Category Archives: philippines

Do you want a haircut? No I want them all cut! 

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I got tongue tied when giving directions to the tricycle on which barber shop I wanted to go to but I arrive nonetheless. Fortunately I have been there before so I am able to guide the driver. Unfortunately there is a lineup today. I guess that’s what I get from getting a haircut on Saturday afternoon. 

I climb out if the tricycle (not made for people as big as I am) and hand over the fare. Then I pop my head in to ask, “Is there any hope?” I am number 2 so that’s not too bad. It looks like today Noel has another guy cutting, too, so that makes the line go down quickly. Noel, the owner of Marvin’s Barber shop, has been cutting my hair ever since I moved to Pingkian 12 years ago. Once I find a good barber I tend to stick with them. It’s gotten to the point where I just sit down and Noel knows what cut I want. Nice!

I sit outside along the front of the shop on a stack of two monoblock chairs. A bench of similar design is already occupied by three other people. The shop features the typical striped colours symbolic if barbershops the world over. It’s glass front featuring a painted lettered sign “Marvin’s BARBER SHOP.” A black plastic bucket on the ground beside the door catches water the drips constantly from the air conditioner. Faded photos of haircuts are featured prominently in the windows. 

Life passes us by. Tandang Sora avenue is always busy. Only two lanes but it leads people past several schools, a mall or two, and a wet market. The road has improved over the years. Now it boasts a smooth asphalt surface that makes driving easy. The steep edges, however, make walkers a little more cautious. 

Small delivery trucks, jeepneys, vans, motorcycles, tricycles, and cars pass by going here, there, and everywhere. Pedestrians also frequent the way carrying bags, purses, or books. 

Directly across from the shop is a brand new stripmall, still unoccupied. Looks like there is room for fourteen shops on two floors, each with it own rollup door. A roofdeck is on the third floor. It’s one of the new places that are constantly being built in anticipation of the road being widened to 4 lanes. 

The urban sprawl tends to hide the physical geography, but signs peek out from time to time. The south side of the road, where I am sitting, appears to be higher and the ground slopes away across the road towards the creek that I know is there. 

The bench just emptied itself of people — I guess the lineup wasn’t as long as I thought. Soon it will be my turn. All of a sudden I see the nod and head on in. He seats me in his barber’s chair and starts the preparations. As I look into the full-width mirror I see Noel’s tools of the traded arrayed before me. There are seven electric clippers. A box holds 8 different types of brush with a couple more in various places on the shelves. An assortment of bottles sits on the left, ready to be applied during various stages of the haircut. Scissors and combs abound! A TV hangs on the wall behind me, playing the latest telenovela. I can see a reverse image in the mirror in front of me. This mirror is actually an infinity mirror since it works in conjunction with the mirror on the back wall. 

A strip of toilet paper is wrapped around my neck to be held in place by the striped cape that will protect my clothes from falling hair. The clippers are chosen, and will be exchanged with other clippers at various times — why? I don’t know. From time to time the scissors come out, being used rapidly, sometimes held vertically as Noel swiftly operates them and spins them around the back of my head. Then the razor comes out to make sure the edges are neatly trimmed. At one point, the cape is removed, shaken out, then replaced as the final push begins. A razor makes sure the edges are neat.

Then comes perhaps the most interesting part. After putting rubbing alcohol on my hair, he begins to massage my neck and shoulders, making sure all the “lamig” is removed from my muscles. Then, with a sudden move, there is the head twist and neck jerk move that frees up all the bones there. This is always accompanied by a a laughing “Ayus!” on his part. The secret is to just relax and let it happen. But it is always a little freaky. Then a quick brush off of any fallen hairs and the process is done!

Guwapo na!

What is your favourite haircut story? Why not record it for posterity in the comments below?

Remember sharing is what friends do.

Image is mine.

Appropriating Christmas: How the Philippines took a foreign religious holiday & made it their own

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Christmas is more fun in the Philippines! Christmas begins September 1 and ends in December. The joke is that this is because these are -ber months (all ending in -ber), which is reminiscent of brrrr and admittedly is the coldest things get in the Philippines (where daily temperatures begin at 25C and go up). I thought that a look at Filipino Christmas and a comparison with the Christmases practiced in other parts of the world, might help us further understand the process of appropriation.

The Christmas I remember included a variety of images, from Jesus in the manger, to Santa Claus’ red suit. There were shepherds, angels, wise men, reindeer, carols, Christmas songs, presents, and turkey dinner. We put up decorations, stood up Christmas trees, sat on Santa’s knee, and participated in and attended Christmas pageants. We debated: Should it be Christmas or X-mas? Is it proper to celebrate Christmas before Remembrance Day? When is the best time to tell our kids that Santa isn’t real. If Christmas falls on a Saturday, do we need to have a church service on both Saturday and Sunday or can we just have one? The longest kind of celebration for Christmas was the 12 days immortalised in the song. Canadians even had Bob and Doug MacKenzie’s version to enjoy!

What perhaps I didn’t realise back then was that Christmas is an intensely cultural experience and different cultures express and experience Christmas in different ways. Just go back over the lyrics to Band Aid’s Do They Know It’s Christmas? to see the absurdity of some of our ideas!

Christmas is an important time of the year for Filipinos. Preparation begins September 1 when malls begin playing Christmas carols. Soon decorations appear that depict various “Christmas” scenes. In mid-November, people began planning Christmas parties at a variety of locations: A person can expect to attend multiple Christmas parties each Christmas season. The start of Simbang Gabi on 16 December is significant in more ways than one: Not only does it signal the final nine days leading up to Christmas, it also signals the start of Christmas Carol season. 

While it may be called Christmas there are some features of a Philippine Christmas that differ from the Christmases I experienced as a kid in Canada and maybe from the Christmas that you are used to.

World’s Longest Christmas. I guess we can begin at the four months of Christmas. Filipinos often brag that they have the longest Christmas celebrations of any place in the world. They also sometimes apologetically say that they start too early. I guess maybe I could point out that perhaps everyone else starts late?

Parol. The picture at the top of this post is of a parol. The parol is the ultimate Filipino Christmas decoration. Children learn to make these in elementary school and every house has at least one. The simplest parol feature a bamboo frame with colourful plastic skin while the more complex ones feature lights and music. The centre of parol culture is the province of Pampanga, just an hour or two north of Metro Manila, where craftsmen have perfected the art of parol. They have even developed a home-grown system for making the lights dance that predates modern digital light controllers.

Simbang gabi. Simbang gabi is nine days of early morning worship at the local church. It begins on December 16 and goes until Christmas Eve. Some treat the experience as panata, or vow, believing that God will grant their request if they attend each of the nine days.

Christmas caroling. Christmas carolling in the Philippines is a type of wassailing, similar in some ways to Canadian Halloween practices. What is interesting is that one of the more popular Filipino Christmas carols is actually about wassailing. Perhaps the best-known example of Christmas wassailing is in the popular Christmas carol We Wish You a Merry Christmas. As one looks at the lyrics one sees the wassailing process, described from demands for treats (“give us some figgy pudding”) to threats (“we won’t go until we’ve got some”). (Actually the Christmas carol “I love to go a-sailing” is actually “I love to go wassailing.”)

One year I did a study on Christmas carolling in our community. The choice of songs was limited. More than half of the groups sang the typical Christmas medley of Sa May Bahay Ang Aming Bati [We Greet the Owner of the House], We Wish You a Merry Christmas, and Thank You Very Much with two more groups merely omitting Thank You Very Much. By far the most popular song of the evening was Sa May Bahay Ang Aming Bati at 11 hits followed by We Wish You a Merry Christmas at 10 hits, and Thank You, Thank You, Thank You Very Much! at 9 hits. I was surprised that Ang Pasko Ay Sumapit [Christmas is Drawing Near] was only sung once that evening. Other songs included Jingle Bells, Noche Buena [Christmas Eve], Pasko Na Naman Muli [It’s Christmas Time Again], Last Christmas, and Maligayang Pasko [Merry Christmas]. While all of these songs are identified as Christmas carols, none of them makes more than a passing reference to the birth of Jesus.

In the province of Samar caroling is called Pananarit, a Waray-language retelling of the story of Mary and Joseph looking for a place to stay in Bethlehem. Carolers go from house to house asking, through song, “Can you see us here?” Those in the house answer “There is no room in the inn.” The complexity of the song required many singers. The song is quite lengthy, taking up four pages of paper, and a caroller was expected to know it perfectly if they expected to receive a prize. This is repeated every night until Christmas Eve when English songs such as We Wish You a Merry Christmas are permitted. This is because Jesus has now been born and so they don’t need to look for a place to stay.

Aguinaldo and the code words “Merry Christmas.” Since a major part of Christmas is gifts, there are a variety of hints that one can give in order to get a present. Aguinaldo is the term for the P20 that godparents give to their godchildren on Christmas. Some Godparents visit the bank to ensure that these P20 bills are new. In some settings the term “Merry Christmas” is code for “I am waiting for my gift,” which is why some offices ban its use. Having an Exchange Gift is a common feature at Christmas parties. The value is determined before hand to ensure an equitable distribution. 13th-month pay is enshrined in Philippine law that requires employers to give their employees an additional one-month’s pay each December.

What’s different? Christmas is a wonderful time for Filipinos. But you may have noticed a few differences with how you celebrate the same event. By and large Santa is missing. Maybe that’s because the only places with chimneys sell litson manok [roasted chicken] and anyone sliding down those chimneys would end up getting roasted. Other features of the Santa story are also far from the typical Philippine experience: Sleighs, snow, warm winter clothes, reindeer, and North Pole. Christmas carols are also different, as noted above. The Philippines has developed its own set of appropriate Christmas songs. In fact, the main indicator that Christmas has begun is that Jose Mari Chan sings his famous Christmas Song, Christmas in our Hearts.

All Christmas celebrations are in fact appropriations (like Halloween, Valentine’s Day, etc) in that they have been appropriated to bring different meanings to previously pagan festivals. Of course celebrations of Christ’s birth predate these appropriations but we don’t celebrate those anymore. Thus some of the main features of Christmas are really repurposed pagan items. This repurposing gives new meaning to old symbols. This is why I don’t agree with some who claim that to celebrate Christmas or Halloween is to embrace paganism because most paganism has been repurposed and given new meanings — examples of the conversion of culture that Andrew Walls speaks of.

I am hoping that this look at Christmas helps us understand the kinds of appropriations that are appropriate to use. Particularly those who are in the same line of work as I am, namely proclaiming the good news of Jesus Christ to people from another culture, can help find ways for this kind of appropriation to happen. Part of the secret I think it to let it happen organically.

What about your own Christmas celebrations? Have you experienced change in Christmas in your life? How have you made them your own? Feel free to leave a comment below.

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Remember, sharing is what friends do.

Oh, and, Merry Christmas!

Image by Eugene Alvin Villar (seav), CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

My wife, Eva, is now blogging.

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I am pretty excited today because my wife’s new blog, Beneath My Shell, went live just a few moments ago. Eva blogs her thoughts about her life as a missionary midwife living in the Philippines. Here is what she has to say about what you can expect:

My name is Eva Fast.

I am a Canadian missionary with the Baptist General Conference of Canada. I have lived with my family in Metro Manila, Philippines since 1999. My background is nursing and I fell in love with midwifery in 2007. Throughout the years I’ve been involved with over 700 natural births. Although I’m not practicing midwifery at this time, my passion for women and their stories remains. I believe women are stronger together with God as their foundation.

Please head on over a take a look at what Eva has to say. You will love her first story!

When you get there, don’t forget to subscribe so that you can get timely updates!

Image by Luma Pimentel on Unsplash.

Juxtapositions: How sharing spaces with those different from us is good

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I am sitting at my daughter’s dining room table looking out the window. I am always struck by what I can see when I am high up on top of something. It gets me thinking about how space is arranged within cities and how at times diverging or even opposing parties find themselves adjacent to one another.

There is a house immediately behind the condo building that has two prominent, colourful, pictures of Jesus — one on the garage and the other beside the front door (you can see them in the photo above). I should point out that having a picture of Jesus on the front of your house is not at all unusual in Metro Manila but in this instance it seems like a different message is being portrayed. Then I noticed that on the next street over was a small Iglesia ni Cristo [Church of Christ] chapel and I realised that this particular area has an abundance of members from that church. The Iglesia ni Cristo is a Filipino new religious movement whose main location is just a few minutes down the road. Because of this reality I suspect the homeowner is sending a message to their neighbours: We are Roman Catholics in this house.

Thinking along these lines got me to take a closer look at the other spaces I could see. The largest part by far is indeed taken up by the properties of the Iglesia ni Cristo. Sticking up from the greenery of the surrounding mango trees is the new hospital, media center, member apartments, and university. A little further around we can see the main worship center with its grand spires.

Immediately behind the INC site is the beautifully-treed University of the Philippines Arboretum. The space, although transited by a 16-lane highway, is connected to the greater University of the Philippines, the premier university in the Philippines and the place where three members of my family went to school.

Immediately in front of the vast INC estates lies the Culiat Muslim Compound, an islamic community made up of people whose primary origins are in the far south of the country. The space contains a large community of people and is also home to at least five mosques.

Several Roman Catholic orders also occupy adjacent space including the Augustinians who have a variety of training centers and chapels, the Claretians who include the Claret Seminary, the Claretian Missionary Sisters, and the The Institute For Consecrated Life In Asia, and the Adorers of the Blood of Christ with their St. Maria de Mattias Center Inc.

There is also the smaller Our Lord’s Temple Ministry compound squeezed in between these different groups.

Interspersed in between these various institutions are houses and homes occupied by people from all walks of life. From the wealthy members of exclusive subdivisions to the poorer members of various informal communities squeezed in between other more formal establishments.

What is interesting is that while there are a variety of religious beliefs, practices, and traditions represented, at the core they are all interested in making the world a better place. I wonder how the different beliefs impact this desire?

Another question it raises is how such diverse groups manage to survive beside on another. Certainly the niceties of modern societies prohibit any overt forms of harassment from one to another. I wonder if there is any cooperation between these groups as they try to make the world a better place?

Which, of course, leads to a question that is relevant to whoever is reading this blog: How do we survive in close proximity to others with divergent beliefs, practices, and traditions? Any suggestions or examples from your own life? Please comment below.

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Remember sharing is what friends do.

Image is mine.

Sakay: What is it like to travel the densest metropolitan area in the entire world? Here is what a typical journey looks like in my community

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It’s always a challenge to drive by a wet market. Because it’s a destination for so many people, that means (surprisingly enough) that there will be lots of people there! People also means traffic, the bane of most inhabitants of Metro Manila. The road from our house was pretty clear for the first while. In fact, I commented to Eva that there were only a few people on it. I guess leaving just after 8AM meant we missed the Monday morning rush. Normally when we get to the main corner, I avoid a left turn because not only does it lead to the market, it also goes past an elementary school, a mall, and a grocery store. During old normal times, driving past a school is always a bit touch and go because if you happen to hit a time when kids are either going to, or coming from school you can expect a rather long wait. It does help develop patience, however. 

Today, however, we needed to visit a drug store right beside the market to pick up some medical supplies to help a friend. Our trip went fairly quickly and arrived at the drug store in good time. I did have trouble parking for two reasons. The first is because there were no more slots left in front of the store. The second was because there was a line of people standing on the street in front of the store. Lest you think that there was a sale on and people were lining up for that, I need to tell you that most people in Metro Manila do not drive their own vehicles. Rather they take public transportation. These people were lined up to take the next available ride to their destination.

Public transportation in the Philippines is both convenient and complex — at least to a certain extent — because it’s possible to take a ride from basically your front doorstep all the way to wherever you want to go in the Philippines. Here is what a typical journey looks like.

Before leaving home, I gather everything that I need for the journey — keys, coins, handkerchief, hat — and then head downstairs. Then head back upstairs for my face mask. Once I get my shoes on, I head out the gate, then go back inside to get my umbrella. 

[If you are unaware of what an umbrella is, here is a simple explanation: An umbrella is a somewhat cumbersome device that if you take it with you it doesn’t rain but if you leave it at home — saying to yourself after looking at the sky, ‘It’s not going to rain today’ — then rain is guaranteed.]

As I walk down the lane from our house to the street, I see a green tricycle stop and signal to me if I want a ride. A raised finger eyebrow is all that’s needed to engage their services while a wave of the hand means, ‘No.’ (If I choose to not hire the roving tricycle, I can always walk a few steps to the corner where there is an official terminal for yellow tricycles). For the uninitiated, a tricycle is a motorcycle with a covered sidecar attached. Passengers can either sit in the sidecar, which is equipped with 3 seats, or sit sidesaddle behind the driver (2 more seats). In our area there are three main tricycle associations, each with their own colours. 

The tricycle payment system is rather complex. If you hire a tricycle that is in the terminal lineup it costs P25 for a ride out to the main road. If the tricycle is not full, the driver is allowed to pick up other passengers on the way (who pay P10 each), with the proviso that the initial hire gets to sit in the best seat.  

Once we get out to the main street, about 1.6km away, the tricycle pulls over to the side and we get out and pay the driver. There is a small market area here, too, in case we need to get something on the way home. But since we are going further we head around the corner to where the jeepney awaits. If the front seat is full, we need to board from the door in the rear, entering crouched over we make our way to the front and hope there is room on one of the two bench seats that run down each side. On the rare occasion that the jeep is full, it’s possible for men to hang from the back (sorry ladies, you will have to wait for space on the inside). 

Payment for the jeepney is also interesting, if less complex than that of the tricycle. The base fare is P9 and increases are based on distance travelled. When unsure it’s possible to simply ask how much it will cost from one point to another. When it’s time to pay, you simply say something like, “Bayad ho” [“Here’s my payment”] and reach your hand toward the driver with your money in it. One of your fellow passengers will grab your money and keep passing it forward. When it gets to the front, the driver will ask, “Ilan?” [“For how many?”] and then pass back the appropriate change (if necessary). 

Once at your destination, simply say something like, “Para ho sa tabi” [“Please stop at the side”] and the jeepney will stop for you. Exit is through the same door you entered. If you are going further, you can always take a bus, either to somewhere else within the city or to somewhere else in the country. The rule of thumb is, the smaller the vehicle the higher the fare. Thus tricycles are the most expensive and busses are the cheapest. 

Apart from this there are also airconditioned options such as taxis, FXs, busses, and the LRT/MRT. But we need to save those journeys for another day. 

How do you get around where you live? What unique features does your public transportation system have? Please let us know in the comments below.

Remember sharing is what friends do.

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Image is my own. 

“Hey Joe!”: A call for connection that I often miss.

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“Hey Joe!” It’s a term that I never enjoyed hearing but I do remember being there for Daniel’s first “Hey Joe!” when he was 3 years old and got ahead of us in the mall. He passed a corner and all of a sudden we heard someone say the words.

“Hey Joe!” is not so much used nowadays as a greeting. When I was in High School it was a common greeting for Filipinos when they saw Americanos. As far as I know the term Joe is connected to G.I. Joe, a term used to describe American soldiers during World War II.

On a sidenote I remember talking with a female American MK a number of years ago who laughed because they called her “Joanna.” Get it? Joe-anna? Hahaha. Clever.

If I’m being honest with you, I don’t like the term “Hey Joe!” because I don’t want people to think I’m an American. I’m a Canadian and I enjoy the uniqueness of that identity.

But then it’s not really a question about identity is it?

“What’s your name?”
“Where are you going?”
“Where do you live?”

Nowadays the term “Hey Joe!” isn’t used as often as other terms. Questions like “What’s your name?” “Where you going? and “Where do you live?” are more frequent. As a Canadian growing up in the age of privacy these kinds of personal questions seem to be invasive to me. I also tend to try and answer these questions literally.

A lesson in missing the point.

However, I am realizing more and more each day that I have entirely and completely missed the point. These questions are not attempts to misidentify who I am. They are not attempts to invade my privacy or to get my personal information. They aren’t even questions seeking definitive answers. Rather they are attempts to make a connection with me. And I misinterpret that almost every time.

I like to blame my shyness: “I’m afraid to talk to you.” But as many have pointed out to me recently I don’t seem to be all that shy anymore. Sometimes I blame busyness: “I can’t stop and talk right now because I have somebody I have to go visit.” But isn’t talking with people on the street visitation too?

It makes me look like an aloof, stonefaced man who wanders around and ignores the friendly overtures of my fellow community members rather than a kind shepherd who loves the people he meets. And thats the other side of the issue — I don’t want to be aloof and distant but instead to be caring and loving.

The Filipino term is manhid, often glossed as “numb” but in this case perhaps best glossed as “unaware until it’s too late.” This is both good and bad. Manhid is good when you need to ignore people who are trying to extract bribes from you but bad when you are trying to build relationships. I need to work at how best to develop awareness sooner so I can act sooner and hopefully develop some good relationships.

Do you sometimes miss the point? What was that like? Did you ever get it sorted out? Please let us hear your voice by leaving a comment below.

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Image Ryoji Iwata by on Unsplash.

Eskinita: How living in less space can make your life more fulfilling

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Dark. Narrow. Uneven. Convoluted. Scary. Necessary. Full of life! The cries ring out revealing the fact that people want to connect with you: “Hello.” “Good morning.” “Makiraan po!” “Where are you going?” “Where do you live?” Eskinita are the lifeblood of Pingkian, the area in which I live. You may not notice them if you aren’t previously aware their presence because it doesn’t even seem like anyone can fit down them. But without them, life in Pingkian couldn’t go on, and understanding this can help make your life more fulfilling.

Eskinita is a word that always reminds me of the English word “skinny,” perhaps because that’s what they are. In reality, it comes from the Spanish word meaning “corner.” Since land is at a premium, in perhaps the most densely-populated area of the world, houses are built as close to the property line as possible. The spaces in between are the eskinita. Pingkian is by no means the only place where this happens. I have walked eskinita in Manila, Ho Chi Minh City, and Hanoi. Because houses are so small, life is lived on eskinita. Without eskinita no one could get to their house. No one could go to work or school in the morning. But eskinta is more than simply a means to and end.

Eskinita is stepping over the curb then three steps down. There is an initial sense of invading someone’s privacy when you first enter, realising that people’s homes front, not onto the street, but onto the eskinita. Scootch over to the side as someone passes by. People pass carrying large water jugs. The sound of an engine warns of an approaching motorcycle, making one wonder how it can even navigate! Stopping at the crossroads to sure we each know where the other one is going before moving on. Laundry tubs hang ready outside doorways. A cement bench outside a home waits for someone to pass the day sitting there. An open door swings out into the eskinita temporarily blocking my passage. Two young boys sit in the corner playing Mobile Legends on their cellphones. A lady in an alcove buys something from one of the many variety stores in the area. Many people set up a small store — or sell things like Avon or Tupperware — in order to help make ends meet. Strings of sachets containing every known liquid hang from the ceiling, drinks of all kinds, ice cream if you are lucky. A vendor walks by, his bucket filled with foods prepared earlier that day and suitable for snacking on. A friend used to sell banana-que, which is a deep-fried banana, coated with caramelized brown sugar on a BBQ stick. Delicious! Having walked each one everyday, my friend was a eskinita expert. A bicycle, loaded with wares, is stopped in the middle as a woman decides whether or not to buy a piece of chain –  to use a leash perhaps? – a kargador waiting patiently to pass puts his load down; me, less patient, finding a way through.

Eskinita is bright blue PVC water pipes winding their ways along the ground, turning suddenly into the various houses — sometimes ending suddenly; cut off for who knows what reason? Rows of water meters silently recording consumption — when they are spinning fast it means a leak somewhere, when stopped it means they are turned off to save that same water from leaking. Dodging powerlines — more like interior wires strung up rather haphazardly, often just at head height — turns into an artform that you didn’t think you would ever need to master. Canals, or drainage ditches, sometimes along the edge, sometimes down the middle, sometimes non-existent carry water from various sources somewhere else. Videoke booms from somewhere near, accompanied by a voice — sometimes talented, often merely energetic.

Eskinita is sometimes cement, sometimes asphalt, and sometimes spongy ground beside a stream of black runoff that runs outside my friend Mang Pio’s house — evidence of the clogged drainage pipes hidden below. Mang Pio owns a fairly large chuck of land in the middle of a gaggle of houses. At 90 years old he is a fount of stories and jokes. I stop and chat with Edgar, who is doing laundry in a couple of 5-gallon pails in front of his place. Mang Pio, in his kindness, has allowed Edgar to stay on his property. He has a small place that the word “lean-to” wouldn’t adequately describe — more a hodge podge of various chunks of wood, plastic, and other light materials all precariously positioned to provide some semblance of shelter. Many homes along the eskinita are not like his, however. More and more I see multi-storey concrete structures, complete with all the comforts of home.

Eskinita is where animals abound. Dogs. Cats. Rats. Roosters. Chickens. Even the occasional rabbit. Sometimes caged but usually running free. The cats are perhaps the most resilient. Many times they may have seemingly fatal injuries but yet there they are, day after day, ekeing out a living. I guess that’s why they are said to have nine lives! The roosters (in reality fighting cocks) are the most cared for, receiving special feeds, daily grooming, and love from their owners.

Eskinita is where people are. Children playing hopscotch. Retirees passing the day outside their homes. Friends chatting. Men caring for their fighting cocks. People watering plants and/or the eskinita itself — one for growth the other to reduce dust. Small business owners selling fish of all varieties. Chicken. Pork. Rarely, beef. Vegetables. Barbershops. Internet cafes. Elderly women watching the world go by. And in the mornings mothers sunning their babies.

Eskinita is missing something, however. What is missing is space. Space that separates houses from one another. Space taken up by fences to ensure privacy. Space with garages, with doors that go up, then down, keeping occupants hidden from one another. There is no emptiness. No empty streets. No empty houses for most of the day while people are at work.

Eskinita is connection. A shared identity. A life living in proximity with others.

What do you notice about your community? Why not let the rest of us know in the comments below?

Remember sharing is what friends do.

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Image was taken on my iPhone.

Community. A life lived together. On the street.

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Life is certainly lived on the street here in Quezon City. I suppose it’s because the climate is so much more favourable to being outside. There isn’t as much variation as we experienced in Saskatchewan; every day starts at 25 and rises to at most 35. That means the occasional 21 degree mornings are surprisingly cold. In Saskatchewan we experienced a range of about 80 degrees over the nearly two years we lived there!

The small town of Herschel, Saskatchewan (yes the same Herschel immortalised by the backpack company) overcomes the weather when gathering by using a hockey rink. Monday evenings the buses don’t drop the kids at home. Instead everyone gathers at the rink, skates, talks, eats, and cooks. Sometimes a curling match breaks out. But nonetheless community happens. Inside.

Right now I am sitting at the carwash down the street from Emily’s new place and the videoke has just started up. For those unfamiliar, videoke is a singing system invented by a Filipino that features a TV showing various scenes accompanied by subtitle-like lyrics and thumping music. The quality of the voice isn’t as important as participating in community. But it sure is fun!

The carwash waiting area consists of three picnic tables places end to end. A variety of people are seated around these tables but their connection to the carwash has yet be determined. Neighbours? Friends? Passersby? At any rate, community is happening mist obviously through the friendly teasing of the carwash boy. Conversations in Tagalog about having to talk to me in English, which will give him a nosebleed because his brains will explode. Laughter later when they find out I understand them.

What is interesting is that there is never an option given of not speaking with me — because they want me to join them in their community making. Because in Filipino culture it’s not really us vs them but people who share community and identity together. The word here is kapwa and describes a complex relationship achieved after progressing from mere acquaintances to bosom buddies. Everything is about this shared identity: Classmates, barkada (originally those who travelled with you on the ship to prison but now simply meaning your closest friends), wearing a common t-shirt, dressing in the role you are currently in (road cyclists attire, school uniform, clothes for just popping out of the house, security guard uniform).

Everyone’s identity is shared with everyone else’s identity. Everyone knows where they fit.

Community. A life lived together. On the street.

What is your community like? Please comment below.

Remember sharing is what friends do.

Image is mine.

Denying the Metanarrative is a good thing, but the process of denial is a bit more complex than we sometimes think.

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One of the tenets of postmodernism (if indeed it can be said to have tenets) is the denial of the metanarrative. A metanarrative is “an overarching account or interpretation of events and circumstances that provides a pattern or structure for people’s beliefs and gives meaning to their experiences.” For many, these metanarratives provide a framework for understanding the world. What’s sad is that sometimes these same metanarratives also provide a framework for oppression and hardship, if you happen to be on the wrong side of the narrative.

Postmodernism has it detractors, mostly people who adhere to a different philosophical system (cough ‘Modernism’ cough). One of their complaints is that denying a metanarrative is a metanarrative in and of itself. Apart from being a bit of a copout because it doesn’t seek understanding, this argument misses the point because it presumes that denial is single-stage process.

For example, in the 1970s, a number of Filipinos devoted their lives to overturning the metanarrative that basically denied their place in the world. Zeus Salazar started telling a new history with his Pantayang Pananaw. Virgilio Enriquez started telling a psychology story with his Sikolohiyang Pilipino. Pospero Covar started telling a new anthropology story with his Pilipinolohiya. Jose de Mesa started telling a new theology story with his work on contexualisation. These four men began telling stories that overturned the metanarrative that prioritised the West and saw places like the Philippines as “deviant.” In retelling the story with indigenous languages, using indigenous concepts, and respecting indigenous knowledge, they were able to open up a new chapter to a previously incomplete metanarrative. We have a lot to thank these pioneers for. And people are continuing the process today in ways that include anti-colonialism and post-structuralism.

But the process must necessarily continue past that point because, even though these guys fulfilled an essential service way back when, that service has now led to claims of essentialism among them. Essentialism meaning a specific definition of what ‘Filipino’ is. In their efforts to make the Filipino voice heard, they by necessity saw that voice as one voice. It was the Filipino voice.

What we realise today is that the Filipino voice is perhaps best characterised as “voices.” The Philippines is an archipelago of just over 7,400 islands of varying sizes, shapes, and populations. There are just over 180 languages in use on a daily basis. Filipinos are also present in all the countries of the world and live in both the most populated and least populated areas of the world. Filipinos are both fiercely nationalistic and regionally loyal. The family is the basic building block of society. All of this creates a rich diversity of identities. I like how Dr. Exiomo puts it: “Being can be expressed in many different ways.”

In other words, the metanarrative still needs to be denied because it doesn’t accurately tell everyone’s story in the proper way. It’s a continuous process of editing and revising that will ultimately lead to a fulfilled humanity.

Where do you fit into the metanarrative? Where does the metanarrative fail you? Feel free to let us know in the comments below!

Remember sharing is what friends do.

Image by Jakayla Toney on Unsplash.

What does it take to be a man, Part 3: How many masculinities is too many?

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In a previous post, I discussed the idea of masculinities. In it I mentioned that masculinity should really be masculinities because there is not one standardized way to be a man. A followup post focussed on masculinities in the Philippines, an area of significance in my own life. In the comments, Mike Swalm and I chatted about the extent of these masculinities looking at the question of how many masculinities is too many? Mike pointed out a key issue with an infinite amount of masculinities and wisely says, “we move toward negation of corporate meaning. Why even talk about masculinity if it has such malleable and infinite meaning? Doesn’t that remove the very nature of the concept as something that is definable as a category, giving us no real ability to say it is “this” and not “that”?”

I thought I would take the opportunity of Mike’s question to discuss where masculinity studies is in this seemingly infinite continuum. As usual I will take a Bakhtinian approach.

Monologue. Revisiting Connell’s concept of hegemonic masculinity, we realise that even though there may be any number of variations on the masculinity theme within a given context, there is one that predominates the discussion so much that it drowns out the others. Interestingly enough the predominant theme doesn’t necessarily have the most supporters — it just predominates. Bakhtin called this “monologue.” Even though Connell’s insights have opened the door to other masculinities as being acceptable, masculinities more closely associated with patriarchy continue to predominate.

Dialogue. Obviously dialogue is better than monologue because it allows another voice to provide balance. We actually prefer a dialogic point of view because we enjoy dividing things up into to opposing parties. It is this recognition that leads from singular masculinity to plural mascuinities. In reality, however, things are rarely as black and white as we might like. In fact, they are often greyscale.

Heteroglossia. But there aren’t just two voices in dialogue — there are a multitude of voices, each seemingly clamouring for attention, each contributing to what it means to be a man. This moves us beyond greyscale into millions of colours. It’s actually this final idea that creates the question Mike asks because it seems to leave open the possibility of an infinite number of potential masculinities.

At the risk of oversimplification, on a practical level, there aren’t an infinite number of men in the world; the world is at least divided into males and females. That means that give or take 50% of the worlds population isn’t male. That means that the first line of demarcation is the male-female.[1]

A second line of demarcation is society itself. Society creates a framework for the conversations surrounding masculinity. Sometimes these societies are monologic in nature but quite often they provide limitations on the range of acceptable meanings within that society. For example, in a study I did in my community, where men had a variety of religious experiences and influences, I was surprised to discover that the conversation centred around only a couple of common themes. There is no limit to the horizons of epistemology in Bakhtin but the conversations still revolved around a few key clusters, including the importance of the wants, needs, and input of wives and families and seeing Christianity as central to their faith. Perhaps this means that cultures as a whole exert influence on the boundaries of dialogue that make it difficult for conversation to move beyond those points.

A final aspect of Bakhtin’s idea provides another level of demarcation. Bakhtin wasn’t really looking for that one unifying, universal answer to life. His purposes in developing his framework were not so that we could necessarily make sense of this crazy world we live in. Rather he seems to be giving us a way to recognise and embrace the messiness of this world we live in.

How does all of this work? Let me try an illustration from sports. For me, there is only one hockey team. When I refer to this team I will use the word “dynasty.” I will refer to their preponderance of Stanley Cup wins. I will refer to their aggressive style of play. Yup, you guessed it. My team is the Montreal Canadiens (How ’bout them Habs?). In many ways my allegiance to the Montreal Canadians is monologic. When we were kids we would argue about who we liked best. But through thick and thin it was Montreal for me. I know that other teams exist but what’s interesting is that I am not sure what you could do to convince me to cheer for another team.

But I do have to admit that Montreal is not the only team that exists. After all, they do need teams to beat 😉 The National Hockey League provides the fodder for the Montreal machine. It started with the Original Six (who some believe are the only real teams), then expanded to twelve in 1968, then to eighteen in 1974, twenty-two in 1992, and finally to the current thirty-two teams that take to the ice each week.

What also happened during these years is that hockey expanded internationally. What begun as an almost exclusively Canadian sport now has teams and players from all around the world. I remember watching a recreational team playing in the Philippines’ only ice rink a number of years ago. A friend was a part of a team in the United Arab Emirates around that time as well. Hockey has indeed become a heteroglossia.

What is interesting is that regardless of the level of the sport — from the NHL all the way down to shinny on the street in front of your house — the sport is still hockey. The nuance hasn’t changed that. What this has done for the sport is to make hockey better. I recall as a child reading about how Team Canada defeated some hapless international opponent 50-0. That wouldn’t happen today. In fact, international hockey is incredibly competitive, at both professional and amateur levels. The result is the reality that a team like the Montreal Canadiens cannot dominate the sport any more because other teams are able to join the conversation. Rather than a single dominant team, what we see is an entire sport that is played on an almost infinite number of levels. And the sport is better for it.

In a similar way, a deeper understanding of masculinities can only make those masculinities better. We need to move beyond the idea of a singular approved masculinity into a better set of masculinities.

What contribution are you making to the masculinity conversation? How are you making your voice heard? Please feel free to leave a note in the comments below to let us know.

Remember sharing is what friends do.

Missed the previous posts on this subject? You can read them here: Part 1 and Part 2.

Notes:

[1] The 2SLGBTQ+ conversation is still going strong, and is still undergoing development. What started out as simply “straight” or “gay” has exploded into a seemingly infinite number of options as heteroglossia in that area develops. The male-female demarcation that I use here is not intended as a rejection of those voices but merely a recognition of the fact that, one, the voices are still sorting themselves out and, two, that I don’t understand them enough to place them into an easily-explained framework.

Image by Andrew Wulf on Unsplash.