I originally meant to post every Sunday, but my schedule did not make that possible. Since my last entry, there has been substantial development in my otherwise bleak and ordinary life: I did get a graduate scholarship from the Asian Cultural Council, and departmental support from MFA Art Writing in the School of Visual Arts. I’m still processing this information since I submitted my applications with little hope. For those who know me personally— I admit, I don’t allow myself to be figured out so easily— it took me a while to get my act together but pursuing a scholarly track had always been my dream.
It means so much that this is finally happening. Though I’m anxious and stressed, I’m also grateful. I hope this is a step in developing a more stable and tenable writing practice.
This development has some implications and repercussions to my writing. I am aware of these implications but I’m not comfortable talking about them now, since I haven’t solidly formed my statement. I will follow up on this in the months to come.
Awaiting feedback from Likhaan where I submitted a few poems for consideration.
I somehow had gotten around to also submitting work to the Palanca Awards for consideration. All thanks to the loving encouragement of A. Here’s to walking the Plank, as I like to say.
I have two publications: online, at the CANCELLEDissue of the Unlikely Journal for Creative Arts. I wrote about my work at the UP Bulwagan ng Dangal— it was most meaningful and satisfying but, alas, beset with serious problems found everywhere (there really is no escape); in print at the Filipinas Journal of the Philippine Studies Association Inc., Volume 1. I wrote about net art and local digital communities. You may request a copy through email@example.com
A book review for Cha: An Asian Literary Journal will also be coming up for their December issue. I’m looking forward to reading and writing about Monsters, Animals, and Other Worlds: A Collection of Short Medieval Japanese Tales edited by Keller Kimbrough and Haruo Shirane. I cannot wait to share it.
a short response to Shireen Seno’s Nervous Translation.
Set in 1987, Nervous Translation follows the life of Yael, a shy girl who prefers writing over dancing during family gatherings, and her mother who works in a shoe factory. Her father works in Saudi Arabia and regularly sends recorded tapes, in place of letters, which Yael listens to in the small hours that she is alone.
It’s kind of interesting to me— I’m not sure if it would be the same for the reader— that I’m also having my own nervous time trying to translate my responses to this film. Perhaps I should begin with an explanation why I use the word “response”, rather than “review” or a heady “critique” for these particular blog entries.
Rather than solely focusing on the formal elements of a review essay or criticism, I also want to take up how I relate to a certain film or, later on, a story or image. This doesn’t mean I won’t be talking about specific elements in the work, such as sound and color, cinematography and plotting, just that I want, maybe, to sound a little more human when I talk about things.
Also, I figured responding to a piece rather than reviewing or critiquing it would marginally reduce the risk of me giving out spoilers. Because responding to a work of art would mean taking on it on a personal level, and when I talk of personal experiences and memories, especially of my childhood, I veer towards the vague. Enough of that.
As Yael goes through a precarious time, so is the country: Marcos had just been ousted and the Philippines is in a period of transition. The unmanageable and confusing is reconciled and tamed by her imagination— hostile cousins, loneliness, adult matters kept from her, and the presence of other people disrupting her interior life. Director Shireen Seno’s writing renders this flawlessly and subtly. This showed through a scene where her Uncle Ton (played by Sid Lucero) teaches her to use a comma for clarity. Yael spells comma as ‘kama’ (bed) in a sentence that involves her mother and Uncle Ton.
The film is filled with tight shots of Yael’s home, and I think these are the scenes that drew me in. Whereas in other films tight shots or scenes lingering on architecture or landscape appear to be senseless and/or useless, Seno presents these as a way of amplifying Yael’s smallness but without diminishing her presence. The film also achieves this through the use of sound, the house breathes, Yael interprets the sound of the wind and their ref through writing, telling us about how she pays attention to and interprets her surroundings. There is little dialogue, but Seno’s writing and direction coupled with Jana Agoncillo’s acting gave viewers the nearest approximation of the quiet, rarified atmosphere of being a child. Because childhood is rarely represented as quiet— films about and especially for children are often loud and brash, which do not allow for the exploration of one’s interiority when one was small and understood everything in novel, illuminating ways.
I am not saying that children will enjoy Nervous Translation— my senior mother thought it was dragging, but I would like to laud Seno and her film for creating something that understands specific points and experiences in a life. Not only of a child but of those around her. Life is a looming mess waiting to rain on your head, yet I think this film provides us with a realization or a reminder that there is a moment where we will be allowed to think through and think back, and which can open another way to understand and be understood.
I also think of Nervous Translation as a collage. In part because of its cuts and interlude, but also in the way that Yael tries to translate herself into the world around her as she is trying to translate the world based on what she knows and on the things she can use. This is a film not only about and for feeling, but also about learning, which is, I think, a great pleasure— when you uncover something or reach a point of clarity and perception. Another thing is that the film presents this as a process where things do not necessarily fall in a predictable line, but as a series of images and moments that may need reconciliation. Yael also reaches this point in the film; Seno assures us with a scene along the water and across a bridge.
I saw Shireen Seno’s Nervous Translation with my mom tonight. I treated her to Chinese Barbecue right after. In her words, it was a “relaxing night”, no more and no less. I agree with her, I do feel more placid and sober instead of fuzzy and confused (and slightly, out of body) as I was in the past two weeks.
I want to say plenty of things about Nervous Translation and how it opened up memories of my childhood I thought I’d already effectively shucked into a landfill. No, I won’t drive down the grainy sepia road of afternoon light and bougainvillea shade. Just the sensation of rain, writing down the sound of the wind (and the air-con and the ref…), and trying to make sense of things… that make little sense. Like items one finds in their parents’ drawers that incite all sorts of strange feelings— things that are difficult to take back, and whose meanings are perhaps already warped upon inception.
But I want to take my time with these things. I take time reading art and learning about people, and how I can love them better. How I can teach myself not to always respond with distrust.
And also take time with my “review” of Nervous Translation. (It is showing at Cinema Centenario at Maginhawa Street, Teacher’s Village until Tuesday. It is an endearing, introspective, and well-made film and I implore you to watch it.)
I am on my last paragraph and I will be quick: I made this blog because 1) I’ve always enjoyed blogging— you can keep rambling without anyone cutting you off with “What’s your point?” or “Do you want more beer?”; 2) I want to reach out; 3) I’m reaching out through a partially anonymous blog because… well, I want to make a real effort to go through all my emotional trauma growing up. But I want to do it in a manner that is systematic (one at a time) and at my own pace. Which is to say, maybe I’ll abandon this blog tomorrow… or I’ll keep at it until I’m dead.
Thank you for being with me in these brief moments.