A Course Code, A Professor’s Name, A Required Subject

I took up this class basically because it’s required in my curriculum. I did have an option, though, to take up CL122 instead. But I chose to take up this course instead because I heard that it’s going to be Sir Aureus’ last sem this sem. I did not want to miss the chance to take up a class under him (probably) for the last time. I really enjoyed sitting in his English 21 class when I was in first year. I had no regrets except maybe classes missed due to the professor’s physical condition.
Usually, I would prefer a class discussion instead of a seventy-five minute lecture. Listening to professor for more than an hour straight does get very tiring. And to actually come across someone I’d be willing to just listen to is really something. I like voicing out my opinions and very few people can keep me from speaking up. To actually meet someone who can shut my mouth because I find sense in what s/he’s saying, that for me is simply remarkable.
I’ll be honest. I took up this class semester because I was confident that it will not be a waste of time. There may be classes cancelled still, but somehow I know that it’ll be worth it.

***

I was asked recently by a friend, who thought that I’d make a good scientist or philosopher, about what field of science I would pursue if given the chance. I told him that I’d choose Critical Theory. Afterwards I tried to explain to him how Critical Theory is a science. Eventually I ended up telling him that it’s difficult to grasp the concept of Critical Theory as more than just reading Literature if one did not have a background of it. He got my point and I just told him that Critical Theory would be a suitable field of science for me. I must admit, though, that I may not be suitable for Critical Theory but I’m confident that it will be worth the shot.
Coming terms with that, I realized that I am actually given the opportunity to pursue the Science of Critical Theory. What a waste it would be; what a shame if I’ll take it all for granted.

***

When I enlisted for this class, it was just a course code and a professor’s name. Much more, it’s a required subject. But now, I come to realize that there is such an opportunity for me to enjoy this class. I shouldn’t put it to waste.
I do need to find my motivation again.

For What It’s Worth

Of course I’d never want to be part of any stampede but things happen. I don’t have every circumstance in my hands, even if it was my own life.
September 12, 2010 was one day in my life I might just never forget. It was the day of the Cheerdance Competition for the 73rd season of UAAP and I went to the Araneta Coliseum, where the event was held. There were lots of people then; I’ve been to crowded places before—I’m frequent in Divisoria. There were long lines everywhere; I’m used to long lines—I study in UP after all. But that Sunday was nothing ordinary. September 12, 2010 for me is a day remarkable.

It was around 10 o’clock in the morning when I got to Araneta Coliseum. I was told that the Cheerdance Competition starts at 12:00 so I had to be there early enough to secure an entrance ticket. I quickly fell in line, having noticed that the line was getting longer by the minute and the line was long enough to have some of us doubt if we’d even get in. I stood in line with a small breakfast 3 hours away and without an idea of how to get a good lunch.
The sun smiled very brightly in the sky and all I could do was smile back and hope I don’t get sunburned. I looked for ways to keep myself from getting bored. Fortunately I had two books with me and a writing assignment. I could not write standing up in the heat even if I wanted to and so I read. And read. And read. For some time I observed some people from a local TV network shoot—they shot just beside me; convenient. After a while I read again. And read. And thought. And read.
Two hours has passed when I learned that the competition will start at 2pm and that the ticket booth will not be opened until 1pm. I wanted to leave the line and grab some lunch at a fast food chain some meters away but I couldn’t. I was unaccompanied. I would have needed to get back in line if I left. So there I was: standing, hungry, reading, thinking, and shifting my weight from one side to the other to the center.
Some time before one o’clock some personnel from the Coliseum came by to “fix our lines.” What they did seemed stupid to me really. They made the people line up like the large intestine sitting under the belly. Like the large intestine, the head was way under while the rest of the trail winded towards the ribcage. This format was obviously a good way to prepare a riotous group of people disrespecting one another for entrance tickets. But the yellow shirted guys stayed for the next few minutes and observed the lines. For those next few minutes I was confident that everything will be just fine but the moment they left I was confident that trouble was ahead.
The clock struck one and everyone faced towards the ticket booth. The majority disrespected the line I believed to be existent. There was pushing and nagging and shouting and cheering. Everything was just a mess and I tried to keep myself under control. I’ll fall in line still I said to myself even if the people who were just in front of me just left, unmindful of the people lined behind them and are now lost, wondering who to follow. Things will eventually work out. I just had to keep my calm and think straight. I had to be there and I was not going to cheat, using a ticket I did not use in the first place.
The next thirty minutes was practically a stampede: a wave of sweating people in the afternoon’s heat pushing against each other, fighting and racing for tickets practically. The next thirty minutes was I becoming bitter against the people who were supposed to be behind me in line but are now cheering because the yellow-shirted personnel put them nearer the ticket booth. It was easy to cheat their way. Surely all of them thought of it as an advantage, and the advantage they took. The next thirty minutes found me saying the line “I hate stupid incompetent people” again and again in my head. The next thirty minutes found me thinking if this was even worth getting in—it was just another required task after all; but that was exactly it: I was required to be there inside that coliseum and witness the competition. For thirty minutes I struggled. For thirty minutes I prayed that I’ll get an SRO ticket. And after thirty minutes I eventually got what I asked for.
I quickly went inside the coliseum. The beating of the drums from inside told me that there was no time left to waste—even if it was lunch. I got in and found myself in yet another roomful of people. The people who were supposed to get in after me were already inside, having found themselves comfortable places where they could stand and watch. I was really tired (I mean, before falling in line at 10am, I was dancing back in Taft Avenue. And I had to reserve energy for I would be dancing again at 6pm.) and I could not bear the thought of standing up for another two hours—I just spent four hours doing just that. I was so grateful when I found an empty seat. I sat myself happily and watched the different groups perform their routines.
I stood up again only when it was time for the UP Pep Squad to hype the crowd. They were really fantastic. I did not have the cheers memorized but I cheered with the squad anyway. My favorite part of the routine was when they threw one girl member high up in the air—it was the highest among all throws in the whole competition—it was truly remarkable. The whole routine had a central theme consistent all throughout and it was really great.
The second time I stood up was during the awarding. The UP Pep Squad was announced champion for the season and I knew in my heart that it was worth it. Everything, all the sacrifices I made that day, had led to this. I cheered for my schoolmates. They won and it has been all worth it.

Leaving Childhood Behind

Who would have thought I would be caught in such a moment as now? When I first came to UP, I never thought I would be where I am today. I've been here two years and yet I know for myself that a lot has changed within me. Beyond all the learning and information I've gained, I've had personal struggles on different levels. I'd like to say that I've won or overcome and yet I have not. Everyday reflections about myself continue to haunt me and stare me at the face. Many times I've tried to run away from them hoping that I could escape and return to my personal childhood fantasies. Looking back, being a child for me seems easy. My life was a lot less complicated. It was never necessary to lock myself up in a room. No one really dared to pay so much attention nor require much of my attention. I could be who I am, not really caring about what other people would think of me. Of course I did, but one thing that proves I did not care so much as I do now, was that before, I didn't mind not having friends. People were then playmates. People are now companions. I desire to make lifelong friendships and everyday I look for people I could turn to. My world has truly expanded.
Traveling four hours every school day could get very exhausting. Almost everyday I come to UP though my routine is not monotonous. I couldn't really say that it's much of a routine anyway. I do not go to school the same way everyday nor do I get home the same way. I have a lot of options and with those options are a variety of activities I compel myself to go to. It's not a bad thing. My commitments help me develop though I would admit that I am physically drained anytime . It's such a frustration when I get sick or too tired. I feel helpless most of the times.
These frustrations started to pile up. At first I was just disappointed with my mediocre outputs. I was disappointed that I did not have the time to study to my satisfaction. I needed the finances for books and materials but I had none. I could not tell my parents for I knew that they will get disappointed and they had. I couldn't just tell my leaders for they always thought I was smart and that the academic aspect of my life did not require mending. Siblings, no. Friends, who? I was quite desperate to make-up for the time lost but I couldn't. I was being pulled down and it just got worse. I couldn't find external help and I wasn't able to handle things on my own. I just wanted to cry out and I did.
One Friday night found me crying for almost a whole hour. I was sitting at the church's auditorium when an acquaintance asked how I was. She said she felt the change in my aura and that God has moved her to come and talk to me. We chatted for a while and I was just pouring out my heart. One thing she said struck me, “Moms are the best people in the world, they always know the right things to say.” Little did she know that it broke my heart into pieces. My mom hated me at that time. I knew because she told me. I was disappointed with myself for my mediocre performance at all areas of my life. I couldn't find a friend who understood, my scholarship grant has not arrived for months, my parents were far from backing me up, and I felt ashamed in front of God for failing Him. There was too much for me to handle.
Everything was easier when I was younger. Though I wouldn't deny that I don't really consider it a childhood (I was a suicidal, bitter, bratty kid), I do understand that people would always let me get away with things: “She's a kid, what do you expect?” I was a free little bird in my cage. I had much room. The adults have set up rules I were bound in but it did not matter so much. I couldn't care less. I made up my own world in my head and I was happy there. I made all the rules, I made all my friends. was under authority but when I was alone, I had my own world, where everything was what I wanted it to be.
But of course, for any bird that's growing, the space to breathe in would get smaller. I wasn't transferred to a different cage. I just felt the bars this time. There they were, the reality of the adult's rules and expectations. I had no excuse, I had to fit in. It struck me square in the face that it was reality. I am caged and I had to realize it. I wasn't a little kid anymore who need not care.
All the expectations became pressure. I was used to excellence and it made me feel that I had to maintain it. My dad discouraged me a few years back and told me that I couldn't make it. I lived up to it for a while but now that my circles have expanded, there were other people's expectations I had to live up to, on top of myself. I desired to be the best of who I can be. I knew that there was room for improvement and I knew that I could but no. That certain Friday became a turning point in my life. I was crying during worship and there was my life and the people around me, people I trusted, people I relied on. They all failed me. I failed them. Even more, I failed myself. I was pouring out my heart to God and He reminded me that He was there. I had to run to Him. I did but things just don't go away.
Things started to get worse and my worries continued to haunt me. I found out that I couldn't really overwork myself. I could not make up for the lost time and it is now for this whole semester lost. I could only hope for a miracle.
Miracles are defined differently for the young. It's about fantasy and what is magical or anything beyond the powers of science. Now, I hope for them so I'd still be able to please myself and be pleasing to others. I wanted to prove to people that God was working in my life. Only a handful of people saw it, and it didn't include my family. I am not a kid anymore, or at least, that's what my parents would always say. I had to grow up before my time. This cage of tradition would always make you fit in though you do not. If you are not what you're supposed to be in their eyes, you're rejected. Being a kid, you only had to be who you really are in your own eyes. That makes the big difference.

Politics in Art

I like museums. Now, I don't know if that statement makes me more or less interesting. See, it's quite rare to hear such a statement, even among the academically inclined. Everyone has a taste for the arts one way or another yet it gives a small number of people the reason to flock into museums. It's not the museum's fault, nor of the organizers' for art is everywhere. One need not pay to see art. For me though, a museum is still one of the best places to visit. I like art in general and museums showcase what critics would call 'true art.'
One good thing about viewing art in a museum is that it holds collections. Collections are the best references when critiquing any artist. All pieces result come from the same hands, hence the perspective. Viewing a collection by itself is a good means to better understand and appreciate an artist.
The Vargas museum, among other galleries, showcases various collections from time to time. A recent collection contained paintings that were more or less political, tackling the Philippine culture, it's relations to the culture of witchcraft, sorcery, and tarot, and American colonialism. I did not find much of it interesting for there was very little variation. There was one piece that stood out. It was most peculiar among all the pieces. The piece was a wood sculpture by Dudley Diaz, catering a summary of Philippine religion. It was a constructed somehow like a pyramidal diagram, each frame containing a different picture.
The topmost level shows a man falling. The man was wearing a robe, making him seem like a monk. I guess the picture depicts the fall of man, the reason being his religion. Perhaps the artist was trying to tell that it is man's own beliefs that makes him weak. Or it could also symbolize the fall of Catholicism (it no longer has the prestige it had before) giving room for other religions and beliefs.
The second level was composed of two frames. The first one depicted a woman possessing breasts below her neck and down. The breasts had milk leaking from them. This could symbolize anything. This one though could represent a radical view or something. The woman is a mother able to provide for a lot of people through means of her own self. She is the source, the provider. Now a mother could come from anywhere, depending on the circumstances playing on the scene. The image could symbolize any form of society, community, or community in a society. Whatever it is, it seems to boil down to a communistic point of view. The second frame was a sculpted Buddha. This symbol obviously stands for Buddhism.
The third level was a three-part series of the mother-and-child image. It shows Mary carrying Jesus in her arms in childbirth, in his childhood, then lastly, in his death. The image of the Virgin Mary is very strong in Catholicism. One would wonder where God the Father is in the picture. The virgin who gave birth was given much credit and it lives on until today.
The fourth level was one rectangular frame comprising the creation of man. A naked woman is lying on the grass asleep and surrounding her are different animals in their natural habitat. This promotes the look on creation as something that occurred naturally. It represents the harmony in nature without the struggle. I'd like to say that this image represents the pagan religions, closing what I have already tackled. But somehow, the last image brings forth a new air altogether. Perhaps what the artist was trying to point out is that no matter what our beliefs are and no matter how disparate they seem, at the end of the day we are always one with nature—all of us. That is where we all end up, no theories or theology tying us down to anywhere. Man is man and man is nature. Then again, the last output may just be considered taoist.
Every museum, collection, and gallery holds something that will be remembered. These are those that art makes us learn, realize...discover.