Ask an average La Sallite if he has come across W. Somerset Maugham, John Steinbeck, or Guy de Maupassant. Chances are he has read their works or has at least heard of them.
But let one ask that same La Sallite if he has heard of Efren R. Abueg, Agapito M. Joaquin, or Edgardo M. Reyes, and one is likely to be greeted by a gaping-mouthed, “Huh?” or a knowing “you’re pulling my leg” look.
The ordinary La Sallite has tastes oriented towards the West—the Beatles, Hollywood films, James Bond thrillers—and any attempt to re-orient, or widen, this closed universe of interests is regarded with indifference and distrust.
This is indeed sad, for not only does it detach the La Sallite from his cultural roots and keep him out of touch with his heritage, but it also prevents him from understanding and appreciating himself and his people.
There are, however, many differences between the Filipino short story written in Filipino, and the Filipino short story written in English. It is not the mere accident of language that separates them, but deeper, subtler distinctions.
There is a difference in treatment. Though both concern themselves with happenings and characters mainly typical of urban Manila, the one written in English tends toward naturalism, presenting the grayer, more sordid side of life. The other, written in Filipino, tends more toward realism, presenting a balanced view, often hinting at the rosier side of life.
Again, there is a difference in artfulness. With few, if notable exceptions, a story written in English tends to appear stilted and confined: its images forced, its symbolism too studied, its style leaving one vaguely feeling that it was copied or that some Western writer has done exactly the same thing before.
On the other hand, the short story written in Filipino, perhaps because it is working with a more familiar medium, rolls on at a happy rhythm, its natural unfolding of events successfully hiding the art with which it was created.
Typical short stories written in Filipino are found, for the most part, in two weekly magazines, Liwayway and Bulaklak. Abueg, Reyes, Joaquin, Levy Balgos de la Cruz, Lualhati T. Bautista, Mercedes J. Jose, and Pierre L. Salas are typical exponents of these stories.
Their subjects range from the cliché story of a coed falling in love with her professor (de la Cruz’s “Dear Ser…”) to a comment on parental discipline (Pascual’s Istrikto ang Tatay Ko); from the travails of a budding writer (Mercedes Jose’s Manunulat Si Elsa Ko) to the grief of an old widow over the loss of her only son (Bautista’s Ang Halaga ng Isang Buhay).
These writers really write about the surroundings they know, the atmosphere they are familiar with, and the environment they live in.
A short story characteristic of things the writer knows is E. M. Reyes’s Pasko sa Isla de Pagong. The leading character here describes a smuggling operation. He observes.
“Sa tant’ya mo, mga gaano’ng pagbebentahan ito?” tanong sa akin ni Nato.
“Payat and sandaang libo rito, tso,” sabi ni Dado. “Ibababa ka namin sa Davao… Talagang dumadaan kami magtuloy sa paglalapagan. Doon kami kukuha ng orden kung saan kami maglalapag: kung sa Cavite, kung sa Batangas, kung sa Bataan. Kung saan maluwag, do’n kami pinaglalapag.”
What stirs admiration in these pieces is the natural touch and adroitness with which the authors skillfully render their tales. Besides the fact that the writers really know the stuff about which they write, a further contributing factor to the quality of naturalness is the use of the Filipino language. Its non-technical nature and its indirect imprecise quality seem best suited for the chatty small-talk nature of these short stories.
The following passage depicting the life of an unmarried but cohabitating couple, from M. Jose’s Ang Nagagawa ng Pag-ibig, illustrates this trait.
Ang nangyari’y hiwalay-sama. Away. Sagutan. Bugbugan. Madalas na bumabalik sa nanay niya si Mercy na sarado ang isang mata. Maga ang nguso.
Itong si Aling Dalena ang susugod sa bahay ng balae at kakatkatan ng mura ang manugang.
Pero natural din na di magtatagal at maglulumuhod halos si Ruben sa babae. At itong isa, konting tampo, konting iyak, at maggagawad na ng patawad. At wala nang magagawa pa si Aling Dalena.
Despite the artistic merits of our own short stories, the world of the Filipino short story written in the national language is to most La Sallites stranger and more alien than many a foreign short story. This may be so because of varying reasons. Perhaps a great number of La Sallites know very little or are hardly adequate in Filipino to understand fully, let alone competently judge these short stories written in the vernacular. Perhaps Western influence has caused us to fall out of love with our simpler ways. Again, perhaps, it may be that this indifference is caused by the dearth of media in which the writers can convey their thoughts. That this great chasm between the La Sallite and Filipino short stories exists is quite unfortunate, for not only does it serve to stifle the initiative of short story writers in Filipino; it limits the La Sallite’s horizons to an odd compendium of vicariously acquired occidental experience and a shallow, rootless bamboo culture with a tinge of native superstition.
This article was published in The LaSallian‘s Archives 2024 special. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSArchivesSpecial2024.
