Filipino Day

(journal entry dated March 2, 2012, a Friday)

I was reviewing some of my previous entries here [in my journal] and am amazed to find that I can be funny. Or rather, the brain—with all its quirks—it’s amazing how it can be so funny.  I couldn’t help but wonder, if I make a book out of these entries, would they appeal to Japanese readers? I don’t know why the Japanese.  I guess I just somehow see a resemblance between some of my writings here and some Japanese writings I’ve read.

I love the Japanese. There’s a hushed genius that pervades their art and literature. Very subtle. Oblivious to, or rather seemingly oblivious to what people might think of them or their way of life. But not contemptuous like the French. If there are two other countries that I’d like the Philippines to be mentored by, it’s Japan and France. Especially now that Filipinos are now awakening to nationalist consciousness.

Just yesterday, Judith and I were arguing about why most Filipinos don’t have love for their country. By “love of country” here, I mean “felt love,” which one may be aware of but not necessarily conscious about in most things one does.

I maintain it’s got to do with perspective. I mean, we’ve always been naturally hospitable. So when the Spaniards came in conquest of this country, we welcomed them with open arms. When they introduced to us their belief systems and way of life, we readily accepted them. I maintain it’s not because our ancestors were dumb. There had to have been some kind of intellectual persuasion involved in the process. And our forefathers must have recognized the superior rationalizations with which the conquerors persuaded them.

But the sad thing, or most unfortunate thing, about this is that they destroyed our existing culture. They literally burned down our old way of life, our reference points as to who we really were, prior to the coming of the colonizers. With that gone, we had nothing left but what they had to give—their ways of thinking and living. Nawalan tayo ng perspective as to who we really are as a people.

The Chinese, the Koreans, the Japanese—they all have history that spans thousands of years. We could have had the same and maintain a core perspective, an alternative reference that we would have reconsidered in light of the rationalizations and machinations of our conquerors.

Sure there are countries that are much “younger” than ours. Singapore, for instance. Or Australia. But these are countries peopled by citizens with strong core perspectives. British, Indians, Chinese, etc. You bring a Chinese to America, he remains Chinese in his way of thinking and living. He would live in a Chinatown. If there’s none, he would found one.

You bring a Filipino to America, he readily becomes “Americanized,” with all the awkwardness and eagerness of one trying to belong. The Chinese keep to themselves; Filipinos mingle. Not that it’s bad. It’s just sad that there are Filipinos who would readily forget their identity, and worse, look down on their “Filipino-ness” (or whatever’s left of it) and their country of origin.

I’ve often heard this call before: that Philippine history should be written (or “rewritten”?) from the perspective of Filipinos. The problem is, I think, ours is generations and generations of “damaged” Filipinos. Filipinos whose perspectives are marred by personal biases and tragedies (“The Philippine government is so corrupt, I’m never going back to that country again!”; or “It’s the Americans who saved us in World War II; long live America!”; or “Filipinos are the greatest singers in the world!”). With such biased views, these people would write down history and it would not be a balanced picture. It would be deceptive history.

But come to think of it, is this avoidable?

Writers lend their personalities to their writing. Historians are no different. Given these postulates, is it fair to assume that much of world history thrives on deception? How this man becomes a “hero,” whereas when he was still alive—or if you knew him personally, warts and all—calling him a hero would be laughable. That some saints were not all “saintly”; that the notorious Jesse James was not all “bad to the bones.”

Yet we celebrate them in our writings, our ceremonies, our movies, etc. I think the human race has grown intelligent enough to discern for itself. That if we celebrate something, it’s because we are inspired by the triumphs and are understanding enough to overlook the weaknesses. Not because we have been deceived.