*433. TABLEWARE TALK

DINNER IS SERVED, Students of Domestic Arts practice the art of setting a table using china plates, glassware, cutlery and table napkins. Our pre-colonial ancestors had their own ideas of fine dining on their low, wooden table called 'dulang', filling it up with jars, plates, jugs and pots, of all sorts. ca. 1920s.

When the Spanish missionaries came to our islands in the 16th century, they found a low wooden table in practically every native home called “dulang”. It served primarily as a dining table, around which people sat to partake of the food, eaten with bare hands. Tableware was limited to a few wooden spoons, ladles, food and liquid containers. But contact and trading with Asian traders afforded natives to have quite a wide assortment of jugs and jars, plates and pans, bowls and storage containers for both “dulang” and dwelling.

 Old Pampanga homes may still have, in their kitchens, earthenware containers used for cooking or storage. Balanga was a traditional clay pot used for cooking everyday viands, while a curan—that featured a narrower mouth-- was used for cooking rice.

Storage jars of varying sizes include the gusi, a china jar that can contain anywhere from 6 to 8 gantas (1 ganta is a local unit of measure equivalent to ¼ of a cavan); next to it is the guguling, a medium size jar. Another medium size jar for holding water is the marapatayan, which is smaller than a tapayan, that can hold some 11 gallons of liquid. A large China-made jar was called tui-tui, while a lupay was the name for a small, multi-purpose earthenware jar.

 To deter ants from infesting food, the leftover ulam are kept in bowls, then placed on a shallow, water-filled vessels called lampacan. This serves as a sort of a moat, so the ants would not be able to reach the food. When storage cabinets came into use, its four legs were made to stand on lampacans, to provide the same protection.

 Kapampangans ate with gusto using their hands, as ‘cubiertos’ were still many years away from being introduced. Rice was placed on banana leaves spread on the dulang, but plates were also known from trading with the Chinese, Annamese and the Siamese who brought all kinds of pinggan (plates). A large plate was called tapac, and a porcelain plate for mustard was called suic.

 Bowls were perhaps the most common tableware found on the native table. The smallest bowl is called sulyao (sulyo, or silyo), which is perfect for a single-serving of soup. Mangcoc is bigger than a sulyao, same with another larger bowl called lampay (or lampe). A banga is a large, narrow-mouthed pitcher, while a siolan is a small flask. A tampayac is a cruet, that was used for both condiments and for ointments. People drank water from coconut half-shells, or used a communal long-handled dipper to scoop out water from a water-filled jar.

 The Spaniards, and later, the Americans are credited for upgrading our table (and table manners, by Western standards) by introducing fork and spoons, complete silver cutlery, demitasse cups, silver table adornments like toothpick holders, lace napkins, and a bewildering array of plates, saucers, cups and glassware. The legendary reception given by the Apalit Arnedos to the Grand Duke of Russia in 1891—marked with the ostentatious display of fine china, silver and table accoutrements—was a testament as to how refined, how sophisticated we had become.

 But truth be told, it takes very little to please a Kapampangan on the dinner table—remove the silver forks and spoons, take away the fancy bone china, give him a plate of sizzling sisig and unli rice---and he will roll up his sleeves and feast away with his hands, like there’s no tomorrow. As one Kapampangan with a hearty appetite declared—“Asbuk mu at gamat ing kailangan! Mangan tana!” (You need only your mouth and hands. Let's eat!)

*430. FOLK SONGS OF THE KAPAMPANGAN REGION

I WANT TO TEACH THE WORLD TO SING. Kapampangans out on excursion trips usually brought their stringed instruments to make beautiful music while on the road, or while enjoying their picnic. People would sing along to add to the merriment of the moment. 

Pampanga’s musical traditions begin with folk songs and melodies. These are the first songs that you heard growing up, on your Ingkung’s knee; the lilting lullabye that Ima hummed in lulling you to sleep. These are also the songs that you sang in school, full of nonsense and made-up rhymes, songs about Atsing Rosing, Mariang Malagu and Kapitan Besyu.

They are the songs sang by peasant workers to fight off boredom and drudgery, to express pride in their labors, however humble. They are the stirring kantang Ukbu that galvanized a national movement, patriotic paeans to a country.

They are the dirgeful tunes you heard being chanted on Holy Week, the hymns and carols that you dutifully sang in church services and the frenetic beat that devotees danced to in annual kuraldals. From the plaintive serenatas of many a lovestruck swain, the sweet chords of a kundiman to the bawdy tunes that livened up many a drinking spree, these songs are a part of our race since time immemorial, wrought by anonymous wordsmiths, and handed down from generation to generation through oral tradition.

Folk songs we call them, music of the common people that says so much about how we live, love and laugh. There are various touchstones that define this kind of music.

First, the anonymity of authorship. Unlike formal poetry, where names like Crissot, Gallardo and Yuzon are associated, there are no such names to speak of in folk poetry. Because of the continuous transmission process, there are no fixed attributions and sources. Which means, the longer the transmission period, the more impossible it is to determine the originator.

Second, the language. Folk song lyrics are generated by common people who are largely untutored, with nary a care for the rigid disciplines of literature as taught in schools. They give free rein to ideas and emotions without a thought for forms, meters and aesthetics, telling stories with natural flair, earthy words and all. The lyrics are uninhibited, the language(s) raw, spontaneous and even mixed.

It is not:

Legwan king kaladua, legwan king katawan

Nung iti mikalu, sunlag ya ing legwan

Ugaling uliran, mayap a kaniwan

Selan at sampat lub, dit a pamagaral

Nung miakma iti king santing ning laman

Tunggen keng malagu, babai ninuman

But it is:

Y Mkaka kung Maria, mamuli yang tapis
Purung purung sutla, habing Camarines
Ninu ing tatalan, ninung talabitbit
I kaka kung Peping, anak ng Don Pedro

It is also:

Kabang teterak ku, lulundag, luluksu

Miyagnan ing sagakgak, pakpak ding gamat ku.

Emuku tiknangan, anggang mepagal ku

Susunga ku rugu, tutulung sipun ku..

And likewise:

One day, misan a aldo

I saw menakit ko,

A bird ayup kano

Flying susulapo

Third, folk songs are a work in progress. The Kapampangan folk song evolves by continuous alteration, as opposed to its formal literary counterpart where every word is fixed, the form precise and permanent. Folk songs are subject to versioning and customizing, in the course of their transference, a cultural process perfectly permissible to fit the needs of the times. Folk songs survive  because of effective adaptation and it is correct to sing:

Papatak, papatak

Magkanta la ring tugak

Lilintik-lilintik

Magkanta la ring itik

But it is also okay to sing:

Papatak, papatak

Magkanta la ring antak

Lilintik, lilintik

Magkanta la ring Instik!

With the ongoing cultural renaissance in Pampanga, Kapampangan folk songs are being rediscovered and enjoyed.  Folk songs are no longer just the interest of historians, musicologists and seekers of quaint entertainment, but of late, they have found favor as part of the repertoire of youth bands, mainstream singers local music icons led by Pampanga’s best known minstrel, Totoy Bato. After all, folk music has played a very important part in almost everyone’s life. Without a doubt, the folk songs we learned from our childhood, from our parents and friends have been instrumental in shaping our taste for music in all its melodious permutations. There is no better reason to start singing them again. So pick up a guitar, raise your voices, and sing your heart out!

*409. A BIRD IN THE HAND

BIRDS OF THE SAME FEATHER. A Kapampangan girl holds a fake dove ("pati pati"), a painted flock of which are shown flying or resting on the steps as part of the studio scenography. Our feathered friends have always been an important part of our culture, traditional beliefs, everyday livelihood and folklore. ca. 1917.

They have always been a source of jokes for my Tagalog-speaking friends—these soundalike words “ayup-hayop” and “ibon-ebon” that hold different, but related meanings. “Ibon” is the Tagalog term for “bird”, but its near-homophone –“ebun”—is but an egg in Kapampangan. Similarly, that which Tagalogs call “hayop” (animal), is a mere ‘bird’ (ayup) in Kapampangan.

 In the days of yore, however, the secondary definition of “ayop”, as noted in Bergaño’s compilation of Kapampangan words, included brute animals such as cows and carabaos, amphibians, reptiles and insects. Today, “ayup” is a word solely used for our fine-feathered friends.

 The wetlands of Candaba are famed for being bird sanctuaries, where migratory birds from other lands leave their original habitat temporarily to escape harsh weather conditions and seek food in the environs of our marshlands.

Birdwatchers from all over the Philippines and around the world have started to discover Candaba’s bird sanctuary, which is being developed as a tourist destination. A collateral event—the Ibon-Ebun (Bird-Egg) Festival is celebrated annually, from Feb. 1-2, to honor not only the town patron, the pugo (quail)-carrying San Nicolas, but also to promote eco-tourism using its varied species of birds as attraction.

 Aside from Candaba, there was a time in the 1950s when the sleepy town of San Luis came alive with birdhunters coming in droves to hunt for jack snipes, locally known as “pasdan”. The season for snipes begin in September, when the chill of the northern countries send these birds southbound, with millions finding refuge in Pampanga and Tarlac.

“Pasdans” are prized for their tasty meat, so they are avidly hunted by locals as well as hobbysts from nearby Clark Air Base. The birds often perched on trees that fringed the vast rice paddies and marshes of Pampanga; in fact, they could be found all the way to Concepcion, Tarlac. The small birds are easy to spot by their sheer number. A bigger and more colorful variety—the “pakubo”—is rarer and more elusive. In 1955, the gaming limit for “pasdan” was limited to 50 birds per person.

“Pasdans” are either grilled or cooked adobo-style, a delicacy seldom seen on Pampanga tables today. Our province was once blessed with an abundance of birds of the most bewildering assortment—we even had local names for them.

We had eagles, falcons, hawks (agila, alibasbas, balawe), parrot varieties (katala loru, abukai or Philippine cockatoo, kilakil or white parrot, kulasisi), doves and pigeons ( pati-pati, batubato, the white-eared alimukun ), sparrows (denas paking, denas costa, denas bale, maya) and swallows (layang-layang, sibad, timpapalis). There were marsh birds ( patirik-tirik, uis, dumara), pelicans (kasili, pagala), long-legged herons and egrets (tagak, tikling, kandungangu, bako).

Then, there were birds noted for their colorful and unusual plumage (kuliawan or oriole, luklak or yellow vented bulbul, kansusuit or lyre bird, pabo real or peacock, silingsilingan or pied fantail) and for the cacophony of sounds they create (pipit, siabukut or Philippine coucal, tarat, martinis).

Much of our natural environment have changed irrevocably—caused by years of thoughtless land developments and conversions, illegal logging and deforestation, and of course, global warming. The devastating effects of the Pinatubo eruption also had far-reaching effects on our bird habitats, such that these creatures are no longer familiar to today’s generations, for they are rarely heard or sighted.

Their important roles in our culture and folklore are remembered in myths of old, as in the case of that sacred blue kingfisher from the marshlands of Pampanga, whose appearance foreshadowed events of profound significance--either gainful or grim—to humankind. This revered bird was called “batala”, who gave his name to the mightiest of ancient gods—Bathala.

*385. The Fiery Pen of Flauxgalier: FELIX N. GALURA

POETRY MAN. The newly-put up monument of Felix Galura y Napao, prominent literary figure from Bacolor, who rebelled against Spanish. literary styles and forms. ca. 1920s.

 One of the most prominent and versatile writers at the turn of 20th century Pampanga was the Bacolor native, Felix Galura y Napao. The multi-facetted literary giant did not only wield his pen as a poet, translator ( he translated Rizal’s “Noli” into Kapampangan ), playwright ( “Ing Mora”/The Moor Maiden), editor, religious writer (he composed original Kapampangan prayers and a Pasyon), grammarian (he authored “Gramatica Castellana” and “Sanayan A Malagwang Pipagaralan King Amanung Kastila”) and newspaper man, but he was also a passionate Revolutionist, a military man ( Lt. Colonel under Gen. Tomas Mascardo) and a political leader (Bacolor’s municipal presidente for 9 years).

 Born on 21 Feb. 1866 to Manuel Galura and Carlota Napao, the young Felix was educated in local schools, but circumstances did not allow him to get a college education. But even so, he was a quick learner, with the uncanny ability to absorb knowledge so easily. His close association with the brilliant lawyer, Don Roman Valdes, for example, enabled him to become an expert on law and jurisprudence.

 But writing was Galura’s first love. He assumed the pseudonym “Flauxgalier” (an acronym of his name), and became a regular contributor to the bi-lingual newspaper “E Mangabiran/ El Imparcial” which began publication in 1905. Exposed to Spanish works at an early age, he set about translating prayers, plays and literary pieces into Kapampangan. Galura turned Spanish plays into Kapampangan adaptations like “O, Kasiran” and “Azucena”.

 With Juan Crisostomo Sotto, he wrote the zarzuela “Ing Singsing A Bacal” (The Ring of Steel) which was based on a Spanish play. Galura was led to conclude that the Spanish literary forms available in the country were the main cause of the backwardness of Filipinos. After all, these “comedias” were full of incredible tales of magic, enchantment and nonsensical scenes.

 His response was the opus ”Ing Cabiguan”(The Misfortune”), a verse narrative published in 1915, which would become his best-known work. It recounts the ill-fated love of Jaime and Momay, whose planned elopement was thwarted by Rosa, Momay’s mother. This resulted in the imprisonment of Jaime for 8 months. Hoping to reunite with Momay after his release, he finds out that she had died while he was languishing in jail.

 Though his work had a romantic plot, “Ing Cabiguan” was full of jabs against Spanish works. The work was prefaced with a reader’s warning to not expect improbable scenarios (like a duel between a princess vs. a lion) and unrealistic characters (e.g. talking animals) that are staples in Spanish-inspired comedias and curirus. It was Galura’s direct exhortation to readers to break away from these whimsical writing tradition that are insulting to one’s senses, and instead, embrace more realistic forms.

 The first printing of ”Ing Cabiguan” totalling to 500 copies was quickly sold out, and a second edition of 1,000 more had to be rushed on 10 November 2015 to accommodate the demand. Apparently, Galura’s work still had the cloying romanticism that was also the characteristic of the curiru, the same literary forms that he had wanted to replace.

 Certainly, though, it paved the way for Juan Crisostomo Soto to depart fully and truly from the favored Spanish-influenced style. His masterpiece “Lidia”, proved to be very contemporary in every respect, from the use of prose to the modern plot, providing a clear distinction from the metrical romances of old.

 Even as he was writing, Galura continued to run the affairs of Bacolor as the town head from 1909 to 1918. A year after his term, he was hospitalized for pneumonia, an illness from which he would no recover. He passed away on 21 July 1919, at age 53. For his departed friend, the poet Don Monico R. Mercado wrote the elegy ”Ing Bie Na Ning Tau” The Life of a Man) .

 On 24 December 1924, a monument was put up in front of the Bacolor Elementary School by Aguman 33, a band of grateful citizens and friends, dedicated to the memory of a beloved son of Bacolor--“Caluguran Nang Anac Ning Baculud”—Felix Napao Galura.

*335. AY, KABAYO!: The Horse in Our Pop Culture

 

LET'S DO THE HORSEY-HORSEY! My dad (R) and younger sibling Manuel (L) pose with their all-purpose family horse at home. My grandfather used to ride this horse when inspecting his farmlands, but it was also used for leisurely ride around the backyard by the brothers. Ca. 1930.

Next to the carabao, the lumbering beast of Philippine farmlands, the fleet-footed horse, or kabayo, ranks as another favored animal prized for its beautiful form and function. For many a busy hacendero in Pampanga, owning a horse was a must, for its varied uses—as a means of transport and conveyance, a trusty steed heroes rode in times of war, an animal enjoyed for recreation and leisure, as well as a prized status symbol.

A picture of my father and his sibling exist in one of our old albums, showing off their small, but fine steed. I never bothered to ask the name of their family horse, which I assumed, was used by my Ingkung in checking out his farm holdings in Bundagul and Mabiga. I bet my father and my uncle rode this horse all around the spacious backyard, and maybe even around town. The horse was kept in my granduncle’s house next door, perhaps in his spacious garage. The horse was most definitely tended by Tatang Simon, my father’s family driver.

 The horse was never an ideal animal for our wet farmlands—the damulag which could efficiently plow through mud was perfect for the job. In Europe, however, the horse ruled the dry wheat fields of Europe. Even then, the horse has managed to find a special place in Philippine pop culture.

“Kabayo”, is derived from the Spanish word “caballo”, and to this day, we call it as such, whether dappled, spotted or tan. In those times, many horse driven carriages were a convenient way to move around the country. In Manila, there were the ‘quilez” (a one-horse rig), the “tartanilla” (2 wheeled horse carriage) and the horse-drawn “tranvia”.

 During the Hispanic era, the art of horsemanship was integrated in the grand dances of old Pampanga. As a striking musical preface to the spectacular balls, it was said that Kapampngans danced the rigodon on horseback to display their equestrian skills and to flaunt their fine steed, fit for royalty.

 In and around the provinces like Pampanga, the more humble “karomata”and “kalesa”were more popular, their arrival announced by the pleasant tinker of the calesa bell and the rhythmic trot of the horse, with blinders and leather harness, arrayed with silver bridles, decorations and plumed headdress. To this day, the horse-drawn kalesa, though handful in number, continues to ply the dusty side roads of many Kapampangan towns, alongside jeeps and trikes.

 The animal has enriched our local culture, belief system and language; there are local adages that refers to the handsome steed, to wit: “Ing cabayung e queca, paburen me qng lacad na”(Leave a horse that is not yours, to trot along, read; Mind your own business). Another one goes, “Ïng cabayung alang rienda, capilitan managuinis ya” (A horse with no reins will be forced to bite). 

Philippine riddles make allusions too, to the horse: “Kabayu ng Adan, e mangan nung eme sakyan” (Adam’s horse will not eat unless you ride on it. Ans.: coconut grater). A more cryptic riddle runs: “Ing buntuk na kabayo, ïng batal na pari, ing katawan na ulad, ing bitis na lagari.” (It’s got the head of a horse, the neck of a priest, the body of a worm, the feet of a saw. Ans.: Locust).

 Around the house, there are domestic objects that refer to the horse. The animal gave its name to the old folding wooden ironing boards that resembled the 4-legged creature--the ‘pakabayu”. In the 19th century, children played “juego de anillo”, a game in which they attempted to collect hanging rings with a wooden sword while riding hobby horses of sticks. “Kabayuan” is to ride the back of a playmate in a horseplay, while “mangabayu”refers to the horse rider. Ironically, despite the graceful form and handsome figure of the horse, to be called “lupa kang kabayu” (to have the face of the horse) was tantamount to being called ugly.

Blame it on the horrific image of the “tikbalang", that huge cigar-smoking, tree-sitting denizen of Philippine folklore who took the shape and features of a horse, albeit elongated and uglier looking. The movies too, perpetuated the image of a laughable horse—as in the 1958 fantasy film about a talking horse, “Silveria, Ang Kabayong Tsismosa”, starring Dolphy. Why, even a comedian became famous in the 80s because of his resemblance to a horse—“Ritchie D’Horsie”.

 Richard III may have lost his life and kingdom for a horse, but this trusty animal has existed long enough to witness the gallantry of men and heroes: Bucephalus led Alexander the Great to his many conquests, Rocinante followed Don Quixote to his many adventures and an unnamed white steed of the young boy general, Gregorio Del Pilar accompanied him to his martyrdom. In recent memory, a world-class horse raced to glory with Kapampangan equestrienne Mikee Cojuangco’s gold medal winning performance at the 2002 Asian Games in Busan, Korea.

 Loyal, dependable and trustworthy, our equine friend has certainly managed to gallop its way into our hearts, homes and history.

*305. CATSTUFF: The 'Pusa' in our Pop Culture

WHAT'S NEW PUSSYCAT? Muning, Kuting or Miaoww--a caterwauling cat by any other name would has enough endearing traits and behavior to earn a special place on our laps, in our homes and in our pop culture.

Cats have always played second fiddle to dogs, but by sheer profligacy, they outnumber and outlive the canines. Like dogs, they were a common presence in many Kapampangan homes, and their scavenging instincts were often put into service to rid houses of vermin, rodents and snakes. Western observers who arrived with the American military forces at the turn of the 20th century were quick to note of the crooked tails of local cat breeds, a feature that was seen as undesirable. As such, racists took the cat as a metaphor for the “inferiority”of our brown race.

In other countries such as Ancient Egypt, the Felis Catus held a revered place in the country’s religion, and a cat-headed goddess—Bast—was even venerated with deep respect. Cats were mummified and buried with the dead to accompany him to the afterlife.

In the Western world, cats found their way into popular culture, inspiring authors to create literary pieces (T.S. Eliot’s “Old Possum”, Dr. Seuss “The Cat in the Hat”) , nursery rhymes (“Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, where have you been?”), fairy tales (Grimms’ Puss in Boots”)”, and even a long-running Broadway rock opera (“Cats”). Cat-related words, expressions and phrases found their way into the English language. To be “catty”is to be sarcastic, to be a “sour puss”, a bad loser. A secret revealed means “the cat is out of the bag”. When one suddenly is at a loss for words, he is asked if a “cat got his tongue”. Kapampangans have also embraced the ways of the cat—regardless whether it’s a stray cat (pusang layas) or civet (musang), musk (diris) , a mountain cat (lamiran) or a purebred Persian or Siamese.

Our language has been enriched with descriptive expressions certainly inspired by our feline friends. ”Lupa kang musang”(You look like a civet cat) is how one describes someone with a dirty face. The same breed of cat also gave us the word “mangusang”, meaning to have an asthma attack, in reference to the cat-like gasps an asthmatic emits.

When in heat, cats can often behave in a wild, crazed and noisy manner during their mating ritual, hence the term, “pusa lampung”. An early definition of “lampong”as collected by Bergaño is “to smash or break plates or tiles in a hearth”. Could that refer to the cat’s ear-breaking wails while in the throes of passion? When one wanted a bratty child to stop crying, one would utter the threat—“Oyan na ing pusa lampung! Kunan na naka! Myaooww!”(Here comes the wild cat! Meoow! He’s coming to get you!). The term “lampung” has come to mean making flirtatious, sexual moves between a man and a woman, as in “makipaglampungan”. It is also interesting to point out that there is a Lamphong region in Indonesia—could it be that a cat was a bred there and came to this country via the land bridges as a feral cat?

There are also cat-associated descriptive phrases that are now part of our everyday expressions: a dead person’s temperature is “marimla ya pa keng arung ning pusa”—colder than a cat’s nose. “Mitindag”, which means “like the bright eyes of a cat”, is a term used to describe the brilliant personality of a person. Certain beliefs about the cat’s peculiar behaviour also abound. For instance, a cat standing by the front door portents the arrival of a visitor while a cat wiping his face (“manimu ya”) forewarns of rains. In the Visayas, to laught a cat during thunderstorms is to invite lightning. And, there is a pervasive belief that a fishbone in one’s throat can be unstuck by brushing a cat’s paw across one’s throat.

An old saying recorded by Bergaño -- “Nanan me man ing pusa, suclab ya lalam dulang” (No matter what you do to a cat, it always gets under a table)—refers to the unique behavior of the animal to attach itself to a place, rather than to a person. Figuratively, it is also a reference to the natural attachment of Kapampangans to their native land.

Crooked tail or not, the cat will always find a welcome place in Kapampangan homes—as a furry pet, a loyal household companion or even as a natural pest control agent. In a way, cats remind us too of our distinct Kapampangan personality; like our Kuting and Muning, we have a deep attachment to our province and we have proven survival instincts. Most of all, we can be cunning, crafty and—catty!

(SOURCE: Many thanks to Mr. Joel Pabustan Mallari, for his Singsing article,"Anac Pusa: The Cat in the Life of Early Kapampangans" , p. 115, Vol. 4, No.2., on which much of this feature is based.)

*188. CHILDREN ONE AND ALL

RANK AND FILE. The Gonzalez children, dressed as harlequins, line up for a souvenir picture. Starting from the first boy on the left, the back caption identifies them as: Joaquin Gonzalez Jr. * years, 5 months, 5 days), Zenaida Gonzalez (7-3-8), reinerio Gonzalez (5-6-28), Jesus Gonzalez (4-6-2) and Augusto Gonzalez (3-1-18). Dated 8 February 1931.

Then, as now, Kapampangan fathers and mothers have always held up their children with love and pride; after all, the future of the family bloodline depended on them—their ‘anaks’, products of their union, the beloved ‘sulul’ or offspring of their marriage. In general, our ancestors valued family relationships and there are several terms referring to children, some defunct and others still in use today, that describe their age, rank and place in the family tree.

The eldest child is called “pangane”, and his birth is often attended with pain and difficulty being a firstborn—hence the term “mangane”, said of a mother delivering a child for the first time.

The second child is called “dalanan yang pangane”—the one who follows the firstborn. The “bungsu” is the youngest among the siblings.

Children of the same mother also come from the same belly, hence they are all ‘kapusu’ or ‘kayatian” (from the same tummy). They are all ‘mikapatad’ or ‘mikaputul’ – from the same cut.
Younger kids would address their older sibling as “Kaka”, which is also used to address an older person with respect. Many prefer to use the gender-specific term “koya” (for older brothers) or “atsi” (older sisters). The elder children were tasked to look after their ‘wali”—the youngest sibling. The particle “di” is often used as a term of endearment, as in “Mekeni di” (Come here, dear young one).

A ‘bingut’ (infant) who grows up to become a bratty, crybaby is described as having “makaba iki” (long-tail, as in the train of a woman’s skirt). After a few years, he becomes a “anak a bagong tubu” (newbreed child or adolescence). If a child is big for his age, he is said to be “maragul ya tubu” (large breed). One big compliment is to be considered a grown-up—“magintau”. A boy eventually becomes a “baintau”, while a girl, “dalaga”.

Down the family tree, a grand child is called “apú ” and the proximity of the descendant to his forebear is determined via distance from certain body parts; the lower you go, the farther the vertical relationship-- hence, “apú king tud” (grandchild of the knee) is a great-grandson—the child of a grandson, “apú king talampakan” (of the sole of the foot) is a great-great grandson, while “apú king kuku” (of the toenail) is a great-great-great grandson.

Extending to other branches, a godchild is called “inaanak” or “inanak”. Outside of official marriages, there are also terms for an adopted child ( “inanakan”), an illegitimate offspring (“anak sulip”) and a child of an unfaithful wife (“bitô”).

Of course, today, many contemporary terms have sprouted, with many either coined or adopted from Western sources. A brother can be addressed as “bro” or “brod”, while a sister, regardless of age is simply “sis”. A child born out of wedlock is called ‘anak kilwal’ and the baby of a single girl is referred to as ‘anak king pagkadalaga’. A slang for ‘bastard children’—sanabagan—is actually a corrupted version of the American expression, “son of a gun’. Even more derogatory is the swear or cuss word—‘anak puta” (son of a bitch), which has spawned milder, safer versions such as “anak baka” (son of a cow), “anak pating” (son of a shark) or the nonsensical “anak ng huweteng” (product of smalltown gambling).

Terms to denote family relationships may change with the passing of years, but for Kapampangan parents, children will always be the center of their universe, to be lavished with pampering, love and attention.

*153. ENGLISH SPOKEN HERE

ENGLISH SPEAKING KAPAMPANGANS. The Grade 4 English Speaking Society of Guagua National Institute, Pampanga, pose for a group picture, date March 1921.

In my elementary school days, to assure one’s self of a place in the honor list, one needed only to be proficient in speaking English. I so envied one classmate—Thelma was her name—who spoke with a lilting American accent, which I now realized was faked. At that time, it sounded so authentic to my ears, and so, I, too, became determined to be good at both oral and written English.

It helped that I had a complete set of Classics Illustrated Comics which I read from cover to cover. I read the English dialogues aloud and this was how I learned to write. I remember how I beamed with pride when an essay of mine was singled out by my Grade 6 teacher for reading out aloud in class. I vaguely recall that the theme was about “graduation blues” and I wrote an angst-filled article about it which my sentimental teacher lapped.

However, my spoken English was another thing. Somehow, I could never quite speak English confidently due perhaps to my promdi shyness. I was named Best in English in my freshman year, but didn’t attend the awarding rites for fear that I would be asked to speak. I would have murdered the King’s English with my thick Kapampangan accent.

English--the language of our American colonizers--became the medium of instruction as soon as the public educational system of our country was reformed. The Americans, unlike the Spaniards, freely shared their language with their island possession, and the schools they built were soon staffed with Filipino teachers trained not only in the modern methods of instruction, but also in the prescribed language—English.

In its campaign to advance English, penalties such as fines were imposed on anyone who was caught speaking in a native dialect. English-speaking clubs were set up in schools, engaging in activities such as staging short plays, oratorical contests and public speaking—all in English. The caton gave way to American textbooks that introduced alphabet exercises (“A is for apple”) as well as new characters other than Pepe and Pilar, in the persons of Dick and Jane.

Schooled in the new language, Kapampangans from all walks of life showed off their mastery by becoming outstanding writers like Vidal A. Tan, poet Angela Manalang Gloria, essayist Sol H. Gwekoh, encyclopedist Zoilo Galang and journalists E. Aguilar Cruz, Jose Luna Castro and Renato Tayag. Over at Fort Stotsenburg, househelps of military men and their families quickly absorbed the language from their masters and were soon conversant with it. Carolyn Shunk, an army wife stationed in Pampanga saved a letter written by a former houseboy to an officer, in the hope of landing some laundry jobs from the soldiers at the camp:

Honorable colonel:

Hon. Sir. We rejoice if our letter reach you in the same condition as before now sir as are in wait under your protection we wish to beg a favor of taking mucho contract about laundry we desire one troop to have of its cloths the price, honorable sir and colonel 2 pesos of the one soledad we expect of your kindness although we are not here by the grace of god to get of this work for which with thanks,

Your obedient servant,
Pedro Catap
Though mangled and mispronounced, English continues to be important, being the principal language of international business. Just look at the thriving call center industry here and the incessant demand for English-speaking overseas Filipino workers. Speaking in English—in the right setting and under the right conditions--does not make one less of a Pinoy. It is when one attaches “—or else!” to the Speak English policy that things become contentious.

A year ago, it was reported that certain schools in Pampanga fined students for speaking in Kapampangan in campus, and not in English! With just 2 million Kapampangan speakers left, and with its use relegated to texting, the thought that institutions of learning are themselves contributing to the demise of a language is appalling. English, as a language, continues to grow and expand every day—the 1 millionth English word ("web 2.0"--the next generation of world wide web products and services) has recently been added to Webster’s. It will always be there—so why worry?

*136. IN FINE PRINT: Kapampangan Periodicals

ALL THE NEWS THAT’S FIT TO PRINT. A young Kapampangan man peruses a newspaper for the news of the day. Ca. 1920s.

Every day, as sure as the sun rises, most of our daily reads come in the form of national newspapers and tabloids that carry the latest bad news, showbiz chismis, sensational crime stories and political exposés. The big three, in terms of readership and circulation, include PDI, Manila Bulletin and Star. National magazines are even more varied and target specific—there’s a magazine for him, for her, for cuisine fans, for Manila’s 400, for entrepreneurs, call center agents, advertising people and even pet lovers. Whatever your interest, there’s a publication today that is certain to appeal to you.

Just a little over a century ago, Kapampangans only had one local newspaper that they read from cover to cover. El Imparcial/ E Mangabiran (The Impartial) was the first bi-lingual Spanish-Kapampangan newspaper that came out in the region, published by Mariano Lim in 1905. The local paper, it was said, was an offshoot of a national conference of newspapermen that was held in Bacolor the year before. Some contend however that the paper was circulated to boost the gubernatorial ambitions of the publisher.

E Mangabiran was a 4-page publication that came out thrice a week. The Spanish section had Jose Maria Rivera of Tondo as its first editor, while the local section was edited by well-known Kapampangan men of letters that included Crisostomo Soto, Felix Galura and Aurelio Tolentino. It is no wonder that literary pieces were included with regularity on the pages of E Mangabiran. The prose narrative, “Lidia” of Galura, for instance, was serialized in the said paper, delighting its loyal readers who were titillated by the love triangle of Lidia, Hector and a secret admirer known only as F.D. In 1912, the publication of E Mangabiran was transferred to Manila and it was around this time that Justice Jose Gutierrez David joined the editorial board.

E Mangabiran lasted until 1916, but another local paper, Ing Catala (The Parrot) took its place and became the most popular newspaper of Pampanga from 1917 to the 1940s. The independent weekly paper was published in San Fernando under the editorship of Atty. Serafin de Ocampo. Another paper that came out of Bacolor was Ing Alipatpat (The Firefly), which made a brief appearance from 1917-1919.

By the 1930s, Pampanga had seven newspapers—indicative of the intellectual activity and literary bent of the people. Aside from Ing Catala, there was also the weekly Ing Katipunan of publisher-owner Pedro Sison. Ing Katiwala, another weekly, was also published in San Fernando with Justino A. David as managing editor.

Angeles had its own Ing Cabbling, a weekly newspaper edited by Jose F. Sanchez. Ing Catimawan (1929-1940) was the first know Pampango magazine that came out fortnightly. It was published in Manila by Faustino Pineda Gutierrez. With a huge circulation of 10,000 copies, it was Pampanga’s answer to the popular national magazine, Liwayway. Ing Catimawan was the first to introduce writers’ fees as a favorite section of the magazine includes contributed literary materials from reader-writers. Also coming out from the presses of Manila were Timbangan, a vernacular paper published twice monthly, and Ing Capampangan, a fortnightly paper edited by E. Y. Cunanan.

The war put a halt to the publication of Kapampangan newspapers, but in 1957, The Voice of Central Luzon was established by Armando Baluyut, husband of renown poetess Rosario Baluyut. Today, it still is in print, known simply as The Voice. The late Fyodor “Ody” Fabian was one of its most recent and most fiery editors. The Observer is another popular tabloid in English published in Pampanga. In 1974, a Kapampangan magazine—Ing Campupot—was launched. The national newspaper chain Sun.Star launched Sun.Star Clark that eventually became Sun.Star Pampanga.

The rekindled interest in Kapampangan culture in the new millennium gave rise to a host of publications with pure Kapampangan slant like Pampanga Magazine and the more recent K Magazine, with Elmer Cato as Founder-Publisher. K Magazine folded when diplomat Cato was assigned to the United Nations in New York. In its stead came Singsing, the official magazine of the Center for Kapampangan Studies of Holy Angel University, which continues to enjoy local, national and international following, with feature articles ranging from light to scholarly reading.

“To read is to lead”, one contemporary adage says, and there is no better time to pick up a Kapampangan newspaper or a magazine than now. It is not just about getting updated about current events, but it is also a special way of rediscovering the beauty of our language, the tie that binds us as one Kapampangan nation.

*129. SONGS OUR FATHERS TAUGHT US

STRUMMING MY PAIN WITH HIS FINGERS. Kapampangan matinee idol Jaime de la Rosa serenades the object of his affection, Rosa del Rosario (herself, part Kapampangan) in this publicity shot from a postwar movie.

The love of music is inherent in Filipinos and leading the way are Kapampangan singers who have won national singing tilts and earned international plaudits for their talents through the years: Tawag ng Tanghalan champion Cenon Lagman, Flor de Jesus “Joni James of the Philippines”, classical pianist Cecile Licad and Broadway and West End Star Lea Salonga, just to name a few. I wouldn’t be surprised if these premiere artists learned their first songs on the knees of their parents, who in turn, learned them from tradition.

Indeed, Kapampangan music is rich with songs that cover almost all life themes and human emotions—from paeans to a beloved, odes to heroes, laments of hopes lost to the exuberant tunes celebrating the joys and follies of youth. Our ancestors knew how to work hard and play hard—and this is reflected in the first folk songs they composed—the ‘basultu’—often with a comic or allegorical theme. Early examples include “O Caca, O Caca” and the quintessential Kapampangan song, “Atin Ku Pung Singsing”. Basultus often engage the listener by directly addressing him with his name. Of late, basultus are being popularized by Kapampangan folk minstrels led by the late Ruth Lobo, Pusoy Dos and Totoy Bato.

Occupational songs were sung to ease the drudgery of hard work. Most were about farming, the primary livelihood of Kapampangans. “Tatanam e Bibiru” (local version of “Magtanim ay di Biro”), “Ortelanung Alang Pansin” (A Farmer Ignored) are examples. Not just songs but dances were performed during harvest season. “Katlu” is a ritual dance done to the rhythm of pounding pestles and mortars.

Juvenile songs are the fun, innocent songs of childhood. Sung or chanted, they were made to accompany a game (“Sisingle, sisingle, dakal lang anak single..”), or to just while away the hours (“One-two, batu, three-four, bapor..”). Cumulative songs and nonsense rhymes fall into this category.

When evening falls, Mothers lull their babes to sleep by singing ‘tumayla’ or a ‘bingkayu’—a lullaby. It is also at this time of the day that enamored swains take out their guitars to serenade their loved ones—‘arana’—lyrical songs of romance. The gentle kundiman is a favorite arana song, what with its flowing rhythm and poetic lyrics that extoll the virtues of a beloved or that describe the intensity of one’s passion.

Another song type has more recent origins. Revolutionary and patriotic songs came to fore during the rise of the Huk Movement in the 1950s. These protest songs addressed various social and political issues—from inequality, poverty to the presence of military bases in the country. Stirring, bold and controversial, they were often penned by anonymous composers. In contrast, ‘lawiwing pambalen’ or town anthems were designed to instill a sense of local pride and identity. San Fernando, Mabalacat and Minalin are but a few towns with their own ‘imnu’ (hymn).

Today, our forebears’ musical legacy lives on in these ditties that we still sing today. These songs will always strike a chord in our Kapampangan hearts—every time we sing them in school, on stage or even in a karaoke bar.

*125. MOON OVER MEKENILAND

BY THE LIGHT OF THE SILVERY MOON. The crescent moon serves as a clever prop for a Kapampangan girl to pose in. Circa mid 1920s.

Man has always been fascinated with the Moon—that disc of light that illuminates the heavens without fail, every night. Like the Sun, the Moon has figured in the myths and cultures of people all over the world—from the Greeks who believed it ruled by goddesses Selene and Phoebe, to the Hindus who hold festivals in honor of Chandra, the Moon. In contrast, Mesopotamians and Egyptians worshipped male lunar gods—Sin and Thoth, and many ancient pagan religions centered their activities on the waxing and waning of the moon.

A full moon rising has given rise to the folk belief that this induces bouts of “lunacy “—a term derived from “Luna”, the Roman moon goddess. Another belief, although a more recent one, belief involves werewolves or lycanthropes, who were said to draw their power from the moon.

Ancient Kapampangans too, subscribed too, to the mysteries of the moon, using it to explain complex concepts of time, space and eternity. They believe that the heavens was half of an orb that covered a flat, fixed earth. “All that is contained under the vault of the sky”, they described as “meto a sicluban banua”, or “meto yato” (one earth). On this imagined domelike cover, the sun and moon “pierced the sky”—hence the term for the sky—“sucsucan ning bulan”, a spot where the moon rises and sets daily.

Our ancient forebears also used the Moon to reckon time and periods of the day. “Bulan” denotes a month—the period from full moon to full moon. “Dulum” is used to describe the waning of the moon, same with the more graphic “merunut ya ing bulan”—the moon is worn out. The moon disappears as soon as “muclat sumala”—as the day dawns.

Ancient witnesses to lunar eclipses have also assigned a local term to this dramatic phenomenon in which the Moon passes through the earth’s shadow, causing it to darken: “lauo”. There is now word to describe a solar eclipse, perhaps due to its rare occurrence. (There is an existing Philippine myth that explains eclipses: Bakunawa, a monster deity, was said to swallow whole the many moons created by Bathala, until only one remained. The act of eating the moon causes eclipse.To frighten Bakunawa and prevent him from devouring the moon, people would go out and make noise.)

While the Moon has spawned beliefs that border on fear and mystery, its imagery has also been used by folk poets, musicians and artists to fire up their Muses. A composer was clearly moonstruck when he wrote this romantic song that described a beloved as a “malagung capilas a bulan”, the beautiful half of the moon: Malagung capilas bulan/ Matang mapundat maglalawe /Batwin ca ngening cabengian /Ing pusu cu aslagan me /Ing bie cu macapanaya /Qng caburian mu banding sinta /Queca ya'ing caladua cu /Bandi meng lubus susumpa cu. (My beautiful half of the Moon/ With alluring eyes that stare/ Tonight, you are the Star/ Illuminate my heart/ My life awaits / Whatever you desire you’ll own, my love/ You have my Soul / You will have it all, this I promise you)

My favorite, however, is this old juvenile rhyme, which I used to recite as a kid with my playmates.

Bulan, bulan, (Moon, Moon)
Balduganan mukung palang. (Throw me down a blade)
Nanan me ing palang? (What will you do with a blade?)
Pangutyud keng kwayan. (I’ll use it to cut bamboo)
Nanan me ing kawayan? (What will you do with the bamboo?)
Yang gawan kung bale. (I’ll use them to build a house)
Nanan me ing bale? (What will you do with the house?)
Lulanan keng pale. (I’ll use it to keep my palay).

Clearly, while the Moon makes people do strange things, it makes a beautiful inspiration too!

(*NOTE: Feature titles with asterisks represent other writings of the author that appeared in other publications and are not included in the original book, "Views from the Pampang & Other Scenes")

*124."O JO, KALUGURAN DAKA"

KALUGURAN DAKA, PALSINTAN DAKA, BURI DAKA. Eloquent expressions of romantic love abound in the Kapampangan language, but the best of course, will always be -- "I do!". Newlyweds Bene and Manda sent this photo to Mr. and Mrs. Candido Lazatin with the dedication: "Tanggapan ye pu ing retratu mi, tanda ning emi pamangalingwan..".

“O Jo, kaluguran daka…kaluguran sobra-sobra…Kasara da reng mata, pantunan daka” (O Jo, i love you..i love you so much. As soon as my eyes close, I search for you), so goes the Kapampangan hit song of 2008, first sang by pulosadors and made immensely popular by the recording of a certain Ara Mura . It is not even an original tune, but one borrowed from Dan Hill’s “Sometimes When We Touch”, a smash hit in 1978. So widely sang was this song that it was even performed on national TV and spawned a half a dozen versions from Totoy Bato clones. The tune may have been adapted, but it is the sentimental lyrics--of a suitor’s vow of undying love, a love without limits--that hit the right chord in the hearts of the lovstruck and lovelorn.

“Kaluguran daka” is the typical way to profess one’s love, and it may sound insufficient at first hearing. “Kaluguran” is also the term for a “friend”, and certainly, a loved one is more than just that. But “buri daka” is even more anemic. According to the 18th c. Kapampangan dictionary compiled and annotated by Fr. Diego Bergaño, “buri”, means ‘mere liking it’ (versus “bisa”, which means ‘liking with affection’). But when conjugated, the meaning of “buri” changes: “pangaburi” means ‘affection’ or ‘love’. “Micaburi” refers to those who ‘agree to love each other’, while “makisangburi” refers to the act of ‘persuading parents opposed to a romantic relationship’.

“Lugud” is defined as ‘passion, affection’. Early Kapampangans apparently did not use this word much to refer to romantic feelings. To describe one as “malugud” is to mean ‘one with passion, affection and compassion’. “Caluguran” or ‘queluguran’ is ‘the one loved in this manner’, not necessarily, a sweetheart.

Fray Coronel, in his 1621 grammar book, Arte y Reglas de la Lengua Pampanga, took note of the phrase, “caluguran daca”, which means ‘you are beloved of me’. The other forms of “lugud” though had negative connotations: “malugud” is ‘illicit lover’, and two people engaged in an illicit relationship are “micalugud”. To go around this, early Kapampangan lovers used “buri da ka”, which was safer, even if it is devoid of intensity.

“Sinta” (cinta, in Bahasa Indonesia), on the other hand, means ‘love that always carries the pain and anxiety to enjoy one’s beloved’. Thus, “palsintan daka” means ‘I desire you’ or ‘I have feelings for you’. Its usage is more prevalent among Tagalogs, and if one were to say “palsintan da ka” today, he would be dismissed as old-fashioned and passé.

There are more ways to describe the nuances of love and the objects of one’s affection. A person inflamed by love has a “pusung micacalucu’ (a heart filled with ardent love). It is not uncommon for someone to dedicate a photo of his with the opening line: "Maluca queng bibie queca ing larauan cu.." (It is with ardent feelings that I give you this picture of mine..). Meanwhile, the feelings of a person madly in love emanates from his “busal king lub” (core of his being).

“Liag" is a term of great endearment, hence, when one is ‘meliag’, he is profoundly fascinated by his object of love. “Cuyug” describes an ‘inseparable partner, like a pair of doves’; hence, ‘cacuyug’ means someone with a partner. “Balintatauo” refers to the darling of the eye, while “mipagdiwata’, is the act of worshipping a beloved, in the same manner that one adored idols and anitos.

Perhaps, the best description of true love, is recorded by Bergaño by way of a morbid, but eloquent expression of what a Kapampangan would do in the name of love: “Tadtaran da cu man, ing catadtad a mitalandang, yang maquiasawa queia”: ‘They may cut me into small pieces, but one of these little pieces is enough to marry her!’. Ouch! See what love can do!


(*NOTE: Feature titles with asterisks represent other writings of the author that appeared in other publications and are not included in the original book, "Views from the Pampang & Other Scenes")

*121. OUT FOR LUNCH

TIME TO EAT. Mealtime for many of our Kapampangan forebears was dictated by their labors in the field and by their hunger pangs, more than the chiming of clocks.

"To the ruler, the people are heaven; to the people, food is heaven."

--A Chinese proverb

It would seem now strange that Kapampangans – noted for their fine culinary skills—didn’t bother much with their breakfast back in the days of yore. They must either have been so hardworking that they skipped breakfast altogether to till their fields, or that they found preparing meals so early too cumbersome. Which is why, there is no term for “breakfast” in the Kapampangan language. “Almusal” as Kapampangans term their breakfast today, was derived from the Spanish ‘almuerzo”, which may mean lunch, brunch or breakfast. Apparently, the more exact Spanish word for breakfast, “desayuno”, did not catch on among the mekenis.

But ancient Kapampangans did have a term for an early lunch—abacan—taken between 9 to 10 in the morning (Abacan River in Balibago, Angeles City is named as such because traders and travelers leaving Mexico town sailed in the once-navigable river and reached Culiat around lunchtime.).

Today, Kapampangans use the word “ugtu” to mean lunch. “Maugtu tana!” is a friendly invitation to partake of the heavy noontime fare. However, Fr. Diego Bergaños’s 18th c. Kapampangan dictionary defines “maogto” as “to eat lunch late, after mid-day, about 2 p.m.”, a time closer to the Spanish afternoon snack known as “merienda”.

Dinner for Kapampangans had to be early, too. “Apunan” was timed with the roosting hours of their birds and fowls, which was late afternoon (gatpanapun). The day’s toil had to be finished before darkness overtook them—and that included taking supper.

Odd eating hours notwithstanding, our Kapampangan ancestors ate when they were hungry, not when the clock said so (if there were clocks then!). But when they did eat, they ate with relish and abandon—eating with their hands, guzzling their tuba and enjoying “anything that walks, swims, crawls, or flies with its back to heaven”-- proof, indeed, that the Kapampangan knew how to get most out of life!

(*NOTE: Feature titles with asterisks represent other writings of the author that appeared in other publications and are not included in the original book, "Views from the Pampang & Other Scenes". The author wishes to thank Singsing Magazine for most of the information needed for this article)

*119. THE WITCHING HOUR

FEAR THIS FISH! Drowning deaths of people were often attributed to the sirens of the deep, who seduce swimmers to their watery doom. Mermaids also inspired this photo studio to offer fantasy pictures such as this, through the clever use of painted scenography. 1920s.

The most effective way to silence crying, bickering and unruly Kapampangan children was for parents to warn them of creatures coming to take them away if they don’t hush up. “Eka mainge…migising ya ing kapri! Kunan naka!” (Don’t be noisy, you’ll rouse the ‘kapre’ and he’ll spirit you away!) was the usual warning needed for kids to behave and toe the line.

The Kapampangan underworld is replete with mythical denizens conjured hundreds of years ago by our anito-worshipping ancestors. Pagans believed in the concept of enchantment and magic—"manuple", was a term given to those who bewitched people. A more specific term is ‘uclub’—a witch or a sorcerer. A variant is an ‘ustuang’, an enchanter who works his magic at night. Someone under a witch’s spell is ‘megaue’, while a baby can also be a victim of ‘asug’, stricken with colic caused by someone taking fancy on a child.

“Eme atuan”, is also a warning given to kibitzers who stare at people without reason, lest they are afflicted by the evil eye. “Meyatu” is a term for anito possession, so a person taken over by a spirit is often zombie-like and lifeless. It is best to let him be, or else, his condition may worsen.

A person who believed in such diabolical elements is a “magmantala” and from his superstitious beliefs came such creatures of the night like imps (duendi), fairies (diuata), goblins (patianak), elementals (laman labuad) and a cigar-smoking giant sprite who resides in mango trees called ‘kapre’ (derived from the Arabic word ‘kaffir’, a non-believer of Islam, to which the dark-skinned Dravidians belong).

A "kularyut", on the other hand, is an ancient dwarf that haunts forested places; one such kularyut was supposed to inhabit the bamboo groves on both sides of Sapang Balen in Mabalacat. Sightings of this wrinkled, long-haired dwarf have been reported since the 1960s. It was last seen reportedly by a group of squatters who fled the place in fear. Good-humored town people observed that it took a kularyut, and not an act of law, to finally eject the illegal squatters.

Old folks also believed in people endowed with supernatural powers like the "mangkukulam" (a spellbinder), "manananggal" ( a winged creature characterized by a long tongue and detachable torso) and a "mambabarang" ( a person who wields power over insects). To ward off the threats of these beings, one can forestall the impending evil they are about to cast. “Sungal” is foreshadowing evil, hence, a form of counterforce. By firmly addressing witches with the words –“Sungal da ca!”, the spell is rendered useless.

Instrumental to our persistent belief in supernatural creatures is our over-imaginative entertainment media, which, over the years, has created more fantasy creatures both good and evil--from Dyesebel, the mermaid with a human heart, the human arachnid Gagambino to snakeman Zuma--these beings continue to reinforce our belief in the existence of higher powers, the better to scare us, delight us and indulge our innate curiosity for the odd, the strange and the frighteningly bizarre.

(*NOTE: Feature titles with asterisks represent other writings of the author that appeared in other publications and are not included in the original book, "Views from the Pampang & Other Scenes". The author wishes to thank Singsing Magazine for most of the information needed for this article)

*83. SPEAKING KAPAMPANGAN

ARTE DE LA LENGUA PAMPANGA. The 3rd edition of Fr. Diego Bergano's breakthrough work on Kapampangan grammar, published by the University of Sto. Tomas in 1916.

In 1594, the Archbishop of Manila issued a royal decree allowing missionaries to focus their linguistic efforts on 3 or 4 languages to be able to work efficiently with the natives. At that time, the Augustinians were doing mission work among Tagalogs, Ilocanos, Hiligaynons, Cebuanos—and the Kapampangans. Many religious became very proficient with their languages and those who mastered the languages started to write books as guides for others: Arte (Grammar), Vocabulario (Dictionary) and the Doctrina (Catechism).

There is strong evidence to suggest that the 1st Augustinian printing press was set up in Lubao, Pampanga as noted by chronicler Fr. Gaspar de San Agustin, author of “Conquistas de las Islas Filipinas”, who wrote…”for a long time, there was in it (Lubao) a school of grammar and rhetoric, and there was too, a good printing press bought from Japan”. This press was moved according to the needs of the religious, printing everything from novenas, lives of saints to grammar books.

In Macabebe, Fr. Francisco Coronel authored “Artes y Reglas de la Lengua Pampanga” (1617) which was based on the 3-volume grammar-vocabulary book by Fr. Diego de Ochoa. Later, Fr. Alvaro de Benavente completed “Arte y Vocabulario de la lengua Pampanga”, which remained in manuscript form.

The first real Pampango grammar book would come out of the press over a century later, by the erudite priest Fr. Diego Bergano. Born in 1690 in Palencia, Spain, Fr. Bergano was ordained at the monastery of Badaya in 1710. Eight years later, he secured his first Philippine assignment. After arduously studying the Kapampangan language for 3 years in San Agustin, Intramuros. He was appointed parish priest of Mexico town (1725) and Bacolor (1737-1747). He rose to become an examinador sinodal and prior of San Agustin in 1731 and became prior provincial-elect in 1734.

Fr. Bergano’s best known work is the breakthrough “Arte de la Lengua Pampanga”, which came out of the Jesuit press in 1729. This book was so well-written and received so much attention that a 2nd edition was published in 1736 from the Franciscan press in Sampaloc. The 3rd edition was published by the University of Sto. Tomas in 1916. The pioneering volume covered the rules of Kapampangan grammar, ranging from proper declensions, voices and moods, conjugations and word usages.

The dedicated priest also authored “Vocabulario de Pampango en Romance y Diccionario de Romance en Pampango” (Pampango-Spanish/Spanish-Pampango Dictionary), with the help of Juan de Zuniga, a member of Mexico’s principalia class. Fr. Bergano easily mastered the complexities of Kapampangan, right down to the precise syntax. His works on the language were considered to be the finest, prompting Fr. Casimiro Diaz to comment “..the work came out so perfect, that there is nothing more to say or criticize..”.

(*NOTE: Feature titles with asterisks represent other writings of the author that appeared in other publications and are not included in the original book, "Views from the Pampang & Other Scenes")