even be said to exist. She finds herself between the proverbial rock and a hard place, forced to choose between two ideals. On one hand she has culture, and on the other she has physical beauty. Each presents a side of a coin, if you will. They are both viable choices, that is to say, they are the same type of coin, but one is heads, the other tails. 

Part of this exercise is relating this 'toss of the coin' to my own life. At the risk of sounding rude, it is my opinion that such matters are more the concern of females and in the case of males, womanizers. However, yes, I have experienced such a dilemma at one point in my life. That is not to say it was a dilemma of whom to marry, rather it was more of learning to be content with something. I don't want to delve too deep into the details, but suffice it to say, I had a choice between two. A person that seemed quite ideal, and one that didn't quite fit that particular criteria. In the end I learned a valuable lesson. Sometimes you need to settle for less, and make the best out of it. (How cliche, I know). If I had to put this lesson into metaphor, I'd put it this way:

Say, you going to buy a new pair of shoes. You already know which particular pair of shoes you want to purchase. You take them off the shelf and try them on, but it doesn't fit right. Sure, they look neat and they're the ones you've been waiting all week to buy, but the fit is just wrong. On the other hand, you spot a pair of shoes that don't quite suit your fancy, but upon trying them on, they fit snuggly. Your choice. Make of it what you will.

To My Dearest

To my dearest,

It has been far too long, has it not? It appears humorous to me to be posing such a question, as it occurs to me that I am in no position to be asking as such, for the answer is apparent. I left, without leaving a word, for my conscience could not take what happened. It is time you knew the truth of the matters between us.

I am not a single man. And my mother is not sick; in fact, she isn't even remotely dying. I'd wager a month's salary on her being able to run laps around the bukid and still have enough energy to go milk the goats afterwards (with a smile and a pep in her step, mind you).
You must understand this. What we had was something special, or else it would never have happened. Alas: There is a difference between what we feel, and what we have to do. And my family must come first. It is a sad story and one that I do not recount with joy or pride, for I had done them a wrong turn. I abandoned them, in an attempt to escape responsibility. To start anew. And just when I thought I had found it with you, I had a change of heart. I had to return. You must understand. This wasn't easy for me either. It took me all this time to work up the courage to write this letter to you. I could not make the same mistake twice. I decided to man up to the situation and take things up from where I left them.

I'm sorry,

____________________

She withdraws the letter from her gaze. The woman stares blankly into space.
She is enraged. But she doesn't let it show. She folds the letter neatly and replaces it into the envelope with such care, that no one would have thought it ever to have been opened. She tucks it equally as neatly into the deepest recesses of her purse as if it was the One Ring itself, destined to be thrown into the fires of Mount Doom. She exits the post office that is disguised as a pharmacy. The medicine is too expensive for most anyway. She walks down the dusty roads, past the palm trees, past the patty fields and the children helping their parents on the farms. She doesn't mind them. This woman has something more important on her mind. She has a purpose, a mission. And it will be fulfilled. It isn't anything grandiose. Just something she has to do, despite what she feels. She arrives home. Her husband is asleep. And before the little shrine dedicated to the virgin Mary in their home, she kneels and lights a candle. She carefully takes the envelope from her purse, and places a gentle kiss on it. Then abruptly, as if the envelope had suddenly become something ghastly and wicked in her eyes, she holds the letter out to lick of the flame, and the flame embraces it. Not suddenly, but little by little, like a wine taster savors a rare Cabernet or Merlot. She looks on satisfied. It is done. The memory and feelings passed on through the baptism of fire. They have been let go. She has another life now. Despite what might have been. She knows now there is no turning back. There is acceptance in her soul. It may not be ideal she muses. But it is a life. Indeed. There is a difference between what you feel and you have to do.

Selling the Drama

Hmmm, a time when I was discriminated against because of my gender? Well, not many times come to mind, as we Filipinos live in a more or less 'male dominated' society. This may be changing slowly as the country progresses, but evidently, some chauvinist ideals and values are still present in our society. Take Nikki's example with her father: She may not stay out as late as her younger brother, because she is female. This presumably is the consequence of the fear that she is more susceptible to rape, than her brother. Or the attitude that female drivers are inferior (ahem, hint, hint, nudge, nudge - just kidding.). So, being a male, I cannot recall any significant events. If there were any, then I would probably remember, seen as I don't, then I guess not. HOWEVER. What I have seen is girls take advantage of this situation sometimes. This is not to say that girls are opportunistic, as with many things, it is the case with a few, and I don't presume to make a sweeping generalization of the female attitude: these are just my experiences.

I remember a time during one of my classes in DLSC, that the whole class was asked to move the tables and chairs into a certain position. This of course entails manual work i.e. lifting, dragging etc. And not that I'm complaining (this is a delicate topic to speak about, it's a challenge not to appear sexist) but I guess the females in the group thought they were exempted from this task. Some stood at the side, others pretended to be busy with their phones, and none of the males asked them to help. Now to be fair, there were some males who weren't helping, but I guess that boils down to plain laziness, but the reason why so many females appeared idle, was a mystery to me. Is this perhaps one of the perks of being a female in the Philippines? Gentlemanly conduct dictates that you try to make women feel at ease etc. and being polite, but it just took me a bit by surprise.

Hmmmm.... gender discrimination... You know, come to think of it, I don't think it's ever happened to me significantly. Race discrimination: sure! Plenty of times. It's one of those problems that comes with being half. Here, I'm white: sometimes I get ripped off, sometimes they think I shit 100 dollar bills. In Europe, I'm brown: either mistaken for a Turkish immigrant, stealing jobs from Swiss people, or just in general for having a darker shade of skin... 

In Another Life

Well, if I had to choose, I'd probably Eddie Vedder. Seeing as all the other greats from the grunge era are all dead, or addicted to drugs. Eddie and Pearl Jam have been making great music for years now, never compromising their sound. They don't make music videos and don't sell out. To me, this shows that the reason they do what they do is for the music. Of course they make a little money on the side, but at least they aren't commercialized like most of the new bands that are out there, who sell an image. It seems to me that most of these kids that famous nowadays possess little to no talent at all. In fact, they all kind of sound the same. Pearl Jam on the other hand is still true in your face raw rock and roll. What I wouldn't give to front Pearl Jam for even just one tour. Millions of people all around the world listening to your music. You step on stage to the sound of thousands of people cheering and focused solely on the sound you make. Awesome. My ultimate fantasy. And, well, it's not much, but that's all I have to say about that...

The Belle of the Ball

It's nine in the morning on a perfect summer day. There isn't a need to elaborate on this. It's just perfect on the surface. We've just finished breakfast, a concoction of bacon, eggs and rice. The kids have been sent off to school and now my wife is puttering around in the garden. She's wearing those revealing shorts again, the ones that showcase her perfectly tanned legs and a bit of her butt-crack when she bends over to inspect a daffodil or a rose. Perhaps she feels that these flowers are an extension of her beauty. Of her perfection and how she has to extend this perfection to everything around her. We are the perfect family, and she intends to keep it that way. She is in every sense of the word: a jewel. A jewel I came to possess while in college finishing my master's degree in mathematics. As if she was some prize waiting to be snatched up by the person who best at number crunching and later in life, be the bane of every college student. I examine her. She is beautiful. Long legs, firm breasts, a pretty smile, having the kids didn't affect her figure. But even the most beautiful of possessions is subject to loss of interest over time. And thus, I have turned my attentions to something outside of my little world. Outside the daffodils, outside the Mozart records that I play, outside the little nuisances that have compiled over the years. For another jewel has caught my eye... And it sits upon the finger of another man.
Truth be told, I have already touched that jewel. I have stroked it in places that have long been forgotten by it's owner. It happened while we were touring the cottages. A quiver in her lips told me she wanted it and apparently a sparkle in my eye or some other subconscious cue gave my intents and desires away. And then, in that moment, it happened. A sweaty and passionate thirty minutes later, we lay on the floor smoking cigarettes. She is my neighbor. In between puffs, she tells me that she doesn't usually smoke. But then again, today was a day of firsts. I take a long puff on my cigarette "Your husband must never know". We agree, and that's the beginning of how it all started. There is more of course.
I come home and my wife gives me a suspicious look. My hair is unkempt, my tie isn't positioned in its usual perfection. "How was did you find the cottages?" she asks me, her voice strained. I manage to groan out an answer. I am no longer in our dinning room. My conscience is next door, inhaling Belle's sweet aroma. But right now, that's not possible. There's a fight going on. I'm listening. "Yes." My mind whispers in Belle's ear. "Tell him to get the fuck out of your life. To take you off his finger, Belle. There's a new jeweler in town." My wife goes on and on, and I'm still only listening with half an ear then suddenly a sentence registers in my ear "I'm want to put up a fence."
"What?"
"A fence."
"I just feel we need some more privacy around here."
I know what this really means. She can probably smell Belle on me. She despises that woman and has developed a sense for her. Right now, I got Belle written all over me. But she won't let another woman ruin her world, no. She'll shut her out. The fence has a double function: To keep her out and keep me in. Psychological warfare. Perhaps she doesn't know that I've noticed Belle's husband's hungry stares. While she's bending over to inspect a daffodil. Like a starving wolf might stare at a piece of meat; with fervor, with intent, with lust. Prick.
We finish dinner. I am silent, while my wife goes on about how pretty and perfect the white fence will be and how it will be the perfect addition to our little set up here. All I can think of is how to reach Belle. I walk over to the phonograph, I play Mozart. I pour myself some whiskey into a tumbler. Chivas Regal on ice, the good stuff, the perfect compliment to the occasion. Today was good. Finally a little excitement in 'perfect-ville'.
"Do Belle and him fight often?" I muse, "Perhaps, I'll ask him one day..."

Little Heirlooms

Family heirlooms. I spent some time considering this. The more I thought about it, we haven't really got one on the Filipino side, which strikes me as strange, coming from having read the story. Why? The author sends the idea across that this is a sort of tradition among Filipino families. I get this impression because I was raised away from my Filipino side, and thus have little insight into the subject. Since I was not present during the discussion, I did a little research and learned that the author took up writing at the University of Iowa. So I presume that many or at least some of his readers were Americans, perhaps Francisco was trying to show similarity yet difference in culture. Similar in the sense that Filipinos also have family heirlooms, yet different because of what is considered to be a family heirloom. One expects these things to be rings, watches, trinkets and other oddities, but 'the Mat' as in 'Banig' is something unique to South East Asia.
On to the point: Some European families also practice handing down heirlooms, in my case it is our family crest. This link will take you to a picture of it: http://www.chgh.net/heraldik/b/bue/buergi.htm
Each member of my family has an heirloom depicting this crest. However it isn't handed down until the present holder decides to. My uncle Armin has a gold ring with the crest, my aunt Barbara has a painting, my grandmother holds a book with family history, which she says she will entrust to me when she is no longer able to keep it, while my father holds a mirror with the crest etched on it. Traditionally, crests serve to identify a family. Families sharing the same last name sometimes have similar crests, differing only some minute details, mine is the one from Lyss. The crest gives me a connection with my country, an identity and sense of belonging, yet it sets you apart, because yours is unique. One day, I'm going to inherit that mirror, and just like in the story, it gives me a sense of pride. It sort of gives me a sense of unity.

That's Not My Name

It's almost eight, yet the streets of Manila are awash with light. It should come as no surprise to me, but every time I return from the province, the spectrum of lights and sounds send a shock from my senses from my brain. It's cold. Maria is sitting next to me in the back of her fathers car. Yes. A car. We're no longer in La Union. We're in the big city. No water buffaloes and dried up river beds. Just noise, putrid air and lights. The thing I miss the most about my small provincial town are the stars. Cities cast too much ambient light obscuring our vision. On top of that all the pollution... Finally brought back to earth from my musings, I glance over at Maria. She's looking out the window. I continue to look, until that look turns into a stare. I awkwardly become aware of my rudeness when Maria looks back quizzically. "Noel... what's the matter?" Noel is not my name. I shrug and shake my head "Nothing..." I glance out my own window. Back to the lights. I mutter the words 'The lights are to blame..." as an afterthought. I wonder if she hears me - probably not. "God", I think "I want to go home."

The real reason for my anxiety and discomfort are not really the lights. They're just to blame for making me feel more homesick. Tonight is the night I meet Maria's parents. They live in Alabang in an abode that could easily fit my entire family. Maria is an only child. I grit my teeth. Remain calm. It'll be fine. She has given me every assurance in the world that her parents will be receptive of the idea of the two of us being married. After all, she came all the way to my humble village in the province, the least I can do is return the favor. We disembark. Maria is dressed casually enough. Jeans, sneakers, a blue top and a gorgeous smile on her face. It exudes excitement and anticipation. I wonder what my face says. I spent some of the money I had set aside for me on new leather shoes, a nice pair of slacks and a white polo shirt. After the purchase, I tried on my new wardrobe and felt like I looked like a waiter... or a penguin... not the budding young musician that I am. My music will pay the bills one day, I hope. And besides I do little jobs here and there. Maria understands. .. she loves me. I leave it at that.

We enter her house and immediately I am assaulted by numerous people who bear a slight resemblance to Maria. I try not to act surprised: I've been set up. This isn't just her parents. A notable portion of her extended family is here too. The ripe Manila smell is replaced by perfumes and the scent of roast pig. The relatives are all over me. Scrutinizing me, like scientists. Thank God for the leather shoes. One by one Maria introduces me to aunt Cecilia, tita Baby, the twins kuya Bobby and Ricardo. "This is Noel" she proudly chirps at them. "That's not my name" I silently add in my head. I shake hands, I nod when appropriate, I even flash a smile here and there. She leaves out the part where I'm her husband. They speak to me in broken Tagalog, Taglish some even make it past 3 in straight Tagalog. Others force themselves to speak their native tongue, perhaps because they think it is courteous, out of presumption that I don't speak English. Idiots all of them. Rich idiots. But you have to humor them. Take it in your stride. The world isn't fair, and sometimes, that's why it's a funny place. 

I'm starting to find this a very tiring and tedious exercise. Finally when the introduction and inspections are over, I finally find some alone time. I plop onto the couch and return to my musings. Perhaps things won't always be like this. Maria is different from these people her and I can find middle ground. After all opposites attract don't they? I begin to lose myself in idealistic thought. "Is this him?" says a large mestizo man, whom I had not noticed in the room before. He's standing just to the left of me. I look up. He's a mountain of a man. An obstacle. A barrier. Standing next to him is Maria. She gives me that look, the one she uses when she's cuing my up to say something. She has no idea. He's scrutinizing me, I just know it. Behind those dark beetling brows, he's calculating whether I'm good enough of not. Well, I've made some calculations of my own. "You must be Noel." He says flatly. "That's not my name." I reply aloud.

A Short Story Goes to Court

In class, we discussed the fact that the author's original intentions for his writing were of protest, or as the author specified 'anger'. He described himself as an angry person. However, to me this does not reflect in his writing. The short story 'My Father Goes to Court' comes across as a comical story that borders on absurd. He portrays the system to be whimsical. This could be mistaken for satire, which is characterized by sarcasm and irony, but the story doesn't have enough of either to be classified as such. The most you'll get out of reading the story is a short giggle perhaps at the ending. So, the only viable explanation for such a story would be wish-fulfillment. Perhaps the authors portrayal of the justice system and the absurd claims of the rich neighbor are reflections of what reality was in Bulosans time. People making absurd claims and accusations which are in turn entertained by the courts. After the father outwits the rich man, the court (which is apparently susceptible to minor tricks and play on words) has no choice but to close the case. Bulosan is trying to show that the court is bound by its laws and is actually quite powerless. He's saying that if you can outwit your enemy or your attacker the judicial system will follow. It is just there to pass judgement and if the Filipino can bring an equally absurd or witty argument to the table, the legal system will follow. I think the poor family is a metaphor for the Philippines, while the rich family is a metaphor for the American colonizers. This may be Bulosans way of calling for protest.

Looking at it this way, everything seems to fall into place. The values of Filipinos are reflected in the poor family: They are social, working and generally happy people, yet somewhat impoverished. The neighbors (Americans), are wealthy, but withdrawn, a tad anti-social and for intents and purposes seem content. Also, the poor families children (their youth) always keep looking into the windows of the rich people, this could be a metaphor for how the Filipino youth began to absorb or to become curious about the colonials' culture.

If my ventures into this topic is true, then Bulosan may be a bigger genius than anybody had originally thought. Many a doubter would be put to shame. So if you ask me if this story was one of protest or wish-fulfillment, I would have to say it's a little bit of both. It's a cleverly disguised wish for protest, or a depiction of how to outwit and outsmart the enemy.