Clash of cymbals
SYMBOLS sprout forth from the lush loam
of tradition, and thus, reflect a down-to-earth richness that nourishes both
human and spiritual growth.
But it took
more of whim than tradition to dump the tinikling
(literally, in the manner of a rail bird, evading traps and trips with grace
and aplomb) and proclaim pronto cariƱosa
as national dance—the shift happened in the 1980s when certain Department of
Education, Culture and Sports (DECS) officials took delight at seeing DECS
chief Dr. Lourdes Quisumbing go through cariƱosa
dance steps. What if she had regaled those fawning officials by doing a tap
dance or salsa?
Taking the
cue from such ease with which a national symbol can be proffered to all and
sundry, media proclaimed multi-titled prizefighter Manny Pacquiao as pambansang kamao— national fist. In the
traditional jan ken pon game for
children, rock blunts scissors; scissors cut paper; and paper wraps rock or a
fist, which may also be taken as symbol for a tightwad or miser.
Take the stubborn display of the yellow ribbon rather than the national tricolor standard by the current MalacaƱang top resident. Yellow can be unflattering as symbol for a moribund state of a wound, oozing yellow pus. Too, there are yellow journalists, yellow labor leaders... the sort that evince cowardice and treachery. And then, there is now a yellow President.
Take the stubborn display of the yellow ribbon rather than the national tricolor standard by the current MalacaƱang top resident. Yellow can be unflattering as symbol for a moribund state of a wound, oozing yellow pus. Too, there are yellow journalists, yellow labor leaders... the sort that evince cowardice and treachery. And then, there is now a yellow President.
A symbol
stirs the mind. It echoes through the heart. Often, it is etched in the ethos. Taken
together, the symbols that a nation embraces as its own manifests the animating
spirit of the people.
The thatched
nipa hut or bahay kubo may have lost
its frail, rustic charm to the onslaught of super howlers and Yolandas a-brew
in the nation’s eastern seaboard. Ivatan stone huts in the Batanes Islands,
wrought from corals and boulders have withstood storm surges and typhoons for
centuries. They ought to emerge as epitome of Filipino architecture that
endures.
A Bohol
lawmaker tried to trot out adobo as
national food in lieu of roast pig (lechon).
The attempt fell flat. Lechon reigns
supreme as piĆØce de rĆ©sistance in
feasts, oozing with lethal lard. It can be relevant reminder to lawmakers
themselves how the pig gives up its life to provide food, even bring to mind how
Christ drove out a legion of demons that took refuge in a flock of swine, why,
those pigs rushed to the nearest cliff and plunged to death.
Too, fattened
pigs, butchered, skewered; turned over and over over live coals to turn up a
national symbol ought to stoke a nation’s wrath at how pork barrel monies
fatten the bank accounts of a Janet Lim-Napoles and her lawmaker partners in crime.
Whatever process pigs go through may be brought upon personae of such
propensities.
And lest we
forget reality, instant noodles of industrial strength flavors and
pocket-friendly price may have become the undisputed national food— on any day, a
P10 packet can be thinned with a gallon of hot water to hush the hunger of a
family of six.
Schoolchildren
have to learn by heart a shop-list of national symbols, say, mango as national
fruit that had been edged out by apples and oranges in most fruit stalls. Or anahaw as national leaf and kalabaw as national animal—both are
fading away in the nation’s landscape.
Their
symbolic significance is similarly on a fade-away, tossed out by collective
indifference to whatever meanings a symbol holds for a people and the lives
they lead.
We may be
losing that which stirs the mind, that which echoes through the heart.
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