Brownout

Widespread electric power outages—comfortably called "brownouts" rather than "blackouts" here in Manila (and perhaps in other places as well)—were never, not even once, an inconvenience to the eyes of a small child.

For me, it was freedom. One of the peaks, if not the peak, of our childhood memories.

Brownout— with a lavish stress on the B and R while the rest of the letters were delivered in an almost easy, negligible manner—was, to me, a cherished occurrence and an invitingly comfortable interruption. Whenever I picture our experiences during brownouts in retrospect, I always recall our world shutting off, leaving nothing but a spooky sight of jet-black emptiness, mottled with flashes of white flashlights. Then, our street would materialize into a candle-lit pavement, instinctively filled with passionate breaths. Through my eyes, I saw the familiar twinkle of candles dancing among the absences of light. Mosquitoes would rise and clamor, playfully leaping in the air. Our eyes seemed to reach into the mysteries of the darkness, lost in fascination. It was mesmerizing. And in those moments, I wished we could gather like that in the shade… not forever, but at least much longer than usual, just to feel that thrill once more, so alive when we were still absorbed and oblivious to the world. 

I also remember how it was always so hot and airless. However, as young and lively as we were, we welcomed this kind of "inconvenience" with nonchalance. Rather than being irritated, we saw it as a chance to play even more. Brownouts were our closest ally when we wanted to stretch out our time hanging out with neighborhood friends.

I suppose the reason why kids have a soft spot for this kind of disruption is that brownouts usually happen at night. And by nighttime, as soon as it got dark, we were no longer allowed to play as we pleased. "Siesta na," my grandmother would say strictly as soon as we got home, looking sour-faced, while we were grimy and stinky from playing. I later learned that "siesta" usually refers to a rest after the midday meal, so I’m not sure why my grandmother used it in the late afternoon. But it was only during brownouts that we could have an exception to play outside. Since it was stuffy indoors, we were allowed to step out for some fresh air, which we often took as an opportunity to extend our childhood just a bit longer, now under the thrill of a dim, shadowed night.

And then there was the "Glow Stick Bracelet" (which I only recently discovered is actually called that). It was popular among the kids on our block, and we used it every time there was a brownout. It cost around five pesos back then, which felt expensive to me at that age. Essentially, it was a glowing stick in pretty colors of our choice that we wore as a bracelet. It was such a sight to behold.

After my last memory of it, I never saw it again, not even until now.

The years rolled on without much notice, and my memories of brownouts slipped away. I suppose that’s because brownouts are now rare where we live. And when they do happen, I find myself getting annoyed by them. In the Philippines, it is consistently hot even when it supposedly shouldn’t be, and the inconvenience of a brownout in this unbelievable heat frustrates me, interrupting my focus on work.

The experience just isn’t the same anymore.

I suppose that’s what happens as you grow up. You lose the warmth that once welcomed this inconvenience, and you no longer have the same energy to find beauty in the darkness. You see it for what it is, without the wide-eyed wonder of a child.

Last year, I discovered podcasts.

They were one of the things I found during the pandemic and have since kept me from sinking into my thoughts or dozing off while working. Currently, I’m listening to a few podcasts—all local ones, if I recall correctly. The last podcast I listened to in February was Ang Walang Kwentang Podcast by Juan Miguel Severo and Antoinette Jadaone, which I think also began during the pandemic.

I think everyone at that time, and even now, was trying to preserve each other’s sanity.

Ang Walang Kwentang Podcast isn’t actually a nonsensical podcast. I enjoy listening to others' personal experiences, whether it's their late realizations, reflections on their past selves, or their views on life’s complexities. In this podcast, I like how humor emerges naturally because of the relatable content. But there’s one episode I haven’t forgotten. I can’t recall which episode it was, but I remember how astounded I felt when they talked about the frequent power outages during a certain period.

They shared childhood memories, especially about being told not to do this or that because of various reasons. Then they discussed how brownouts were so frequent in their time that they happened more often than not, and how parents used these power outages to keep their kids home. I’m not sure if they also mentioned the "Kulto" stories and other urban legends that once effectively kept people indoors.

They delved into this topic and considered different angles, even wondering if these interruptions were meant to keep people from the truth.

What if frequent brownouts were just a way for those in power to lurk in the shadows and control something we had no idea about?

After listening to that episode, it struck me how things that seemed simple to me back then could now be seen in such a deep light… now that I’m an adult.

Because, really, it made sense.

I like how the gentle magic of brownouts when I was a kid could also be viewed as something almost bewitching, like black magic.

A Not-So Review: One Spring Night

I finished watching One Spring Night three days ago.

Earlier today, while having my breakfast with a cup of coffee, I remembered it again.

One Spring Night Official Trailer

I started watching this series maybe around late November last year. However, midway through it, I decided to stop. I can’t exactly say how long I took a break, but it wasn’t until last Christmas Eve that I resumed watching the next three episodes… only to stop again. Weirdly enough, I never felt like it had been ages whenever I picked it up again from where I had left off. However, that doesn’t mean I jumped back into it right away. Sometimes, I had to rewatch the whole thing from the beginning just to take it in and recall what was happening in the current episode.

With One Spring Night,  had an inner conflict with my conscience. I wasn’t sure if I should push through because I didn’t have the energy to finish it. Watching it felt exhausting, almost as if I were constantly out of breath—the scenes were dragging, the pacing often prompted deep, tedious sighs, and I felt weirdly dispirited after every episode. This kept happening to the point where I almost dropped it… many times. But I didn’t. I resumed watching it sometime around the first week of February, and three days ago, I finally reached the last episode. When I finished it, I felt heavy-hearted. Even though it ended on a vaguely happy note, my mind lingered on the bittersweet moments.

Don't Cross the Line

I was...FRUSTRATED. 

I can still recall how I kept muttering curses under my breath because I didn’t want to endure that scene any longer. The tension between the two leads as they faced each other on the street—I just couldn’t handle it. I was literally on the edge of my seat, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the emotional intensity.

In that very scene, I could feel their vulnerability. Their eyes were speaking volumes. It was painful to watch their courage being bottled up at a moment when they should have dismissed the world and just run to meet halfway. That night, they stood on the same street but seemed to exist in entirely different spheres.

And that phone call? It was the only fragile line of intersection between those spheres.

Easier said than done. I know that thought crossed their minds as well. When Ji-Ho was about to take a leap of faith, Jeong-In's firm "Don't cross the line" stopped him mid-air. Jeong-In wanted that moment too—their moment—but crossing the line together with Ji-Ho might lead them nowhere, and she was scared of stepping into the unknown. Perhaps she wanted some assurance in their uncertainty. She probably didn’t want to lose herself along the way or drag him down, especially since their emotions had already been spiraling out of control.

After watching One Spring Night, it dawned on me that I’m still such a sucker for melodrama. Consuming melodrama is just another way of saying you have the patience to sit through its slow-burn build and seemingly unimportant segments. Because of this, I’ve developed an unusual tendency to be laid-back—perhaps this explains why I take longer than usual to finish a show. Maybe I subconsciously mimic its pacing? Or maybe I don’t.

At first, I felt guilty—big time. As I confessed, I had a lot of interruptions. I watched One Spring Night, then stopped, resumed, paused, and continued; this was my pattern. This isn’t exactly healthy for someone who usually binge-watches, but these instances don’t happen to me very often. So, I decided to embrace it: One Spring Night gave me the assurance to just keep my cool. This show allowed me to see the experience of watching it not as an opportunity to binge but as a chance to take it at a leisurely pace. I didn’t feel pressured to keep watching because I had to; instead, I saw it as something I could enjoy whenever I was ready to absorb it—and that felt more like me. 

One Spring Night Soundtrack Album

                                                                      

Speaking of me, I personally enjoyed the show's soundtrack album. At random moments, I’ll catch myself humming “We could still be happy” without even realizing it. I also love how the songs evoke a feeling of springtime when you listen to them. Each track was often played during moments of solitude, beautifully capturing the characters' silence and considered thoughts, while also highlighting their emotions. The soundtrack has a cozy vibe—perfect for a coffee shop setting. However, one thing puzzles me: why does it only feature English songs?

(If you’re interested, go check out the soundtrack! Pair it with a cup of coffee or hot tea, and you’ll find it makes an already intimate atmosphere even cozier with its springtime feels.)

Why Spring?

Of all the seasons, why does it have to be spring? As soon as I learned the title of the series, it rang a bell. The obvious interpretation aside, I became more interested in the production's choice of this specific title and the symbolic meanings it carries.

In literature, spring is featured more frequently than the other three temperate seasons. Its brevity makes it stand out, which explains why it is so poetically and symbolically pronounced. Spring evokes feelings of distant memories, regretful longing, and a pensive atmosphere. At the same time, it carries familiar symbolism: the beginning of a new life for someone emerging from the harsh cold of winter.

In One Spring Night, much of the filming was reportedly done on spring nights, and in the story itself, spring is what brings the leads together. Their first encounter—in the pharmacy—could even be seen as a spring morning, marking the start of their journey. 

From the very beginning, the story was grounded in meaningful conceptions.

In terms of symbolism, spring clearly represented a period of transition for almost all the characters, marking their journey toward renewal. The story began with each character carrying personal dilemmas that, as the plot progressed, challenged their beliefs and tested their hopes. However, these dilemmas were eventually confronted, strengthening their resolve and gently guiding them toward the tender beginning of a new chapter in their lives.

Saying Goodbye to My Most Favorite Eyeglasses Yet

[WARNING: A LONG AND DRAMATIC POST]

A pretty reasonable estimate seems to me that if you have seen me strolling in a public place wearing this eyeglasses, there's at least a higher chance I am in the mood of not seeing the world in a blurry perspective.

That is why, I guess, I was sentimental last Thursday. It was a typical day, the likes when I am in my usual tendency of not looking forward to anything any longer because life for awhile has become steadily somber to me. That day, I was doing my usual click and tap routine in my work, but due to that unwelcome phenomenon which is called "poor connection", my stormy temperament accidentally broke the frame of my eyeglasses when I took it off. I mumbled out a barely conscious DAMMIT WHY IT HAS TO BE TODAY? as I was trying not to let the horror overcome me at another ghastly view of the lens that has just popped out on its frame.

I can still feel the tears sitting on the corner of my eyes. This eyeglasses has seen me off to more vivid and bleak moments of my life for the last two to three years, has accompanied me to that blast concert of iKON, fleeting last moments of my university days, even to my nerve-wracking job interviews. It's been a loyal companion through my drastic shift from being an excited student to an officially lost and out-of-breath adult.

The moment has simply passed and it's time to say goodbye.

On the grey-colored afternoon clouds, I bought a new eyeglasses. After all, we all need a new perspective, not through a rose-colored spectacle but through as it is.

Rest assured, it will be missed. Gone but not forgotten.

The Reading of Virginia Woolf's The Death of the Moth

Think about this:

Have you ever been in that moment-- constantly, when you feel belittled by this disturbing idea that you are just a mere speck of sheer opportunities in a world that is so gigantic?

Perhaps, you have been there when it seems like you are just... too small, so little to be worth consideration. As if you are just something embossed as lightly as possible with nothing but life.

The Death of the Moth, a timeless literary composition of Virginia Woolf written in 1942, plunges into the consequential aspects of two opposing and competing forces of existence-- life and death. This is probably Woolf's attempt to somehow give semblance of order to the ever chaotic concomitance of life with death, as both are presently beyond most of our capabilities to understand.

Right in the beginning, Woolf has succinctly specified which moths in particular are used as a metaphor of human mortality.

"Moths that fly by day are not properly to be called moths..."

The present specimen which supposed to be a nocturnal bead of life in the dusky view, rather excites with its unflagging gusto the countryside ablaze in colors of autumn. It has also described as neither as gay as the butterflies nor somber as their own species. They are more likely in between two contrasting emotions, thus making them seemingly contented with life. Despite the distinguishable gap of two different creatures, both humans and the moths are of that similar vibrant energy which inspires them to go on with their respective lives. However, a perceived insignificance evokes a loose impression that a little in size comes with a little of worth. As this passage reveals:

"One was, indeed, conscious of queer feeling of pity for him. The possibilities of pleasure seemed that morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moth's part in life."

So, just as the world is so big, what are humans to begin with? What remained for us but to do similar things over and over again as if we are programmed to labor persistently during our lifetime for that sense of survival and existence. Thus making us as marvelous and pathetic as the moths. As the persona watches the little excursion of the moth, she also gets distracted upon the movements outside his compartment- the stillness of the season, the rolling in from the fields, and the mischievous soaring of the rooks around the treetop. Then, a parade of thoughts promptly dawns on her as she witnessed the sudden stiffness of the moth. She watches its little attempts to resume his spritely dance but the faltering flapping of his wings settles him into feeble helplessness. And the persona stretches out her pencil then lays it down after, flashing upon her that she stands no chance against the close proximity of the death to the piteous creature on her window. Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death now as strange. Then she seemed to say, 

"Death is stronger than I am." 

It is evident that the persona's sympathy goes with the side of death, not really glorifying it but acknowledging the real deal that nothing can outlive Death. But this conviction has been abolished when she said herself that,

"Again, somehow, one saw life, a pure bead." 

Reconsidering this time that putting a fight on life despite the prevalence of death, makes life itself worthy.

During our lifetime, we have been there on that certain spot not bothering to have an equal consideration to the other side since it is out of our sight. Since death seems so distant and inaccessible this evokes a sense of foreboding in us as it is unknown to our perception. But life's ultimate meaning remains obscure unless it is reflected upon in the face of death. 

Breaking Down the Dawn Breaking: A Formalist Analysis on a Literary Text

INTRODUCTION

The short story, "Dawn Breaking" is the literary text under study. This is included on Macario Pineda's anthology Love in the Rice Field and Other Short Stories which is retold in English by Soledad Reyes. This is an interesting story about a dying soldier whose last moments are spent in reminiscences of his past. 

The impression that one draws from the close reading of the text is the narrative technique that the author employs to set the thematic interpretation of the story. If we examine this in terms of formalist approach we see the story dramatizes through the formal features of the text-- plot, structure, and narrative which details the situation the soldier finds himself in and his actual condition. Hence, these literary elements in "Dawn Breaking" can provide us a fertile and challenging ground for a formalist analysis.

In order to examine Pineda's "Dawn Breaking" from a formalist viewpoint, an overview of Formalism should prove useful in clarifying this criticism as a literary approach. Jose Garcia Villa encouraged the aesthetic principle of "art for art's sake" which espouses the idea that the very artfulness of an art can suffice alone its own justification. This principle has from one point to another been crucial to Formalism. Rather than giving emphasis to the relationship of text to its reality, author, and readers, formalist analysis draws its conclusion mainly from the text itself. Significantly, through this study I want to show that the works of Filipino writers are worth studying for.

ANALYSIS

The story begins with a bleak image of that a nightmare, which has seemingly hinted something significant about the situation of the unnamed protagonist. The word 'nightmare' appears twice right at the beginning however the meaning seems to change with its subsequent use. As these passages reveal:

[This is a nightmare. But I will wake up. I have merely fallen asleep. And I am having a nightmare.]

[This is a nightmare. A monstrous lie. A horrible lie the likes of which I have not seen in my life.]

Notice that the former simply describes the literal sense of the nightmare. Words like wake up and fallen asleep support the immediate denotation of the word. While the latter, shows that words have connotative power as this time the 'nightmare' invokes an idea in addition to its primary meaning. The nightmare on the first line is about a bad dream he wishes to escape by waking up but the nightmare on the second line is about worse than a bad dream, a 'monstrous' lie which he have not seen ever. The use of this intense word right from the start of the story foreshadows something about what will happen to the protagonist.

The stress of war exacerbates the universal human need for a sense of idealism, escape, and a vision for fulfillment. And for the soldier, this need fixates on his preoccupation with the past. In the story, Pineda employs two parallel plots that deal with the experiences of the soldier both in the past and the present. The first narrative corresponds with the point of view of the soldier who gives the readers a glimpse into his real inner feelings especially about his past life in the village before the war breaks out. The other one corresponds with the limited narrator who describes the present situation of the soldier particularly his physical condition while he is hovering between life and death in the bleak forest. And here, the moon is the common link between the soldier's past and present as it appears both in the forest and in the village.

Perhaps the most striking part of the story is the consistent use of upper case letter to a common noun. This deliberation of capitalizing the word "moon" carries an interpretative significance otherwise the author would not use this kind of grammatical deviation for no apparent reason.

[How lovely the Moon is on this night of one's impending death!]

In all the above extracts, we can infer that the word "moon" is an important concept in the story. The moon is presented as an imagery in literature and in the story, it seems to embrace its universal representation of the rhythm of time and the phases of human circumstances. The passage of time that the moon is still beaming up in the sky symbolizes the passage of the soldier's life in the world. This is further justified by this line:

[In the fading light, he stares at the face now shrouded with the pallor of death. And from the shadow's lips comes what sounds like a deep sigh.]

The moon also symbolizes hope. This is to say that as long as the moon is still there with its radiance reflecting through his eyes means that he is still breathing a life. Then the last paragraph of the story ends with:

[The light from the Moon has begun to fade. And the rays of the sun heralding the coming of dawn begin to flood the world.]

This paragraph contains two sentences with each having a word "begin". In the first sentence, it is in the form of present progressive tense. This indicates that the light of the moon has started fading but not yet totally faded. On the second sentence, it pertains to the break out of the dawn. Here, we witness the beginning of the two things almost at the same time: The beginning when the light of the moon fades and the beginning when the coming of dawn floods the world. 

At this point, let's find out the symbolism of dawn since it plays a huge part on the story. The "dawn" appears only once on the entire text despite the fact that it is the word on behalf the title. The dawn also appears as a symbolism in literature which suggests a notion of illumination and hope, the beginning of a new day and thus an another chance to live another life. But in the story, the dawn carries a different meaning compared to its usual representation. The dawn instead of being a symbol of hope becomes the indication of death. Looking back from the last paragraph of the story, "the coming of dawn begin to flood the world" means "the coming of death or after the coming of death".

CONCLUSION

The study of literature is and always will be a worthwhile and rewarding endeavor. The idea alone rests upon the dictum that literature is the expression of one's culture and experience. Through literature we learn the innermost feelings and thoughts of people, the truest and most real part of themselves. Thus we gain an understanding not only of others, but more importantly of ourselves and of life itself (Garcia & Barranco, 1980). However, understanding the depth and craftsmanship of a literary text poses many challenges especially when interpretations do not meet at a common point. But the significant polarization of 'socially committed' and 'art for art's sake' dictums could be a departure of critics and scholars alike from the confinement that literature is its own reward and oriented solely to subjective interpretations. The result is a notion of criticism that attempts to establish the relevance of literature beyond the arena of cultural understanding. As Reyes notes in her writings, Earlier texts were heavy on history but inadequate as a way of training the students to do textual analysis. This imbalance between the content and the form can be solved through Formalism. After all, the goal of this literary theory is to examine a literary text from a refreshing perspective, viewing the formal aspects of the texts hitherto unexplored.

Bibliography

Pineda, Macario. "Dawn Breaking" Macario Pineda's Love in the Rice Field and Other Short Stories. Anvil Publishing Inc., 2016, pp. 13-20.

Dobie, Ann. "Formalism" Theory into Practice: An Introductiom to Literary Criticism, Third Edition. Cengage Learning, 2011, pp. 33-51. PDF file.

Reyes, Soledad. “Philippine Literary Studies, 1970-85: Some Preliminary Notes Salungat: a Soledad S. Reyes. Vibal Piblishing House, Inc., 2012, pp. 20-38. PDF file.

Reyes, Soledad. "Theme in the Stories of Macario Pineda" Philippine Studies. 1971. Retrieved from http://www.jstor.org/stable/42632115. Accessed 22 October 2018.

Dizon, Anacleto. "Macario Pineda" Philippine Studies. Ateneo de Manila University, 1970, pp. 350-363. PDF file.

Half Empty or Half Full?

I bet that everybody has probably mastered the art of faking happiness. The world, as people perceive it, only admits fleeting moments of happiness and nothing else beyond. We keep chasing an illusion we’ve been made to believe is truly out there: happiness.

Happiness has never been a strange idea to anyone. When we are asked about our understanding of happiness, we tend to overplay it with little triumphs of rhetoric. We cling to the idea that happiness is the embodiment of perfection within the complexities of human emotion.

The passage of three years hasn’t cost me much in losing track of what happened on one ordinary day in high school. It was my English teacher, who had a lavish obsession with her own wit. But a brief snippet of her tale that day was enough to grab the attention of a student sitting in the last seat of the last row—me. It felt as if she had launched an arrow straight at my spot, turning my repressed yawns into a suppressed smile. She then pointed to the water bottle sitting on her desk and asked the class whether it was half empty or half full. I was sure I would answer the former, but she exclaimed in her rich English voice that our answers reflected our worldview. An optimist sees a half-full glass, while a pessimist sees it as half-empty.

I realized that the purpose of her question wasn’t to focus on the fact that the bottle was fifty percent filled with water, but to highlight the different frameworks through which individuals perceive the same reality.

Perhaps we don’t need to limit our natural emotions to just happiness. Some people are optimists who see the glass as half full, but not everyone can be like them. True happiness lies in embracing reality. And the reality is that you can be a pessimist at times, seeing the glass as half empty. We don’t have to set aside other normal emotions just to chase happiness. If we do, I fear we may lose the ability to truly cope with the world as it is. If you’re sad, let your personal rain clouds pour down over your head. If you’re riddled with anxiety, let your heart skip a beat from nervousness. If you’re not in the mood, sulk and be mad at the world temporarily. When you feel negative, embrace it. Don’t consume yourself with the idea that if you fake it, you’ll make it. Accepting the full spectrum of emotions is far more honest and liberating.

If someone says, "We just gotta look on the bright side,"

You can channel Hayley from Paramore and reply, "Well, only if you wanna go blind."