Nosi Nosi Balasi: A Tadbalik Chorus

There’s a familiar noise that has been a significant part of my everyday routine while working from home. Sitting in my spot by the window, with my eyes fixated on the screen, I can almost imagine the afternoon atmosphere of our neighborhood just by consciously tuning into its cacophonies: kids shrieking, their sounds echoing as they chase each other; engines puffing their breaths roughly on the road; the heavy sound of trains; and scattered voices—some fading into the background, while others resonate across our street, subconsciously trying to outdo one another.

With all this commotion, it seems there’s one noise that has bothered me more than it comforts me. Just before daylight patiently fades away, there’s loud music played pretentiously almost every day—its beats pounding against the speakers, almost unbearable to listen to. At those times, I wish they would play music that lulls the soft seduction of the gloaming twilight, soothing the atmosphere. But instead, they play songs that bang awkwardly in the middle of our bustling neighborhood. I’d be fine if they didn’t turn up the volume to such extremes, but they do it every time, without considering how their music affects others.

Just like last Friday.

I had to listen to another queue of songs that made me sigh with frustration. How could they not resist their impatience and just let each song play until its last melody? I could still feel how exhausting it was just by listening, and I wanted to lift myself up and vent my annoyance. All I wanted at those moments was for something to help push away my sleepy thoughts so I could focus on my work.

But, luckily and oddly enough, I wasn’t in my usual stormy mood that day. I felt slightly at ease since I was already taking my time until my last shift. That’s why, I guess, I found myself singing along with their playlist in my head.

Until, suddenly, a loud Nosi Balasi blared through my ears.

Nosi Balasi was the song from my childhood that I often sang at our karaoke. This song actually made me feel ambitious, falsely convincing me that I was angsty just by singing its chorus with such conviction. When I finally had to pause to catch my breath, preparing to belt out a strong "Nosi Nosi Balasi," I felt so powerful for my age. That’s the effect this song had on me as I was growing up. Perhaps that’s why I never really paid much attention to its lyrics; all that mattered in those moments was how the song made me feel. With Nosi Balasi, I could still feel how strangely tasteful it was to articulate each syllable, as if it were some foreign incantation.

For most of my life, I almost thought that line was a Latin phrase because of its bewitching pronunciation—until sometime in high school when I finally paid close attention to its meaning. That’s when I realized that the lyrics were simply inverted, and it dawned on me randomly.

Nosi = Sino / Balasi = Ba Sila

So, it was that simple. I had the same thought occupying my mind yesterday. While I was on my last work quota, I found myself wondering what could possibly be the reason behind reversing the line Sino Ba Sila. This led my thoughts to expand as I crazily tapped my keyboard, my eyes glued to the screen.

Why are Filipinos so actively invested in slang like this?

Nosi Balasi is just one of many examples of what we call Tadbalik, which is the reverse form of the Tagalog word baliktad. This kind of Pinoy slang apparently started long before the song was even released. The habit of reversing words had actually been used by Filipino revolutionaries to hide their real identities. This can be traced back to the use of pseudonyms by Filipino writers and poets. One easy example is Marcelo H. Del Pilar, who used Plaridel as his pseudonym—a jumbled-up version of his surname.

Even I couldn’t believe that Tadbalik had been in use as early as the 19th century. And if we dig deeper into the deliberate usage of this slang in Nosi Balasi, perhaps it’s not just for its phonetic impact. Whether consciously or not, there could be a subconscious reason behind reversing the words in the chorus.

Nosi Balasi
By SAMPAGUITA

'Wag mong pansinin ang naninira sa 'yo
Basta't alam mo lang tama ang ginagawa mo
'Wag mong isipin 'wag mong dibdibin
Kung papatulan mo'y lalo ka lang aasarin

Nosi, nosi ba lasi
Sino, sino ba sila
Nosi, nosi ba lasi
Sino, sino ba sila

Ituloy mo lang gawin ang gusto mo
Walang mangyayari kung sila'y papansinin mo
Talagang ganyan 'wag mo lang patulan
Wala lang magawa kaya sila'y nagkakaganyan

Nosi, nosi ba lasi
Sino, sino ba sila
Nosi, nosi ba lasi
Sino, sino ba sila

This song was released in 1989, yet it still stands the test of time. Its long-standing presence in every Filipino household is enough validation that it remains one of the best songs, continuing to thrive despite the rise of new generations. I tried researching and looking for any supporting information about the background of this song, but unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything online.

The first verse goes like this:

'Wag mong pansinin ang naninira sa 'yo
Basta't alam mo lang tama ang ginagawa mo
'Wag mong isipin 'wag mong dibdibin
Kung papatulan mo'y lalo ka lang aasarin

To translate, this part means that you shouldn’t mind people who are trying to tear you down as long as you know you're doing the right thing. Don’t think about it or brood over it. If you retaliate, you'll just be picked on more.

This leads to the awaited chorus, where the Tagalog slang Sino Ba Sila is repeated twice, alternating with its original form. Since this word reversal is used as a disguise for someone’s identity, in this song, it serves a different effect.

To disguise means to alter one's appearance in order to conceal their identity. This could also suggest a desire for anonymity, as it seems there’s an effort to remove anything outstanding or familiar in order to remain unknown. In this generation, anonymity is widely used on many social media platforms, especially by those who want to voice their opinions but are afraid of being canceled. However, this has unfortunately gone beyond its original purpose and is often overused and misused by people targeting others. Since it is difficult to uncover someone’s true identity, many feel emboldened to attack others through their posts, which is ironically cowardly. But if we look at it from a different perspective, these anonymous individuals don’t have an identity in that space, and therefore, they are not important. Meanwhile, those who follow you and whom you follow have their names and pictures displayed, reminding you that there are still people you know who are not afraid to show their true selves. While they may seem unimportant, they actually are.

So, I guess "Nosi Nosi Balasi" is reversed to imply that those people whom we question with Sino Ba Sila (Who are they?) are not important. The act of asking who they are is enough to show that we don't know them, probably because they are hiding their true identity. The fact that this act of disguise is used to attack one's reputation, rather than for a creative or revolutionary purpose like our heroes did, is so disrespectful to them. Our history is fascinating, and so is our language. Using it with purpose means carrying it with responsibility. Our language is continuously evolving, which means we must keep up with and adapt to its changes.

There's no harm in change. Just like the song says, as long as you know you are right, then forget their existence, because nothing will happen if you keep focusing your attention in their direction. And whenever you want to fight back, just think backward, and perhaps you might want to consider asking them this in slang: Nosi Nosi Balasi?

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Eyes Eyes Eyes Eyes

People believe that I am a studious person. But, actually, I am not—at least not consistently.

Even I could not quite grasp the reason why I am viewed this way. Not that I am ungrateful for that perspective, but somehow, as I grew up, I learned to accept others' compliments where they are due. If they’re not, I usually shrug it off, because I cannot burden myself with that misapprehension.

Of course, everyone wants at least some soft words from someone.

However, in my case, people, especially in our neighborhood, have loosely seen me throughout my growing years as a bespectacled, studious kid, which I thought was weird. Admittedly, I was that kid whose normal eyesight was lost somewhere in her sophomore year for an I-don't-know reason. But I was definitely not the kid (who might have been living in her head) who had to wear glasses because her vision couldn’t handle the immense intelligence people believed she had.

To set the record straight: I am not academically intelligent. However, I have been almost consistently aware of my tendency to be somewhat passionate about things that I find challenging. Therefore, people I know may have interpreted those instances in the past as proof of my intellectual capacity. If only they knew that I didn’t learn how to divide with remainders until I was already in sixth grade. And it was the shameful truth, as a grade schooler, that I had to keep it hidden from anyone throughout my elementary days.

Having to wear eyeglasses was something I thought I would like. I still remember whispering to the heavens, asking if they could slightly adjust my eyesight just enough for me to need spectacles. And that's when I learned to be careful with my unconscious wishful thinking, because sometime during my second year in high school, I started to see the world through a blurry lens. I remember the anxiety I felt the first time I realized that I couldn’t clearly see what was written on the blackboard. It was strange, like I had to figure out some words because I wasn’t sure if I was seeing them the right way. There were times when I mistakenly thought that one word was another, but when I read the sentence in my head, it just didn’t make sense. And for the first time in my life, I felt a surge of uncertainty because I couldn’t see the world the way I used to.

And it was frightening.

But more than anything else, what I realized was that I had to live with guilt at that time because purchasing eyeglasses was something I thought my parents could afford. I remember the hesitation when my mother and I found out how much we had to spend on my first pair of eyeglasses. It was so pricey! I only thought of myself, without considering the consequences that might arise from my selfishness. After that, I decided to apply for scholarships, which I had consistently dismissed despite my mother's insistence that I was qualified. I was confident in my academic abilities, but I knew there were students who deserved my spot more than I did. But thinking about how my parents had to stretch our monthly budget because of the cost of my eyeglasses made me feel deeply sorry for my negligence. I guess that’s the reason I grew up not being flattered by how people saw me as smart just because I wore spectacles, because it reminded me more of how I gave up my eyesight just to experience what it felt like to wear them. I was really immature back then.

I thought I was the only one who felt this way. When I met people who later became my friends, they shared the same sentiments and how they weren’t happy when people assumed they were intelligent just because they wore eyeglasses. They felt pressured because people had already formed a big impression of who they were based on that simple pair of lenses. Instead of being seen as normal, we were viewed as people who were devoted to solitude and boredom. Sometimes, we were even poked fun at for having “two sets of eyes.” But then, even if I still had my normal vision, I feel like people would still see me the same way. Growing up, I noticed how my eyebrows caught people’s attention for being hairless. It was once my insecurity for a short time, but it never became a major issue during my adolescence. I was cool with how they looked on me. But I guess, since it looked strange to someone who had thicker eyebrows, they couldn’t help but pay attention to it to the point where it was unnecessary for them to acknowledge it with a condescending sneer. It was exhausting to listen to their constant insistence that I should apply something to my eyebrows. Like, does it bother them that much? Does it disturb their inner peace? Does it look so disgusting that they can’t even bear it? Or are they simply concerned about their own comfort, which is why they don’t care that I’m perfectly cool with it as it is?

Then it takes me back to my high school days. I could not exactly remember the whole thing, but there’s someone in my circle who reassured me about my eyebrows. She finished her sentence randomly by saying innocently that I might have liked burning the midnight oil every night, and that’s why my eyebrows are so thin. Instead of getting offended by her remark, I was kind of wonderstruck by how she connected my thin eyebrows to me—burning the midnight oil. In our language, the latter is translated as nagsusunog ng kilay, or literally in English, it says "burning the eyebrows." I was in awe of how she thought about it out of nowhere without realizing that she was making sense.

"Burning the midnight oil" is an idiomatic expression used to describe someone who laboriously studies or works late at night, using the light of an oil lamp or candle for illumination. This is similar to "nagsusunog ng kilay" (burning the eyebrows). However, with the mention of eyebrows, the explanation is that since the light from the lamp or candle could not reach far, the person has to lean closer to it to get a steady and much more defined glow. So, their silhouette probably looks like someone who is burning their eyebrows because of their posture. Weirdly enough, I was comforted by this friend's odd association. Perhaps there’s no harm when people make assumptions about you based on what they see on the outside. Since outward features are the starting point for characterization, it’s natural for them to base their assumptions on what they can see through their eyes first. With my eyeglasses and eyebrows—and through their eyes—it’s interesting how everything is initially decided through vision. I just realized how I disliked it when people thought I was smart because of my eyeglasses, yet I was in awe when my friend associated my thin eyebrows with being diligent.

I guess I like it more when people see me as diligent rather than intelligent.

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The Reading of Pas Marquez-Benitez's Dead Stars

Dead Stars, as what Fernandez revealed on her readings, is not only worth a glimmer of tears but a real sense of discovery. Despite years of not having read it, there still lies a certain degree of combined mystery and fascination— the feeling of being exposed repeatedly at something familiar yet it doesn’t fail to give off the sense of new discovery. That is the charm of the short story “Dead Stars” which sprang from the mind of Paz Marquez-Benitez.

We have Alfredo Salazar, the man who, despite the life of luxury he has, is still burdened with this “formless melancholy”. Is it because he impulsively mortgage the hidden possibilities of the future to fill his craving for transient excitement? That the use of force in the hand of Time or of Fate has made him miss the Love? But it is Julia Salas to everyone but Julita only for Alfredo, the woman of his “last spurt of hot blood”. The root of his frequent “neighboring” to the house on the hill that once meant nothing to him. The receiving end of his “something” that he is not free to give. And there’s Esperanza— waiting, the maid who can be in a hurry if only his man does hurry her. The root of Alfredo’s “tumultuous haste” and the receiving end of his “certain placidity of temperament”. In a star-studded sky, which one among shines the brighter? The star that has already been discovered above the “dappled shadow of the trees in the plaza” or the star which has been spotted yet never been discovered above the "open porches of the Martinez yard"?

After the last word has been said, the passage of four years attest that love cannot withstand dignity, expectations and reputation in a society where it is being valued highly. Alfredo marries Esperanza, and he is not somewhere in between wildly unhappiness and wildly happiness— a safe spot for “no stirring up of emotions” which only leads “the man in nowhere”. But that “unforgettable red-and-gold afternoon in early April”, four years ago, repeats itself in the “cool, stilly midnight” of Calle Luz. Julia Salas has not changed much, yet something is gone. Or perhaps, the loss is his?

And as the young moon sets in, he realized that it is all over. The piece of mystery that the other star holds, will be forever in mystery, like Love on his vanished youth— an eternal puzzle that he missed.

Julia Salas, the fire once burned in his heart has now long extinguished. She is Alfredo’s dead love, but she has still a special place in his heart like a star once shone the brightest in the star-studded sky, now long tarnished but still there in its appointed place in the heavens.

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