Saturday, May 10, 2008
Bird’s Tongue
(Happy Mother’s Day to you and yours.)
“Bird’s tongue.”
My mother was alluding to how the people in her northern province of Tuguegarao –my province, technically– nicknamed their dialect. She was in a nostalgic repose by the bedside table, where prayer cards and religious icons and scapulars had been scattered. I myself was in a holy disposition, and by that I mean my mouth was shut, my ears were open, and my eyes were looking past the open window and at the dark velvet sky. Midnight was approaching, yet we both knew that the conversation was not to be cut off in the midst of her deep torrent of remembrance.
“Ratata-tata,” mother went on, mimicking the unique chattering tempo in which the Ybanag language was spoken. Like a bird’s tongue indeed – quick pecks of words which were hard to catch, harder to comprehend, and blasphemously complicated to translate. Ratata-tata.
Ybanag, however, was the invariable lexicon during her youth. She said it was what the nuns of St. Paul College used whenever they prayed their rosaries. It was what the conservative high school girls spoke in whenever they murmured and gossiped about new and upcoming films from the West – those that often raised eyebrows and challenged old-fashioned attitudes. Mother should know; she had been one of those girls.
She said: “You know, it was my thirty-year-old Ybanag-speaking cousin who made the advertising rounds in one of those 18th century Spanish calezas (horse carriages), going round the small neighborhood, yelling, in bird’s tongue and at the top of his lungs, that for a mere five pesos an individual would be admitted to watch the double programme screening at the local cinema: ‘Now showing…Hilda Coronel in her first starring role! Double with To Sir With Love!’”
Mother, by the way, loved Sidney Poitier. She first saw him in one of the town’s several dilapidated theaters. It was a place where people brought yesterday’s newspapers to keep the bugs on the seats at bay; where the intense stench was of dry urine and the nearby wet market; where instead of popcorn, viewers would bring slices of green mangoes to eat, plastic bags of fish sauce (or bagoong) to dip those slices into, and warm peanuts, the empty shells of which the familiar faces in the back row would throw recklessly at the audiences seated up front. The provoked would react with sharp hisses in bird’s tongue.
That was way, way back. To pursue her collegiate studies, my mother then moved to Manila – the city, the capital, the hectic life. “Your grandfather would visit from the province every now and then,” she gently explained, without the restless vibe of someone who grew up in a society of Ybanag-speaking people. “In each day of his stay here, we’d go shopping in the malls and stalls of Quiapo. That was where he’d bought all those cheap but elegant leather shoes!” In her voice, I heard mother smile. Of course I didn’t really see because I was looking at the tiny stars above, which suddenly seemed even more splendid.
“And we’d watch movies, too,” as if she only remembered. “There were cinemas in Santa Cruz, in between the busy districts of Tondo and Quiapo. How your grandfather loved those action films!” She turned off the lamp and the night was darker, more sacred.
“Then came The Graduate – I believe you had once asked about it – and with such an interesting plot, I just thought I’d bring my father with me,” she said, barely above a whisper, and which could have sounded as the antithesis of the bird’s tongue. “The film wasn’t even halfway through when your grandfather asked me, ‘My child, my child, what in heaven’s name are you watching?’ As you can imagine, the film caused a lot of controversy when it came out. Even more so here in the Philippines
I didn’t think there was anything confessional in my mother’s memory. Parents might be prone to induce guilt on children but not the other way around. In fact, I must say that we both enjoyed her anecdote with silly giggles, giggles contained within the four walls of my mother’s solemnly configured bedroom. After that we kissed each other good night - recognizing that words were not only unnecessary, but also that words, in whatever language, would anyhow be lost in translation.
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# 1 Dr. Sponk Long said:
Hi Migs…simply nice. You outdid yourself this time. Very subtle…yet very intimate.
Being shared with your Mom’s experiences of the best years of her life will be a memory you’ll never forget. It will bring a chuckle or a tear from your eyes one day.
Cheers!
(BTW, have you tried filmmaking?…I’m sure you’ll be a great director.)
# 2 Klaus Doring said:
Hi Migs, very touching indeed… Great post…
# 3 Richard D said:
great story Migs as always
# 4 rick b said:
Nice writing style Migs, “paints the picture” even with the urine and bagoong….like your mum i loved sidney poitier, in the heat of the night with rod steiger playing the local racist sherrif i think he was, anyway it still is a classic movie…………….
also when i was younger, watched the graduate, i was in the uk, early 20’s i was then and dustin hoffman looks like a boy in it. It made a splash too in the uk but i guess it was more controversial here in the Philippines, anyway enjoyed yr article Migs and will look out for the birdsong language and the peanut shells too if i make the cinema, hope they have used some disinfectant before i get there
enjoyed your writing, best regards
# 5 john said:
Beatiful article, I am sure your mum is very proud of you.
# 6 Migs said:
Hi Dr. Sponk: Thank you for your humbling words. I have always wanted to be a filmmaker, but I am afraid I lack the technology, the skill set, and the patience for that! You’re right, though: the intimacy is inspired by my own memories of Tuguegaro, my province up north. You should visit it sometime!
Hi Klaus: Thank you very much. Kindly send my best regards to Rose and Mutti. It was a pleasure meeting you all again!
Hi Richard: Thanks very much for your kind words. I’m sure everyone has their own beautiful stories to tell about the Philippine provinces. I love Manila but I love Cagayan, too!
# 7 Migs said:
Hi Rick: I am glad you like Sidney Poitier! (He was featured recently in Larry King, which was why I was reminded of the story.) To Sir with Love is also another classic.
Having stayed in Davao, I must say that Bisaya also sounds a bit like the sound of “bird’s tongue”. Not that I understand it myself; Mr Bob Martin speaks much better Bisaya than I can ever hope to learn!
Anyway, the cinemas are cleaner now, I suppose. You won’t get anymore of those empty peanut shells but I do hope that you still get to visit Cagayan soon - and other such beautiful provinces up north.
Cheers! It was wonderful to meet you!
# 8 Migs said:
Hi John: Thank you kindly for your words. Yes, I hope to make my mum proud. It is an honor to be a mother’s - and a father’s - son.
By the way, it was good to have a cup of coffee with you whilst I was down in Davao. I’ll be back soon!
# 9 Tina said:
Hi Migs,
Thanks for another beautiful article, very appropriate for Mother’s Day.
I have had a lot of exposure to Ybanag as my uncle married a lady from Cagayan. Although I don’t understand Ybanag, I pick up words here and there like “danum” for water and some others. Oh, of course, the often-used cuss word (I think you know what that is).
Is Ybanag another name for Itawis? I remember my aunt’s helpers refer to their language as Itawis, not Ybanag. Anyway, I always found it amusing to listen to them talk, the lilting of their voices followed by bursts of laughter.
On a different note, sorry I didn’t get to see the Manila Sunset on this trip as planned. Our stay in Manila was very brief, there was no time for a trip to Manila Bay. I hope we get to do this next time.
Take care and keep writing these beautiful articles. Cheers!
# 10 Migs said:
Hi Tina: I didn’t know you were in the Philippines! If you went there, I’m sure you would’ve found Manila Bay totally different from how it was years ago. The promenade is so clean and vendor-free, but you’ll also miss the nightlife. (Next time, though!)
I’m glad you are familiar with the Ybanag language. Don’t worry: I won’t give lessons on profanity.And while Ybanag and Itawis sound alike, I think they are only closely related. Our housekeepers, for example, did not come from Tuguegarao, they speak Itawis, but they understand the Ybanag words my parents often use.
Thank you very much for your kind words. Cheers to you, and I’m looking forward to meeting you the next time you visit the Philippines!