nameabledays Archive One

It could be from the way old riverine Filipinos named or came to know things—where everyone gathers, where people come together to trade, exchange goods, meet other people, make love, there arose the villages. And these usually were where the river bends, or the delta, where it broke into rivulets and met the salt. (One of the most beautiful words in English describes these waters where a river becomes the sea—they are called freshets.) The lo-ok was the bay, the ilo-ok was perhaps the river bend, or where something, someone or a village “is placed.” “Naka-lo-ok,” as in “nakaluklok” (sorry about the triple hyphenation, I don’t know how to put diacriticals in web text). Or, perhaps it was “ilok,” cognate of “ilog.” The oldest Filipino place names and other proper nouns invariably refer to water or river. Everybody knows about “Taga-ilog,” but we seem to forget or miss the roots of Pampanga (pampang), Bikol (bikal, bikog—spring, as in the Tagalog bukal, and bend, of a river), Sugbu, sugba in other languages, for plunge (into water, into fire).
















So, our compatriots of the North are of the same river bend after all, where we arose or plunged into, long ago in our pre-colonial memory. And thus truly Filipino, whatever the word means or whatever we want it to mean. For me, whatever it is, it’s that thing I keep looking for wherever I go within these scattered islands of good ol’ Filipinas. What is being Filipino? It’s the similarities I keep looking for, not the differences, especially in language. Of course diversity has its own value, but perhaps diversity is just a manifestation of some basic seed where we all begin. I do not look for homogeneity, for that smacks of R.U.R. and Big Brother. It’s just that I grow tired of us Filipinos wanting to be other than ourselves, many of us not even stepping a foot away from our shores.

And what is being Filipino? For me, it is the grand conspiracy to be ourselves—once more or at last, or for the first time ever. I don't know what or where it is, when it is going to be. It is both an act and a possibility. For others who know its meaning and its worth, it is already there. For those who are confused, it is still somewhere in the future, or they even look for it somewhere else beyond the Pacific, and they think it's such as strange territory as the Philippine Deep. Maybe it is a place, a feeling, a heart, a memory. The memory of one and the memory of many. It is a decision to remember. It is the rejection of oblivion.

Maybe it is a feeling that says: here are my kaibigan, kapatid (joined at or sharing the umbilical cord), kabayan, kasama. I may not be from their place (who ever stays put in one place?) but I share with them a history, a story, a narrative that ends where we are now, “when” we are now. But the narrative, story, history continues with myself, my kaibigan, kapatid, kabayan, kasama. Time continues with me—not with me individually, but with all the collective memory of my fathers, borthers, sisters, families, clans, places where came from or met—which in the end makes me endless. You and me will die or migrate or change citizenship, but our being Filipino continues. On that we have no choice, unless we can willfully reincarnate in Greece or Arizona.

Now, where are the Ilocos provinces in our being Filipino? Several important things mark the Ilocos provinces in Philippine history (and in our consciousness), some of which I caught in pictures (or pictures referring to or related to those important things) during my short visit, and more of which appear here: the religious aspect of the Philippine Revolution; tobacco (still part of the Revolution, as in Tobacco Monopoly, and the controversial tobacco levy which helped bring about the downfall of a president in recent history); and Marcos, of course. And as if an afterthought, the first Filipino woman poet recognized abroad.

THE PHOTOS (from top): 1. REMAINS OF A RIVER in Sarrat, just off the road in front of the church of the famous wedding of the daughter of the famous dictator, shimmering behind trees; 2. THE BURGOS HOUSE near the Vigan plaza; 3. CALLE CRISOLOGO corner somewhere, with old and "new" antiques; 4. 19th CENTURY ILOCANO POET Leona Florentino, couldn't study because she was a woman, privately instructed first by her mother, then by a priest, both of whom saw her talent early, before long a poem was included in an international anthology published in France; 5. CAFE LEONA. An Ilustrado, Leona owned this house at the entrance to the well-preserved old quarter of Vigan; for a time it was deteriorating as a billiard salon, but was later rescued and it came to house cafes and restaurants on its first floor, one of them named after her; 6. SIGNS OF THE TIMES: Leona in her chair on a pedestal, a senatorial candidate with his pet tiger; 7. THE GREAT PADRE at the Cathedral plaza, pensive amid noisy, unmindful kids who might not even know who he was; 8. MSGR. GEGORIO AGLIPAY, founder of Iglesia Filipina Independiente, the only surviving offspring of the Philippine Revolution (it ate all its children, including itself); 9. TIME WARP: caruaje, caleche, chaise, hansom... 10. TOCADOR & aparador at the Syquia Museum, also one-time mansion of President Quirino, who married a Syquia; 11. PUGON (oven) for drying tobacco, a more complete shot; 12. THE AGLIPAYAN MARY at the Batac Cathedral; 13. GABRIELA SILANG'S pass along the highway Ilocos Sur, where she was captured before public execution on a town plaza; 14. MARCOS MANSION and Paoay Lake reflecting the afternoon light behind; 15. A SMALL TOWN bakery in Candon; 16. ANTIQUE (?) SANTO; 17. ONCE MORE, Sarrat trees in the afternoon.