1-20 Definition and Divisions of Literature

Divisions of Literature
PROSE – form of language based on grammatical structure and the natural flow of speech.
Spoken dialogue, factual discourse and a whole range of forms of writing normally use prose:
literature, journalism, history, philosophy, encyclopedias, etc., rely upon it for the bulk of what
they have to say.
POETRY – something that arouses a complete imaginative feeling, by choosing appropriate
language and selective words, and arranging them in a manner that creates a proper pattern,
rhyme and rhythm.
Genres and Sub-genres of Literature
PROSE
1. Fiction - These are works of literature which are based from imagination.
 Novel - It is a fictitious narrative with a complicated plot; it may have a main plot and one
or more sub-plots that develop with the main plot.
 Novelette - A novelette is also a narrative fictional prose. It is longer than a short story,
but shorter than a novella.
 Short Story- A fictitious narrative compressed into one unit of time, place and action. It
deals with a single character interest, a single emotion or series of emotions
 Legend- These are fictitious narratives, usually about origins.
 Fantasy- It is a fiction genre that uses magic or other supernatural elements as a main
plot element, theme, or setting. Many works within the genre take place in imaginary
worlds where magic and magical creatures are common.
 Fairy Tale - A fairy tale is a type of short story that typically features folkloric fantasy
characters, such as dwarves, elves, fairies, giants, gnomes, goblins, mermaids, trolls, or
witches, and usually magic or enchantments.
 Fable - It is a literary genre: a succinct fictional story, in prose or verse, that features
animals, legendary creatures, plants, inanimate objects, or forces of nature that are
anthropomorphized (given human qualities, such as the ability to speak human
language)
 Folktale - Folktales are generally passed down from one generation to another and often
take on the characteristics of the time and place in which they are told.
 Parable - A parable is a story, in prose or verse, which illustrates one or more instructive
lessons or principles. It differs from a fable in that fables employ animals, plants,
inanimate objects, or forces of nature as characters, whereas parables have human
characters.
 Myth - It is a traditional or legendary story, usually concerning some being or hero or
event, with or without a determinable basis of fact or a natural explanation, especially
one that is concerned with deities or demigods and explains some practice, rite, or
phenomenon of nature.
 Anecdote - These are merely products of the writer’s imagination and the main aim is to
bring out lessons to the reader.
 Plays - This is presented on stage, is divided into acts and each has many scenes.
 Science Fiction – It deals mainly with the impact of actual or imagined science upon
society or individuals. The premise may either be based on or flatly contradict scientific
facts and principles.
 2. NON-FICTION - These are literary works that are based mainly on facts rather than on the
imagination.
 Diary - A daily written record or account of the writer’s own experience, thoughts,
activities or observations.
 Autobiography - A written account of man’s life written by himself.
 Biography - A written account of man’s life written by someone else.
 Journal - A magazine or periodical especially of a serious or learned nature.
 Memoir - A specific event in a life of a person.
 Letters - It is a prose form in which by the force of its style and importance of its
statement becomes an object of interest in its own right.
 News- a news story is a factual, prose story for print or broadcast media about a person,
place or event answering these questions: who, what, when, where, how.
 Essay- a short piece of writing on a particular subject.
 Speech - The expression of or the ability to express thoughts and feelings by articulate
sounds.
 Oration - This is a formal treatment of a subject and is intended to be spoken in public. It
appeals to the intellect, to the will or to the emotions of the audience.
 Research - A systematic investigation into and study of materials and sources in order to
establish facts and reach new conclusions.
 Thesis - A long piece of writing on a particular subject that is done to earn a degree at a
University.
 Cooking book - A book of directions explaining how to prepare and cook various kinds of
food
POETRY
1. Lyric – it expresses emotions, appeals to your senses, and often could be set to music.
 Ode - A poem of some length serious in subject dignified in style. It is written in spirit of
praise of some persons or things.
 Elegy - A poem written on the death of a friend or a poet.
 Song - A poem in a regular metrical pattern set to music. It has twelve syllables
(dodecasyllabic) and slowly sung to the accompaniment of a guitar or bandura.
 Corrido - These have measures of eight syllables (octosyllabic) and recited to a material
beat.
 Sonnet - A poem containing fourteen iambic lines and a complicated rhyme.
 Folksong - These are short poems intended to be sung. The common theme is love,
despair, grief, doubt, joy, hope, and sorrow.
 Psalms - This is a song praising God or the Virgin Mary and containing a philosophy of
life.
 Proverbs - These are concise statements that teach ideas on morality and tradition.
2. Narrative – a poem that tells a story, and has the elements of a story. Narrative poems often
have a rhyme scheme
 Epic - A long poem about a hero concerning the beginning, the continuance and the end
of event of great significance
 Metrical Romance- a poem that tells a story of an adventure, love and chivalry. The
typical hero is a knight on a quest.
  Metrical Tale - a poem consisting usually of a single series
 Ballad - The simplest type of narrative poetry. It is a short poem telling a single incident
in simple meter and stanzas.
3. Dramatic - a poem where the speaker is someone other than the poet himself. A dramatic
poem often includes characters and dialogue.
 Dramatic Monologue - It presents the speech of a single character who addresses one
or more persons who are present and who are listening to the speaker but remain silent.
 Soliloquy - It is a passage spoken by a speaker in a poem or by a character in a play,
except that there is no one present to hear him.
ESSAY
 Formal - deals with serious and important topics. It has an authoritative style and shows
the masterful grasp about the topic. It is in formal form and clear straightforward
expression. Its main purpose is to teach and instruct.
 Informal - covers the light, ordinary even common subjects through a casual,
conversational, friendly, often humorous but equally insightful as the formal essay.
DRAMA
 Comedy - It is a type of drama intended to amuse the audience rather than make them
deeply concerned about the events that happened. The characters overcome some
difficulties, but they always overcome their ill fortune and find happiness in the end.
 Farce - A comedy that depends for its humor on quick and surprising turns of events and
on exaggerated characters and situations, or the type of humor characteristic of such a
play.
 Tragedy - It is a type of drama that shows the downfall and destruction of a noble or
outstanding person, traditionally one who possesses a character weakness called a
tragic flaw.
 Melodrama - A sensational dramatic piece with exaggerated characters and exciting
events intended to appeal to the emotions.
 Tragicomedy - It is a play that does not adhere strictly to the structure of tragedy. This is
usually serious play that also has some of the qualities of comedy. It arouses thought
even with laughter

Quiz

Item 1
 Literature is language in use; as such, language becomes the medium or the tool of
literature. Therefore, language is separable from literature.
Correct answer: False
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 2
 Poets are mirrors of the future who cast gigantic shadows upon the present.
Correct answer: True
Score: 0 out of 1 No
Item 3
 Which is NOT true about literary appreciation in the classroom?
Correct answer: It can only be facilitated through classic literature.
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 4
 The following are characteristics of 21st century literary works, EXCEPT:
Correct answer: None of the above.
Score: 0 out of 1 No

Item 5
 Atlases and encyclopedias are examples of fiction because these are literary works
based from fact.
Correct answer: False
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 6
 Novelette, often referred to as a “slice of life” is a fictitious narrative compressed into
one unit of time, place and action; it deals with a single character interest, single
emotion called forth by a single situation.
Correct answer: False
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 7
 There was a father who cannot accept that his son is a gay. At the end, he killed his
own son by stabbing him with a knife.”
Correct answer: Short Story
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 8
 Great literature observes no limits. It appeals to all because it deals with the basic
feelings of people. This is under what literary standard?
Correct answer: Universality
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 9
 The story, “Magnificence” uses a pencil as a symbol for the harassment did to the
children. What literary standard does it belong?
Correct answer: Suggestiveness
Score: 0 out of 1 No

Item 10
 “There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give
me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.”
Correct answer: Parable
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 11
 A certain literary piece can still become a masterpiece even if it lacks factuality.
Correct answer: True
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 12
 Literature presents life and experience not by telling you what they are but by showing
them to you through
a medium called _________.
Correct answer: Language
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 13
 Iliad and Odyssey, Beowulf, and El Cid are examples of literary pieces under
__________
Correct answer: Epic
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 14
 The Good Samaritan is about a traveler who (may or may not have been a Jew) is
stripped clothing, beaten, and left half dead alongside the road. First a priest and then a
Levite comes by, but both avoid the man. Which literary standard is being described?
Correct answer: Spiritual Value
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 15
 “Long ago, in Mt. Makiling, there lived a beautiful goddess. She often shows off herself
to people living at the foot of the mountain as a human.”
Correct answer: Legend
Score: 0 out of 1 
21-30 Types of Poetry

 Types of Poems
There are many different types of poems. The difference between each type is based on the
format, rhyme scheme and subject matter.

 Allegory - "Time, Real and Imaginary" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

 Ballad - "As You Came from the Holy Land" by Sir Walter Raleigh
 Blank verse - "The Princess" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
 Burlesque - "Hudibras" by Samuel Butler
 Cacophony - "The Bridge" by Hart Crane
 Canzone - "A Lady Asks Me" by Guido Cavalcanti
 Conceit - "The Flea" by John Donne
 Dactyl - "The Lost Leader" by Robert Browning
 Elegy - "Elegy Written in a Country Courtyard" by Thomas Gray
 Epic - "The Odyssey" by Homer
 Epitaph - "An Epitaph" by Walter de la Mare
 Free verse - "The Waste-Land" by TS Eliot
 Haiku - "How Many Gallons" by Issa
 Imagery - "In a Station of the Metro" by Ezra Pound
 Limerick - "There Was a Young Lady of Dorking" by Edward Lear
 Lyric - "When I Have Fears" by John Keats
 Name - "Nicky" by Marie Hughes
 Narrative - "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe
 Ode - "Ode to a Nightingale" by Percy Bysshe Shelley
 Pastoral - "To a Mouse" by Robert Burns
 Petrarchan sonnet - "London, 1802" by William Wordsworth
 Quatrain - "The Tyger" by William Blake
 Refrain - "Troy Town" by Dante Rosetti
 Senryu - "Hide and Seek" by Shuji Terayama
 Shakespearean sonnet - "Sonnet 116" by Shakespeare
 Sonnet - "Leda and the Swan" by William Butler Yeats
 Tanka - "A Photo" by Alexis Rotella
 Terza rima - "Acquainted with the Night" by Robert Frost
About some of the Types of Poem
RHYMED POETRY

 Uses the letters of the alphabet to represent sounds to be able to visually “see” the pattern 
 Are labeled according to their rhyme sounds (aabbcc)
 1st rhyme sound in a poem is “a” and each time the 1st rhyme sound is heard, it is “a”      
 2nd rhyme sound in a poem is “b” and each time the 2nd rhyme sound is heard, it is “b
 The pattern continues with “c”, “d”, etc.

FREE VERSE

 Written without rhyme or rhythm

 Is very conversational – sounds like someone’s talking with you
 Some do not use punctuation or capitalization, or other ways of breaking the rules of
grammar.
 A more modern type of poetry
 A more modern type of poetry

COUPLET POETRY

 A couplet poem is a two-line verse that rhyme.

 A Poem can be made up of couplets throughout the whole poem.

QUATRAIN POEMS

 Quatrains are four line poems that may follow any of one of the four different rhyme
schemes. (ABAB, AABB, ABBA, ABCA)
 When Quatrains begin to make up a long poem, the quatrains are then called stanzas.

ACROSTIC
 A poem in which the first letter of each line spells out a word, name, or phrase when read
vertically.

CONCRETE POETRY

 Verse that emphasizes nonlinguistic elements in its meaning, such as a typeface that
creates a visual image of the topic.

HAIKU/HOKKU

 A Japanese verse form of three unrhyming lines in five, seven, and five syllables. It creates
a single, memorable image.
 A 3 line poem consisting of 17 syllables. (5-7-5 pattern)
1st line = 5 syllables
2nd line = 7 syllables
3rd line = 5 syllables

 Ancient Japanese form of poetry

 Typically expresses a single thought, feeling or idea
 Usually has nature themes
 Does not rhyme
LIMERICK

 A limerick is a silly poem with five lines.

 How to write a limerick:
The first, second and fifth lines rhyme with each other and have the same number of
syllables (typically 8 or 9).
The third and fourth lines rhyme with each other and have the same number of syllables
(typically 5 or 6)
Limericks often start with the line "There once was a..." or "There was a...
Example of an 8,8,5,5,8 syllable limerick:

DIAMANTE or DIAMOND POEM

 A Diamond Poem compares/ contrasts 2 opposite things/ objects

 A Diamond Poem is composed of 7 lines, each line specific for a certain aspect of the poem.
 Format for a Diamond Poem:
Line 1: One word Noun
Line 2: Two adjectives describing that noun
Line 3: Three Verbs that the noun does
 Line 4: 4 Things- 2 for the top noun, 2 for the bottom noun
Line 5: Three verbs for the bottom noun
Line 6: Two adjectives that describe the bottom noun
Line 7: One word noun

EPITAPH

 A short poem, saying or other message on a gravestone in memory of a deceased person.

31-40 Literature and Society and its Importance

IMPORTANCE OF LITERATURE IN SOCIETY

 LITERATURE HELPS EXPAND HORIZON       

Literature gives its readers an inside look into how cultures from other parts of the world differ
from their own, and how customs from other countries help shape on how their citizens view the
world.        

By opening their minds to what different cultures have to offer, readers of literature become
more accepting of the unique differences of people from around the world. It can also give them
unique insights into their own past or present cultures, and can help them make a stronger
connection to others in their own cultures.

 LITERATURE GIVES A LOOK INTO THE PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE

Literature provides a window into the past, allowing readers to see how their ancestors and
others dealt with day-to-day life. Readers can see where their own people came from, and how
the country they live in became what it is today.

 LITERATURE GIVES A VIEW INTO HUMAN CONDITIONS

Literature also helps readers to understand the human condition, and what makes them who
they are, whether talking about love, war or other important themes throughout life.
After knowing the importance of literature to the society, there are some instances wherein
people voice out everything that triggers their curiosity then put it into writing. At some point, it
goes beyond the norm of a certain community that some people question their faith, beliefs, will,
and even their government. So, what do people of authorities do to this kind of literary works?
They ban them. In our next topic, we will know the reasons why do they ban some literary
pieces. Let’s start!

NOTE: Banning of books is not applicable to the whole world. There are some places or even a
place where they ban a book because it goes against the community’s standard.

Quiz

tem 1
 The following are true about the reasons for teaching literature to students, EXCEPT:
Correct answer: It shows value to language experiences.
Score: 0 out of 1 No

Item 2
 Dan Brown’s novel entitled “The Da Vinci Code” triggered violent reactions from around
the world because it upsets other people’s doctrines. _____
Correct answer: DEFAMATION OF OTHER RELIGION
Score: 0 out of 1 No

Item 3
 Which is NOT a role of music in literature?
Correct answer: It is the creative expression of views and feelings that is in opposition
with the norms that people live by.
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 4
 Which among the following is the prevailing theme of the song Dukha?
Correct answer: Poverty
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 5
 I Didn't Do It for You: How the World Betrayed a Small African Nation (2005) was
banned in Eritrea in 2014 for its criticism of President Isaias Afewerki. _____
Correct answer: ANTI GOVERNMENT
Score: 0 out of 1 No
Item 6
 By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept was banned in Canada from 1945-75
under the influence of Smart's family's political power due to its sensual affairs with a
married man. _____
Correct answer: ILL WILL
Score: 0 out of 1 No

Item 7
 The Lino Brocka masterpiece, which shows the struggle between government-
sponsored paramilitias and Communists in Mindanao, was banned from public viewing.
_____
Correct answer: ANTI GOVERNMENT
Score: 0 out of 1 No

Item 8
 Literature reminds us that we are human beings. Which among the following explains
this further?
Correct answer: Literature reminds us that we have our own limitations, insecurities,
and imperfections; that despite our shortcomings, we learn from our experiences and
the experiences of others.
Score: 1 out of 1 Yes

Item 9
 In what context can one understand the message of the song Dukha?
Correct answer: a father who works abroad for the family
Score: 0 out of 1 No

Item 10
 The entire trilogy of Fifty Shades was banned in Malaysia from 2015 for containing
scenes where a woman is being punished. _____
Correct answer: OBSCENE ACTS
Score: 0 out of 1 No

41-46 Letter to Pete

Letter to Pedro, U.S. Citizen, also called Pete

Pete, old friend;

there isn't really much change
in our hometown since you left.
This morning I couldn't find anymore
the grave of Simeona, the cat we buried
at the foot of Miguel's mango tree,
when we were in grade four,
after she was hit by a truck while crossing
the street. The bulldozer has messed it up
while making the feeder road into the mountains
to reach the hearts of the farmers.
The farmers come down every Sunday
to sell their agony and their sweat for

a few pesos, lose in the cockpit or get

drunk on the way home.

A steel bridge named after the congressman's wife

now spans the gray river where Tasyo, the old
goat, had split the skin of our young lizards
to make us a man many years ago.

The long blue hills where we

used to shoot birds with slingshot or spend
the summer afternoons we loved so much doing
nothing in the tall grass have been bought
by the mayor's son. Now there's a barbed wire
fence about them; the birds have gone away.

The mayor owns a big sugar plantation, three

new cars, and a mansion with the gate overhung
with sampaguita. Inside the gate
are guys who carry a rifle and a pistol.

We still go to Konga's store for rice

and sardines and sugar and nails for the coffin.

Still only a handful go to mass on Sundays.

In the church the men talk, sleep; the children play.
The priest is sad.

Last night the storm came and blew away

the cornflowers. The cornfields are full of cries.

Your cousin, Julia, has just become a whore.

She liked good clothes, good food, big money.
That's why she became a whore.
Now our hometown has seven whores.

Pete, old friend,

every time we have good reason to get drunk
and be carried home in a wheelbarrow
we always remember you. Oh, we miss
both Pete and Pedro.

Remember us to your American wife,

you lucky bastard. Islaw, your cock-eyed
uncle, now calls himself Stanley
after he began wearing the clothes you sent
him last Christmas.

P.S. Tasyo, the old goat,

Sends your lizard his warmest congratulations

SUMMARY

The poem mainly concerns about a man who moved to the US with a western wife and his
friend who was sending a letter. His friend updates him on the things that happened in his old
home.

CHARACTERS:

Pete

His friend

Tasyo

Konga

Setting

Homeland of Pete

CONFLICT:

TRADITION VS. MODERNITY

THEME:

“SOCIO-POLITICAL”

“COLONIAL MENTALITY AMONG FILIPINOS”

ANALYSIS:

The poem clearly tells of the old life the main characters have. The author tells us of corruption
within the society and the difference of the past and the present. There are also sentimental
meanings of childhood long gone as the main characters face their present.

Economically and socially, the poem suggests a lot of problems as the mayor keeps getting
rich and the farmers are still poor.

The mayor is the politically entity as well as the congressman’s wife. The mayor has slowly
taken some of the land and has grown richer also putting in to danger the land the characters
had in their boyhood. The bridge that was named after the congressman’s wife had also laid
waste to the memory of their circumcision for that was the place they committed it.

The farmers as mentioned were going down the mountains to sell their agony and sweat which
means the economical strain they have in their town while a mayor keeps getting
richer. Keeping in mind there might be corruption or political imbalance at play here.

The old memories of the characters are being slowly taken down as the old town slowly
progresses and changes throughout the course of time.

CONCLUSION:

It serves as a wake up call for crisis. This is because of the unwillingess to solve the problem.
They leave and search for greener pasture.

46-55 The Wedding Dance

WEDDING DANCE BY AMADOR DAGUIO

Awiyao reached for the upper horizontal log which served as the edge of the headhigh
threshold.  Clinging to the log, he lifted himself with one bound that carried him across to the
narrow door. He slid back the cover, stepped inside, then pushed the cover back in place. After
some moments during which he seemed to wait, he talked to the listening darkness.

"I'm sorry this had to be done. I am really sorry. But neither of us can help it."

The sound of the gangsas beat through the walls of the dark house like muffled roars of falling
waters. The woman who had moved with a start when the sliding door opened had been
hearing the gangsas for she did not know how long. There was a sudden rush of fire in her. She
gave no sign that she heard Awiyao, but continued to sit unmoving in the darkness.

But Awiyao knew that she heard him and his heart pitied her. He crawled on all fours to the
middle of the room; he knew exactly where the stove was. With bare fingers he stirred the
covered smoldering embers, and blew into the stove. When the coals began to glow, Awiyao put
pieces of pine on them, then full round logs as his arms. The room brightened.
"Why don't you go out," he said, "and join the dancing women?" He felt a pang inside him,
because what he said was really not the right thing to say and because the woman did not stir.
"You should join the dancers," he said, "as if--as if nothing had happened." He looked at the
woman huddled in a corner of the room, leaning against the wall. The stove fire played with
strange moving shadows and lights
upon her face. She was partly sullen, but her sullenness was not because of anger or hate.

"Go out--go out and dance. If you really don't hate me for this separation, go out and dance.
One of the men will see you dance well; he will like your dancing, he will marry you. Who knows
but that, with him, you will be luckier than you were with me."

"I don't want any man," she said sharply. "I don't want any other man."

He felt relieved that at least she talked: "You know very well that I won't want any other woman
either. You know that, don't you? Lumnay, you know it, don't you?"

She did not answer him.

"You know it Lumnay, don't you?" he repeated.

"Yes, I know," she said weakly.

"It is not my fault," he said, feeling relieved. "You cannot blame me; I have been a good
husband to you."

"Neither can you blame me," she said. She seemed about to cry.

"No, you have been very good to me. You have been a good wife. I have nothing to say against
you." He set some of the burning wood in place. "It's only that a man must have a child. Seven
harvests is just too long to wait. Yes, we have waited too long. We should have another chance
before it is too late for both of us."

This time the woman stirred, stretched her right leg out and bent her left leg in. She wound the
blanket more snugly around herself.

"You know that I have done my best," she said. "I have prayed to Kabunyan much. I have
sacrificed many chickens in my prayers."

"Yes, I know."

"You remember how angry you were once when you came home from your work in the terrace
because I butchered one of our pigs without your permission? I did it to appease Kabunyan,
because, like you, I wanted to have a child. But what could I do?"
"Kabunyan does not see fit for us to have a child," he said. He stirred the fire. The spark rose
through the crackles of the flames. The smoke and soot went up the ceiling.

Lumnay looked down and unconsciously started to pull at the rattan that kept the split bamboo
flooring in place. She tugged at the rattan flooring. Each time she did this the split bamboo went
up and came down with a slight rattle. The gong of the dancers clamorously called in her care
through the walls.

Awiyao went to the corner where Lumnay sat, paused before her, looked at her bronzed and
sturdy face, then turned to where the jars of water stood piled one over the other. Awiyao took a
coconut cup and dipped it in the top jar and drank. Lumnay had filled the jars from the mountain
creek early that evening.

"I came home," he said. "Because I did not find you among the dancers. Of course, I am not
forcing you to come, if you don't want to join my wedding ceremony. I came to tell you that
Madulimay, although I am marrying her, can never become as good as you are. She is not as
strong in planting beans, not as fast in cleaning water jars, not as good keeping a house clean.
You are one of the best wives in the whole village."

"That has not done me any good, has it?" She said. She looked at him lovingly. She almost
seemed to smile.

He put the coconut cup aside on the floor and came closer to her. He held her face between his
hands and looked longingly at her beauty. But her eyes looked away. Never again would he
hold her face.  The next day she would not be his any more. She would go back to her parents.
He let go of her face, and she bent to the floor again and looked at her fingers as they tugged
softly at the split bamboo floor.

"This house is yours," he said. "I built it for you. Make it your own, live in it as long as you wish. I
will build another house for Madulimay."

"I have no need for a house," she said slowly. "I'll go to my own house. My parents are old.
They will need help in the planting of the beans, in the pounding of the rice."

"I will give you the field that I dug out of the mountains during the first year of our marriage," he
said. "You know I did it for you. You helped me to make it for the two of us."

"I have no use for any field," she said.

He looked at her, then turned away, and became silent. They were silent for a time.

"Go back to the dance," she said finally. "It is not right for you to be here. They will wonder
where you are, and Madulimay will not feel good. Go back to the dance."
"I would feel better if you could come, and dance---for the last time. The gangsas are playing."

"You know that I cannot."

"Lumnay," he said tenderly. "Lumnay, if I did this it is because of my need for a child. You know
that life is not worth living without a child. The man have mocked me behind my back. You know
that."

"I know it," he said. "I will pray that Kabunyan will bless you and Madulimay."

She bit her lips now, then shook her head wildly, and sobbed.

She thought of the seven harvests that had passed, the high hopes they had in the beginning of
their new life, the day he took her away from her parents across the roaring river, on the other
side of the mountain, the trip up the trail which they had to climb, the steep canyon which they
had to cross. The waters boiled in her mind in forms of white and jade and roaring silver; the
waters tolled and growled,
resounded in thunderous echoes through the walls of the stiff cliffs; they were far away now
from somewhere on the tops of the other ranges, and they had looked carefully at the
buttresses of rocks they had to step on---a slip would have meant death.

They both drank of the water then rested on the other bank before they made the final climb to
the other side of the mountain.

She looked at his face with the fire playing upon his features---hard and strong, and kind. He
had a sense of lightness in his way of saying things which often made her and the village people
laugh. How proud she had been of his humor. The muscles where taut and firm, bronze and
compact in their hold upon his skull---how frank his bright eyes were. She looked at his body the
carved out of the mountains
five fields for her; his wide and supple torso heaved as if a slab of shining lumber were heaving;
his arms and legs flowed down in fluent muscles--he was strong and for that she had lost him.

She flung herself upon his knees and clung to them. "Awiyao, Awiyao, my husband," she cried.
"I did everything to have a child," she said passionately in a hoarse whisper. "Look at me," she
cried. "Look at my body. Then it was full of promise. It could dance; it could work fast in the
fields; it could climb the mountains fast. Even now it is firm, full. But, Awiyao, I am useless. I
must die."

"It will not be right to die," he said, gathering her in his arms. Her whole warm naked naked
breast quivered against his own; she clung now to his neck, and her hand lay upon his right
shoulder; her hair flowed down in cascades of gleaming darkness.

"I don't care about the fields," she said. "I don't care about the house. I don't care for anything
but you. I'll have no other man."
"Then you'll always be fruitless."

"I'll go back to my father, I'll die."

"Then you hate me," he said. "If you die it means you hate me. You do not want me to have a
child. You do not want my name to live on in our tribe."

She was silent.

"If I do not try a second time," he explained, "it means I'll die. Nobody will get the fields I have
carved out of the mountains; nobody will come after me."

"If you fail--if you fail this second time--" she said thoughtfully. The voice was a shudder. "No--
no, I don't want you to fail."

"If I fail," he said, "I'll come back to you. Then both of us will die together. Both of us will vanish
from the life of our tribe."

The gongs thundered through the walls of their house, sonorous and faraway.

"I'll keep my beads," she said. "Awiyao, let me keep my beads," she half-whispered.

"You will keep the beads. They come from far-off times. My grandmother said they come from
up North, from the slant-eyed people across the sea. You keep them, Lumnay. They are worth
twenty fields."

"I'll keep them because they stand for the love you have for me," she said. "I love you. I love you
and have nothing to give."

She took herself away from him, for a voice was calling out to him from outside. "Awiyao!
Awiyao! O Awiyao! They are looking for you at the dance!"

"I am not in hurry."

"The elders will scold you. You had better go."

"Not until you tell me that it is all right with you."

"It is all right with me."

He clasped her hands. "I do this for the sake of the tribe," he said.

"I know," she said.

He went to the door.

"Awiyao!"

He stopped as if suddenly hit by a spear. In pain he turned to her. Her face was in agony. It
pained him to leave. She had been wonderful to him. What was it that made a man wish for a
child? What was it in life, in the work in the field, in the planting and harvest, in the silence of the
night, in the communing with husband and wife, in the whole life of the tribe itself that made man
wish for the laughter and speech of a child? Suppose he changed his mind? Why did the
unwritten law demand, anyway, that a man, to be a man, must have a child to come after him?
And if he was fruitless--but he loved Lumnay. It was like taking away of his life to leave her like
this.

"Awiyao," she said, and her eyes seemed to smile in the light. "The beads!" He turned back and
walked to the farthest corner of their room, to the trunk where they kept their worldly
possession---his battle-ax and his spear points, her betel nut box and her beads. He dug out
from the darkness the beads which had been given to him by his grandmother to give to
Lumnay on the beads on, and tied them in place. The white and jade and deep orange
obsidians shone in the firelight. She suddenly clung to him, clung to his neck as if she would
never let him go.

"Awiyao! Awiyao, it is hard!" She gasped, and she closed her eyes and huried her face in his
neck.

The call for him from the outside repeated; her grip loosened, and he buried out into the night.

Lumnay sat for some time in the darkness. Then she went to the door and opened it. The
moonlight struck her face; the moonlight spilled itself on the whole village.

She could hear the throbbing of the gangsas coming to her through the caverns of the other
houses. She knew that all the houses were empty that the whole tribe was at the dance. Only
she was absent. And yet was she not the best dancer of the village? Did she not have the most
lightness and grace? Could she not, alone among all women, dance like a bird tripping for
grains on the ground, beautifully timed to the beat of the gangsas? Did not the men praise her
supple body, and the women envy the way she stretched her hands like the wings of the
mountain eagle now and then as she danced? How long ago did she dance at her own
wedding? Tonight, all the women who counted, who once danced in her honor, were dancing
now in honor of another whose only claim was that perhaps she could give her
husband a child.

"It is not right. It is not right!" she cried. "How does she know? How can anybody know? It is not
right," she said.
Suddenly she found courage. She would go to the dance. She would go to the chief of the
village, to the elders, to tell them it was not right. Awiyao was hers; nobody could take him away
from her. Let her be the first woman to complain, to denounce the unwritten rule that a man may
take another woman. She would tell Awiyao to come back to her. He surely would relent. Was
not their love as strong as the
river?

She made for the other side of the village where the dancing was. There was a flaming glow
over the whole place; a great bonfire was burning. The gangsas clamored more loudly now, and
it seemed they were calling to her. She was near at last. She could see the dancers clearly now.
The man leaped lightly with their gangsas as they circled the dancing women decked in feast
garments and beads, tripping on the ground like graceful birds, following their men. Her heart
warmed to the flaming call of the dance; strange heat in her blood welled up, and she started to
run. But the gleaming brightness of the bonfire commanded her to stop. Did anybody see her
approach? She stopped. What if somebody had seen her coming? The flames of the bonfire
leaped in countless sparks which spread and rose like yellow points and died out in the night.
The blaze reached out to her like a spreading radiance. She did not have the courage to break
into the wedding feast.

Lumnay walked away from the dancing ground, away from the village. She thought of the new
clearing of beans which Awiyao and she had started to make only four moons before. She
followed the trail above the village.
When she came to the mountain stream she crossed it carefully. Nobody held her hand, and the
stream water was very cold. The trail went up again, and she was in the moonlight shadows
among the trees and shrubs. Slowly she climbed the mountain.

When Lumnay reached the clearing, she cold see from where she stood the blazing bonfire at
the edge of the village, where the wedding was. She could hear the far-off clamor of the gongs,
still rich in their sonorousness, echoing from mountain to mountain. The sound did not mock
her; they seemed to call far to her, to speak to her in the language of unspeaking love. She felt
the pull of their gratitude for her sacrifice. Her heartbeat began to sound to her like many
gangsas.

Lumnay though of Awiyao as the Awiyao she had known long ago-- a strong, muscular boy
carrying his heavy loads of fuel logs down the mountains to his home. She had met him one day
as she was on her way to fill her clay jars with water. He had stopped at the spring to drink and
rest; and she had made him drink the cool mountain water from her coconut shell. After that it
did not take him long to decide to throw his spear on the stairs of her father's house in token on
his desire to marry her.

The mountain clearing was cold in the freezing moonlight. The wind began to stir the leaves of
the bean plants. Lumnay looked for a big rock on which to sit down. The bean plants now
surrounded her, and she was lost among them.
A few more weeks, a few more months, a few more harvests---what did it matter? She would be
holding the bean flowers, soft in the texture, silken almost, but moist where the dew got into
them, silver to look at, silver on the light blue, blooming whiteness, when the morning comes.
The stretching of the bean pods full length from the hearts of the wilting petals would go on.

Lumnay's fingers moved a long, long time among the growing bean pods.

PLOT OF THE STORY

Exposition:

The setting is a mountain village of the Philippines where Awiyao has been remarried.

Conflict:

Awiyao has left his wife Lumnay, whom he loved very much. However, she couldn’t give him a
child. He has now married Madulimay in hopes to have a son, who will continue his legacy. This
is something Awiyao expresses as important in his culture. However, Lumnay is upset because
she loves Awiyao and doesn’t want this separation.

Rising Action:

Outside, the villagers are dancing in celebration of the wedding. Awiyao leaves to try and
comfort Lumnay. He offers her many items of the life that they built together. Lumnay refuses
them and clings to Awiyao, wishing he would stay.

Climax:

Awiyao finally leaves to re-join the wedding and Lumnay runs into the hills.

Falling Action:

Lumnay sits on the side of the mountain overlooking the blazing fire and dancing women,
thinking about how her life has changed. She has a sense of desperation, isolation, and
worthlessness.

Resolution:

The reader is left not knowing what will become of Lumnay.

56-65 Borderless World

A Borderless World

By Patricia Evangelista

The speech given by Patricia Evangelista was mainly about nationalism. According to her, a
borderless world does not preclude or rule out one’s idea of a home. It is about being proud and
appreciating our own country and appreciating even ourselves. A “borderless world” refers to an
open world which can bring influences upon people. It may bring about changes in their culture,
beliefs, traditions and others.

WHEN I was little, I wanted what many Filipino children all over the country wanted. I wanted to
be blond, blue-eyed and white.

I thought — if I just wished hard enough and was good enough, I’d wake up on Christmas
morning with snow outside my window and freckles across my nose!

More than four centuries under western domination can do that to you. I have 16 cousins. In a
couple of years, there will just be five of us left in the Philippines, the rest will have gone abroad
in search of “greener pastures.” It’s not an anomaly; it’s a trend; the Filipino diaspora. Today,
about eight million Filipinos are scattered around the world.

There are those who disapprove of Filipinos who choose to leave. I used to. Maybe this is a
natural reaction of someone who was left behind, smiling for family pictures that get emptier with
each succeeding year. Desertion, I called it. My country is a land that has perpetually fought for
the freedom to be itself. Our heroes offered their lives in the struggle against the Spanish, the
Japanese, the Americans. To pack up and deny that identity is tantamount to spitting on that
sacrifice.

Or is it? I don’t think so. Not anymore.

True, there is no denying this phenomenon, aided by the fact that what was once the other side
of the world is now a 12-hour plane ride away. But this is a borderless world, where no
individual can claim to be purely from where he is now. My mother is of Chinese descent, my
father is a quarter Spanish, and I call myself a pure Filipino — a hybrid of sorts resulting from a
combination of cultures.

Each square mile anywhere in the world is made up of people of different ethnicities, with
national identities and individual personalities. Because of this, each square mile is already
a  microcosm of the world. In as much as this blessed spot that is England is the world, so is my
neighborhood back home.

Seen this way, the Filipino Diaspora, or any sort of dispersal of populations, is not as ominous
as so many claim. It must be understood. I come from a Third World country, one that is still
trying mightily to get back on its feet after many years of dictatorship. But we shall make it, given
more time. Especially now, when we have thousands of eager young minds who graduate from
college every year. They have skills. They need jobs. We cannot absorb them all.

A borderless world presents a bigger opportunity, yet one that is not so much abandonment but
an extension of identity. Even as we take, we give back. We are the 40,000 skilled nurses who
support the United Kingdom’s National Health Service. We are the quarter-of-a-million seafarers
manning most of the world’s commercial ships. We are your software engineers in Ireland, your
construction workers in the Middle East, your doctors and caregivers in North America, and,
your musical artists in London’s West End.
Nationalism isn’t bound by time or place. People from other nations migrate to create new
nations, yet still remain essentially who they are. British society is itself an example of a multi-
cultural nation, a melting pot of races, religions, arts and cultures. We are, indeed, in a
borderless world!

Leaving sometimes isn’t a matter of choice. It’s coming back that is. The Hobbits of the shire
traveled all over Middle-Earth, but they chose to come home, richer in every sense of the word.
We call people like these balikbayans or the “returnees” — those who followed their dream, yet
choose to return and share their maturetalents and good fortune.

In a few years, I may take advantage of whatever opportunities that come my way. But I will
come home. A borderless world doesn’t preclude the idea of a home. I’m a Filipino, and I’ll
always be one. It isn’t about geography; it isn’t about boundaries. It’s about giving back to the
country that shaped me.

And that’s going to be more important to me than seeing snow outside my window on a bright
Christmas morning.

Mabuhay and thank you.

Source:

http://pinoy-tabularasa.blogspot.com/2010/10/borderless-world-by-patricia.html

ANALYSIS OF THE SPEECH

There are many reasons why people, especially Filipinos, migrate to other countries. One of
them is poverty. Most Filipinos think that if they go to other countries, they will have a happy and
comfortable life. Many Filipinos are working abroad instead of working in the Philippines, their
own country. There are a lot of Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs) especially in the Middle East.
There are also others serving as domestic helpers, caregivers, nurses, etc. The main cause for
this is probably because the salary offered in other countries is higher compared to that in the
Philippines.

In spite of these, there are also Filipinos who became successful in other countries that are still
here in the Philippines. Some may have been famous in the field of science and sports. Others
may have been popular singers and actors or actresses. It is important to learn how to
appreciate and be contented of oneself. Learn to love and be used of the country’s traditions
and beliefs. Be proud to be a Filipino, and be a true Filipino at heart.

A borderless world presents a bigger opportunity, yet one that is not so much abandonment but
an extension of identity. Even as we take, we give back.

Nationalism isn´t bound by time or place. People from other nations migrate to create new
nations, yet still remain essentially who they are. British society is itself an example of a
multicultural nation, a melting pot of races, religions, arts and cultures. We are, indeed, in a
borderless world!
“LIFE WILL LEAD YOU TO DIFFERENT DESTINATIONS BUT MAKE SURE TO COME BACK
TO THE PLACE WHERE YOU REALLY BELONG.”

66-75 The Day the Dancers Came

The Day the Dancers Came

LIFE AND BACKGROUND OF THE AUTHOR

Bienvenido Santos

FULL TEXT:

As soon as Fil woke up, he noticed a whiteness outside, quite unusual for the November
mornings they had been having. That fall, Chicago was sandman's town, sleepy valley, drowsy
gray, slumbrous mistiness from sunup till noon when the clouds drifted away in cauliflower
clusters and suddenly it was evening. The lights shone on the avenues like soiled lamps
centuries old and the skyscrapers became monsters with a thousand sore eyes. Now there was
a brightness in the air and Fill knew what it was and he shouted, "Snow! It's snowing! "

Tony, who slept in the adjoining room, was awakened.

“What's that? " he asked.

“It's snowing," Fil said, smiling to himself as if he had ordered this and was satisfied with the
prompt delivery. "Oh, they'll love this, they'll love this."

“Who'll love that? " Tony asked, his voice raised in annoyance.

            "The dancers, of course," Fil answered. "They're arriving today. Maybe they've already
arrived. They'll walk in the snow and love it. Their first snow, I'm sure."

"How do you know it wasn't snowing in New York while they were there?" Tony asked.

“Snow in New York in early November?" Fil said. "Are you crazy?”

            “Who's crazy? Tony replied. "Ever since you heard of those dancers from the
Philippines, you've been acting nuts. Loco. As if they're coming here just for you."

Tony chuckled. Hearing him, Fil bushed, realizing that he had, indeed, been acting too eager,
but Tony had said it. It felt that way - as if the dancers were coming here only for him.

Filemon Acayan, Filipino, was fifty, a U.S. citizen. He was a corporal in the U.S. Army, training
at San Luis Obispo, on the day he was discharged honorably, in 1945. A few months later, he
got his citizenship papers. Thousands of them, smart and small in their uniforms, stood at
attention in drill formation, in the scalding sun, and pledged allegiance to the flag and the
republic for which it stands. Soon after he got back to work. To a new citizen, work meant many
places and many ways: factories and hotels, waiter and cook. A timeless drifting: once he
tended a rose garden and took care of a hundred-year old veteran of a border war. As a menial
in a hospital in Cook Country, all day he handled filth and gore. He came home smelling of
surgical soap and disinfectant. In the hospital, he took charge of a row of bottles on a shelf,
each bottle containing a stage of the human embryo in preservatives, from the lizard-like foetus
of a few days, through the newly born infant, with its position unchanged, cold and cowering and
afraid. He had nightmares through the years of himself inside a bottle. That was long ago. Now
he had a more pleasant job as special policeman in the post office.

He was a few years younger than Tony - Antonio Bataller, a retired Pullman porter - but he
looked older in spite of the fact that Tony had been bedridden most of the time for the last two
years, suffering from a kind of wasting disease that had frustrated doctors. All over Tony's body,
a gradual peeling was taking place. At first, he thought it was merely tinia flava, a skin disease
common among adolescents in the Philippines. It had started around the neck and had spread
to his extremities. His face looked as if it was healing from severe burns. Nevertheless, it was a
young face, much younger than Fil's, which had never looked young.

“I'm becoming a white man,” Tony had said once, chuckling softly.

 It was the same chuckle Fil seemed to have heard now, only this time it sounded derisive,
insulting.

Fil said, I know who's nuts. It's the sick guy with the sick thoughts. You don't care for nothing but
your pain, your imaginary pain.

“You're the imagining fellow. I got the real thing," Tony shouted from the room. He believed he
had something worse than the whiteness spreading on his skin. There was a pain in his insides,
like dull scissors scraping his intestines. Angrily, he added, "What for I got retired?

“You're old, man. old, that's what, and sick, yes, but not cancer” Fil said turning towards the
snow-filled sky. He pressed his face against the glass window. There's about an inch now on
the ground, he thought, may be more.

 Tony came out of his room looking as if he had not slept all night. “I know what I got,” he said,
as if it were an honor and a privilege to die of cancer and Fil was trying to deprive him of
it.”Never a pain like this. One day, I'm just gonna die."

“Naturally. Who says you won’t?” Fil argued, thinking how wonderful it would be if he could join
the company of dancers from the Philippines, show them around, walk with them in the snow,
watch their eyes as they stared about them, answer their questions, tell them everything they
wanted to know about the changing sea sons in this strange land. They would pick up fistfuls of
snow, crunch it in their fingers or shove it into their mouths. He had done just that the first time,
long, long ago, and it had reminded him of the grated ice the Chinese sold near the town plaza
where he had played tatching with an older brother who later drowned in a squall. How his
mother had grieved over that death, she who had not cried too much when his father died, a
broken man. Now they were all gone, quick death after a storm, or lingeringly, in a season of
drought, all, all of them he had loved.
He continued, "All of us will die. One day. A medium bomb marked Chicago and this whole
dump is tapus, finished. Who'll escape then?”

“Maybe your dancers will," Tony answered, now watching the snow himself.

            “Of course, they will," Fil retorted, his voice sounding like a big assurance that all the
dances would be safe in his care. "The bombs won't be falling on this night. And when the
dancers are back in the Philippines…”

 He paused, as if he was no longer sure of what he was going to say. "But maybe, even in the
Philippines the bombs gonna fall, no? he said, gazing sadly at the falling snow.

"What's that to you?" Tony replied. "You got no more folks ove'der, right? I know its nothing to
me. I'1l be dead before that."

“Let's talk about something nice," Fil said, the sadness spreading on his face as he tried to
smile. "Tell me, how will I talk, how am I gonna introduce myself?”

He would go ahead with his plans, introduce himself to the dancers and volunteer to take them
sight-seeing. His car was clean and ready for his guest. He had soaped the ashtrays, dusted off
the floor boards and thrown away the old mats, replacing them with new plastic throw rugs. He
had got himself soaking wet while spraying the car, humming, as he worked, faintly-
remembered tunes from the old country.

Fil shook his head as he waited for Tony to say something. “Gosh, I wish I had your looks, even
with those white spots, then I could face every one of them," he said, " "but this mug. . .”

 "That's the important thing, your mug. It's your calling card. It says, Filipino. Countryman," Tony
said.

“You're not fooling me, friend," Fil Said. "This mug says, Ugly Filipino. It says, old-timer,
muchacho. It says Pinoy, bejo.”

            For Fil, time was the villain. In the beginning, the words he often heard were: too young,
too young; but all of a sudden, too young became too old, too late. What had happened in
between? A weariness, a mist covering all things. You don't have to look at your face in a mirror
to know that you are old, suddenly old, grown useless for a lot of things and too late for all the
dreams you had wrapped up well against a day of need.

"It also says sucker," Tony said. "What for you want to invite them? Here? Aren't you ashamed
of this hole?”

“It's not a palace, I know, Fil answered, "but who wants a palace when they can have the most
delicious adobo here and the best stuffed chicken... yum...yum…

Tony was angry. “Yum, yum, you're nuts, he said, "plain and simple loco. What for you want to
spend? You've been living on loose change all your life and now on a treasury warrant so small
and full of holes, still you want to spend for these dancing kids who don’t know you and won't
even send you a card afterwards."

“Never mind the cards," Fil answered. "Who wants cards? But you see, they'll be happy; and
then, you know what? l'm going to keep their voices, their words and their singing and their
laughter in my magic sound mirror.”

He had a portable tape recorder and a stack of recordings, patiently labelled, songs and
speeches. The songs were in English, but most of the speeches were in the dialect, debates
between him and Tony. It was evident Tony was the better speaker of the two in English, but in
the dialect, Fil showed greater mastery. His style, however, was florid, sentimental, poetic.

Without telling Tony, he had experimented on recording sound, like the way a bed creaked,
doors opening and closing, rain or sleet tapping on the window panes, footsteps through the
corridor. He played all the sounds back and tried to recall how it was on the day or night the
sounds had been recorded. Did they bring back the moment? He was beginning to think that
they did. He was learning to identify each of the sounds with a particular mood or fact.
Sometimes like today, he wished that there was a way of keeping a record of silence because it
was to him the richest sound, like snow falling. He wondered as he watched the snow blowing in
the wind, what took care of that moment if memory didn't. Like time, memory was often a villain,
a betrayer.

“Fall, snow, fall," he murmured and, turning to Tony, said, "As soon as they accept my invitation,
I'll call you up. No, you don't have to do anything, but I'd want you to be here to meet them."

“I'm going out myself," Tony said. "And I don't know what time I'll be back." Then he added,
“You're not working today. Are you on leave?”

"For two days. While the dancers are here," Fil said.

“It still don't make sense to me," Tony said. "But good luck anyway.

"Aren't you going to see them tonight? Our reserved seats are right out in front, you know."

“I know. But I'm not sure I can come."

“What? You're not sure?”

            Fil could not believe it. Tony was indifferent. Something must be wrong with him. He
looked at him closely, saying nothing.

"I want to, but I'm sick, Fil. I tell you, I’m not feeling so good. My doctor will know today. He'll tell
me," Tony said.

"What will he tell you?"

“How do I know?

"I mean, what's he trying to find out? “

"If it's cancer," Tony said. Without saying another word, went straight back to his room.

Fil remembered those times, at night, when Tony kept him awake with his moaning. When he
called out to him, asking, “Tony, what’s the matter?” his sighs ceased for a while, but
afterwards, Tony screamed, deadening his cries with a pillow against his mouth. When Fil
rushed to his side, Tony drove him away. Or he curled up in bedsheets like a big infant suddenly
hushed in its crying. The next t day, he would look all right. When Fil asked him about the
previous night, he would reply, “I was dying." but it sounded more like disgust over a nameless
annoyance.

Fil had misgivings, too, about the whiteness spreading on Tony's skin. He had heard of leprosy.
Everytime he thought of that dreaded disease, he felt tears in his eyes. In all the years he had
been in America, he had not had a friend until he met Tony whom he liked immediately and, in a
way, worshipped, for all the things the man had which Fil knew he himself lacked.

They had shared a lot together. They made merry on Christmas, sometimes got drunk and
became loud. Fil recited poems in the dialect and praised himself. Tony fell to giggling and
cursed all the railroad companies of America. But last Christmas, they hadn't got ten drunk.
They hadn't even talked to each other on Christmas day. Soon, it would be Christmas again.

The snow was still falling.

"Well, I'll be seeing you," Fil said, getting ready to leave. "Try to be home on time. I shall invite
the dancers for luncheon or dinner maybe, tomorrow. But tonight. let's go to the theater
together, ha? "

"I’ll try," Tony answered, adding after a pause, "Oh, Fil, I can't find my boots. May I wear yours?”
His voice sounded strong and healthy.

"Sure, sure!” Fil answered. He didn't need boots. He loved to walk in the snow.

The air outside felt good. Fil lifted his face to the sky and closed his eyes as the snow and a wet
wind drenched his face. He stood that way for some time, crying, more, more! to himself, drunk
with snow and coolness. His car was parked a block away. As walked towards it, he plowed into
the snow with one foot and studied the scar he made, a hideous shape among perfect
footmarks. He felt strong as his lungs filled with the cold air, as if just now it did not matter too
much that he was the way he looked and his English was the way it was. But perhaps, he could
talk to the dancers in his dialect. Why not?

A heavy frosting of snow covered his car and as he wiped it off with his bare hands, he felt light
and young. like a child at play, and once again, he raised his face to the sky and licked the
flakes, cold and tasteless on his tongue.

When Fil arrived at the Hamilton, it seemed to him the Philippine dancers had taken over the
hotel. They were all over the lobby on the mezzanine, talking in groups animatedly, their teeth
sparkling as they laughed, their eyes disappearing in mere slits of light. Some of the girls wore
their black hair long. For a moment. The sight seemed too much for him who had but all
forgotten how beautiful Philippine girls were. He wanted to look away, but their loveliness held
him. He must do something, close his eyes perhaps. As he did so, their laughter came to him
like a breeze murmurous with sounds native to his land.

Later, he tried to relax, to appear inconspicuous. True, they were all very young, but there were
a few elderly men and women who must have been their chaperons or well-wishers like him. He
would smile at everyone who happened to look his way. Most of them smiled back, or rather,
seemed to smile, but it was quick, without recognition, and might not have been for him but for
someone else near or behind him.

His lips formed the words he was trying to phrase in his mind: Ilocano ka? Bicol? Ano na,
paisano? Comusta? Or should he introduce himself? How? For what he wanted to say, the
words didn't come too easily, they were unfamiliar, they stumbled and broke on his lips in to a
jumble of incoherence.

Suddenly, he felt as if he was in the center of a group where he was not welcome. All the things
he had been trying to hide now showed: the age in his face, his horny hands. He knew it the
instant he wanted to shake hands with the first boy who had drawn close to him, smiling and
friendly. Fil put his hands in his pocket.

Now he wished Tony had been with him. Tony would know what to do. He would charm these
young people with his smile and learned words. Fil wanted to leave, but he seemed caught up in
the tangle of moving bodies that merged and broke in a fluid strangle hold. Everybody was
talking, mostly in English. Once in a while heard exclamations in the dialect right out of the past,
conjuring up play time, long shadows of evening on the plaza, barrio fiestas, misa de gallo.

Time was passing and he had yet to talk to someone. Suppose he stood on a chair and
addressed them in the manner of his flamboyant speeches recorded in his magic sound mirror?

"Beloved countrymen, lovely children of the Pearl of the Orient Seas, listen to me. I'm Fil
Acayan. I've come to volunteer my services. I'm yours to command. Your servant. Tell me
where you wish to go, what you want to see in Chicago. I know every foot of the lakeshore
drive, all the gardens and the parks, the museums, the huge department stores, the
planetarium. Let me be your guide. That's what I'm offering you, a free tour of Chicago, and
finally, dinner at my apartment on West Sheridan Road - pork adobo and chicken relleno, name
your dish. How about it, paisanos?”

No. That would be a foolish thing to do. They would laugh at him. He felt a dryness in his throat.
He was sweating. As he wiped his face with a handkerchief, he bumped against a slim, short girl
who quite gracefully, stepped aside, and for a moment he thought he would swoon in the
perfume that enveloped him. It was fragrance long forgotten, essence of camia, of ilang-ilang,
and of dama de noche.

Two boys with sleek, pomaded hair were sitting near an empty chair. He sat down and said in
the dialect, "May I invite you to my apartment?” The boys stood up, saying, "Excuse us, please,"
and walked away. He mopped his brow, but instead of getting discouraged, he grew bolder as
though he had moved one step beyond shame. Approaching another group, he repeated his
invitation, and a girl with a mole on her upper lip, said, "Thank you, but we have no time.” As he
turned towards another group, he felt their eyes on his back. Another boy drifted towards him,
but as soon as he began to speak, the boy said, “Pardon, please," and moved away.

They were always moving away. As if by common consent, they had decided to avoid him,
ignore his presence. Perhaps it was not their fault. They must have been instructed to do so. Or
was it his looks that kept them away? The thought was a sharpness inside him. After a while, as
he wandered about the mezzanine among the dancers, but alone, he noticed that they had
begun to leave. Some had crowded noisily into the two elevators. He followed the others going
down the stairs. Through the glass doors, he saw them getting into a bus parked beside the
subway entrance on Dearborn.

 The snow had stopped falling; it was melting fast in the sun turning into slush.

As he moved about aimlessly, he felt someone touch him on the sleeve. It was one of the
dancers, a mere boy, tall and thin, who was saying, “Excuse, please." Fil realized he was in the
way between another boy with a camera and a group posing in front of the hotel.

"Sorry," Fil said, jumping away awkwardly.

The crowd burst out laughing.

Then everything became a blur in his eyes, a moving picture out of focus, but gradually, the
figures cleared, there was mud on the pavement on which the dancers stood posing, and the
sun threw shadows at their feet.

Let them have fun, he said to himself, thy're young and away from home. I have no business
messing up their schedule, forcing my company on them.

He watched the dancers till the last of them was on the bus. The Voices came to him, above the
traffic sounds. They waved their hands and smiled towards him as the bus started. Fil raised his
hand to wave back, but stopped quickly, aborting the gesture. He turned to look behind him at
whomever the dancers were waving their hands to. There was no one there except his own
reflection in the glass door, a double exposure of himself and a giant plant with its thorny
branches around him like arms in a loving embrace.

Even before he opened the door to their apartment, Fil knew that Tony had not yet arrived.
There were no boots outside on the landing. Somehow he felt relieved, for until then he did not
know how he was going to explain his failure.

From the hotel, he had driven around, cruised by the lakeshore drive, hoping he would see the
dancers somewhere, in a park perhaps, taking pictures of the mist over the lake and the last
gold on the trees now wet with melted snow, or on some picnic grounds, near a bubbling
fountain. Still taking pictures of themselves against a back ground of Chicago's gray and dirty
skyscrappers. He slowed down every time he saw a crowd, but the dancers were nowhere
along his way. Perhaps they had gone to the theater to rehearse. He turned back before
reaching Evanston.

He felt weak, not hungry. Just the same, he ate, warming up some left-over food. The rice was
cold, but the soup was hot and tasty. While he ate, he listened for footfalls.

Afterwards, he lay down on the sofa and a weariness came over him, but he tried hard not to
sleep. As he stared at the ceiling, he felt like floating away, but he kept his eyes open, willing
himself hard to remain awake. He wanted to explain everything to Tony when he arrived. But
soon his eyes closed against a weary will too tired and weak to fight back sleep - and then there
were voices. Tony was in the room, eager to tell his own bit of news.

"I've discovered a new way of keeping afloat," he was saying.

"Who wants to keep afloat? " Fil asked.

"Just in case. In a shipwreck, for example," Tony said.

"Never mind shipwrecks. I must tell you about the dancers," Fil said.

"But this is important." Tony insisted. "This way, you can keep floating indefinitely."

“What for indefinitely? " Fil asked.

"Say in a ship… I mean, in an emergency, you’re stranded without help in the middle of the
Pacific or the Atlantic, you must keep floating till help comes..." Tony explained.

"More better," Fil said, "find a way to reach shore before the sharks smell you. You discover
that."

"I will," Tony said, without eagerness, as though certain that there was no such way, that, after
all, his discovery was worthless.

"Now you listen to me," Fil said, sitting up abruptly. As he talked in the dialect, Tony listened
with increasing apathly.

“There they were." Fil began, his tone taking on the orator's pitch, "who could have been my
children if I had not left home – or yours, Tony. They gazed around them with wonder, smiling at
me, answering my questions, but grudgingly, edging away as if to be near me were wrong, a
violation in their rule book. But it could be that every time I opened my mouth, I gave myself
away. I talked in the dialect, Ilocano, Tagalog, Bicol, but no one listened. They avoided me.
They had been briefed too well: Do not talk to strangers. Ignore their invitations. Be extra careful
in the big cities like New York and Chicago, beware of the old-timers, the Pinoys. Most of them
are bums. Keep away from them. Be on the safe side – stick together, entertain only those who
have been introduced to you propely.

“I’m sure they had such instructions, safety measures, they must have called them. What then
could I have done, scream out my good intentions, prove my harmlessness and my love for
them by beating my breast? Oh, but I loved them. You see, I was like them once. I, too, was
nimble with my feet, graceful with my hands; and I had the tongue of a poet. Ask the village girls
and the envious boys from the city – but first you have to find them. After these many years, it
won't be easy. You'll have to search every suffering face in the village gloom for a hint of youth
and beauty or go where the graveyards are and the tombs under the lime trees. One such
face... oh, God, what am I saying?

“All I wanted was to talk to them, guide them around Chicago, spend money on them so that
they would have something special to remember about us here when they return to our country.
They would tell their folks: We met a kind, old man, who took us to his apartment. It was not
much of a place. It was old – like him. When we sat on the sofa in the living room, the bottom
sank heavily, the broken springs touching the floor. But what a cook that man was! And how
kind! We never thought that rice and adobo could be that delicious. And the chicken relleno!
When someone asked what the stuffing was –  we had never tasted anything like it - he smiled
saying, ‘From heaven's supermarket’ touching his head and pressing his heart like a clown as if
heaven were there. He had his tape recorder which he called a magic sound mirror, and he had
all of us record our voices. Say anything in the dialect, sing, if you please, our kundiman,
please, he said, his eyes pleading, too. Oh, we had fun listening to the playback. When you're
gone, the old man said, I shall listen to your voices with my eyes closed and you'll be here again
and I won't ever be alone, no, not anymore, after this. We wanted to cry, but he looked very
funny, so we laughed and he laughed with us.

"But, Tony, they would not come. They thanked me, but they said they had no time. Others said
nothing. They looked through me. I didn't exist. Or worse, I was unclean. Basura. Garbage.
They were ashamed of me. How could I be Filipino?

The memory, distinctly recalled, was a rock on his breast. He gasped for breath.

“Now, let me teach you how to keep afloat," Tony said, but it was not Tony's voice.

Fil was alone and gasping for air. His eyes opened slowly till he began to breathe more easily.
The sky outside was gray. He looked at his watch - a quarter past five. The show would begin at
eight. There was time. Perhaps Tony would be home soon.

The apartment was warming up. The radiators sounded full of scampering rats. He had a
recording of that in his sound mirror.

Fil smiled. He had an idea. He would take the sound mirror to the theater, take his seat close to
the stage, and make tape recordings of the singing and the dances.

Now he was wide-awake and somehow pleased with himself. The more he thought of the idea,
the better he felt. If Tony showed up now... He sat up, listening. The radiators were quiet. There
were no footfalls, no sound of a key turning.

Late that night, back from the theater, Fil knew at once that Tony was back. The boots were
outside the door. He, too, must be tired, and should not be disturbed.
He was careful not to make any noise. As he turned on the floor lamp, he thought that perhaps
Tony was awake and waiting for him. They would listen together to a playback of the dances
and the songs Tony had missed. Then he would tell Tony what happened that day, repeating
part of the dream.

From Tony's bedroom came the regular breathing of a man sound asleep. To be sure, he
looked into the room and in the half- darkness, Tony's head showed darkly, deep in a pillow, on
its side, his knees bent, almost touching the clasped hands under his chin, an oversized foetus
in the last bottle. Fil shut the door between them and went over to the portable. Now. He turned
it on to low. At first nothing but static and odd sounds came through, but soon after there was
the patter of feet to the rhythm of familiar melody.

All the beautiful boys and girls were in the room now, dancing and singing. A boy and a girl sat
on the floor holding two bamboo poles by their ends flat on the floor, clapping them together,
then apart, and pounding them on the boards, while dancers swayed and balanced their lithe
forms, dipping their bare brown legs in and out of the clapping bamboos, the pace gradually
increasing into a fury of wood on wood in a counterpoint of panic among the dancers and in a
harmonious flurry of toes and ankle escaping certain pain – crushed bones, and bruised flesh,
and humiliation. Other dances followed, accompanied by songs and live with the sounds of life
and death in the old country; Igorot natives in G-strings walking down a mountainside; peasants
climbing up a hill on a rainy day; neighbors moving a house, their sturdy legs showing under a
moving roof; lovers at Lent hiding their passion among wild hedges, far from the crowded
chapel; a distant gong sounding off a summons either to a feast or a wake. And finally,
prolonged ovation, thunderous, wave upon wave.

"Turn that thing off!” Tony's voice was sharp above the echoes of the gongs and the applause
settling in to silence

Fil switched off the dial and in the sudden stillness, the voices turned into faces, familiar and
near, like gesture and touch that stayed on even as the memory withdrew, bowing out, as it
were, in a graceful exit, saying, thank you, thank you, before a ghostly audience that clapped
hands in silence and stomped their feet in a sucking emptiness. He wanted to join the finale,
such as it was, pretend that the curtain call included him, and attempt a shame faced imitation
of a graceful adieu, but he was stiff and old, incapable of grace; but he said, thank you, thank
you, his voice sincere and contrite, grateful for the other voices and the sound of singing and the
memory.

"Oh, my God. . ." the man in the other room cried, followed by a moan of such anguish that Fil
fell on his knees, covering the sound mirror with his hands to muffle the sounds that had started
again, it seemed to him, even after he had turned it off.

Then he remembered.

"Tony, what did the doctor say? What did he say? “ he shouted and listened, holding his breath,
no longer able to tell at the moment who had truly waited all day for the final sentence.
There was no answer. Meanwhile, under his hands, there was a flutter of wings, a shudder of
gongs. What was Tony saying? That was his voice, no? Fil wanted to hear, he must know. He
switched dials on and off, again and again, pressing buttons. Suddenly, he didn't know what to
do. The spools were live, they kept turning. His arms went around the machine, his chest
pressing down on the spools. In the quick silence, Tony's voice came clear.

“So they didn't come after all?”

“Tony, what did the doctor say?” Fil asked, straining hard to hear.

 “I knew they wouldn't come. But that's okay. The apartment is old anyhow. And it smells of
death."

"How you talk. In this country, there's a cure for everything."

“I guess we can't complain. We had it good here all the time. Most of the time, anyway.”

"I wish, though, they had come, I could...”

"Yes, they could have. They didn't have to see me, but what do they really look like?”

“Tony, they're beautiful, all of them, but especially the girls. Their complexion, their grace, their
eyes, they were what we call talking eyes, they say things to you. And the scent of them!”

There was a sigh from the room, soft, hardly like a sigh. A louder, grating sound, almost under
his hands that had relaxed their hold, called his attention. The sound mirror had kept going, the
tape was fast unravelling.

“Oh, no!” he screamed, noticing that somehow he had pushed the eraser.

 Frantically, he tried to rewind and play back the sounds and the music, but there was nothing
now but the full creaking of the tape on the spool and meaningless sounds that somehow had
not been erased, the thud of dancing feet, a quick clapping of hands, alien voices and words: in
this country. . . everything.. . all of them… talking eyes… and the scent... a fading away into
nothingness, till about the end when there was a screaming, senseless kind of finale detached
from the body of a song in the background, drums and sticks and the toiling of a bell.

“Tony! Tony!" Fil cried, looking towards the sick man's room, “I've lost them all.”

Biting his lips, Fil turned towards the window, startled by the first light of dawn. He hadn't
realized till then the long night was over.

THE SUMMARY OF THE STORY

 Fil and Tony were both old Filipino men living in Chicago ever since World War II ended. Fil
described himself as an ugly old man and described Tony as a good-looking gentleman that
looked younger than he really was.
 The story was basically about how a group of Philippine dancers were arriving in Chicago
that day and Fil thought that it would be an excellent idea if he took the dancers around the
 city, showed them the sights and invite them back to his place for some adobo and chicken
relleno. For the first part of the story, Fil constantly talked about the dancers to his friend and
roommate Tony. Fil and Tony have been friends pretty much ever since they moved to the
US and the entire time, Tony had been suffering from a disease that frustrated many doctors
in which caused gradual peeling all over his body.
 When Tony left for the doctor, Fil left a little later to meet the dancers at the hotel. When he
got there and saw all the dancers, he completely forgot what he wanted to say and lost all
train of thought. So when he finally managed to gather up all the confidence he had left to
invite them to his house, they would just move away or say, "No, thanks, we’re too busy."
Later that night, he ended up going to the show alone since Tony hadn’t yet returned from
the doctor. Despite the disappointment he had earlier that day, Fil contemplated that if he
would just record the show on his tape recorder, he would have the sounds with him to help
him remember the dancers, the show and bring back past memories.
 When he got home, he noticed that Tony was back. Tony commented that the dancers
weren’t with him and that he knew they never would’ve came home him in the first place. Fil
then started to listen to his tape recorder and his failure from earlier that day no longer
mattered to him because his recording had brought him a certain feeling and it just filled him
up with different memories and emotions. While he listened, Tony was yelling from his room
telling him to shut his recorder off. When he asked Tony what the doctors had to say, Tony
wouldn’t answer. Tony then asked what the dancers were like and Fil told him that they were
really beautiful, young and graceful. He heard Tony let out a sigh but as he looked down to
the tape recorder he held in his hands, he noticed that the spools were spinning and he
finally realized that he had pressed erase. When he tried to play it back, there was nothing
except for a screaming part of the finale with drums and the tolling of the bell. When he
looked outside, it was already morning.

76-80 Types of Essay

TYPES OF ESSAY

Introduction

Effectively writing different types of essays has become critical to academic success. Essay
writing is a common school assignment and a part of standardized test. Often on tests, choosing
the correct type of essay to write in response to a writing prompt is key to getting the question
right. Clearly, students can’t afford to remain confused about types of essays.

There are over a dozen types of essays, so it’s easy to get confused. However, rest assured,
the number is actually more manageable. Essentially there are four major types of essays, with
the variations making up the remainder.

An essay is:

 a short academic composition

 derived from a French word “essai” or “essayer,” which mean “trail.”
 a piece of non-fiction writing that talks or discusses a specific topic.
An essay is a focused piece of writing designed to inform or persuade. There are many different
types of essay, but they are often defined in four categories: argumentative, expository,
narrative, and descriptive essays.

Argumentative and expository essays are focused on conveying information and making clear
points, while narrative and descriptive essays are about exercising creativity and writing in an
interesting way. At university level, argumentative essays are the most common type. 

In high school and college, you will also often have to write textual analysis essays, which test
your skills in close reading and interpretation.

Argumentative essays

In an argumentative essay, the writer is trying to convince the reader of something. He or she
will demonstrate the validity or falsity of a topic. The writer's position will be backed up with
evidence, including statistics or the opinion of experts. In these essays, the writer isn't merely
offering an opinion, but making an argument for or against something, and supporting that
argument with data.

Argumentative essays test your ability to research and present your own position on a topic.
This is the most common type of essay at college level—most papers you write will involve
some kind of argumentation.

The essay is divided into an introduction, body, and conclusion:

The introduction provides your topic and thesis statement

The body presents your evidence and arguments

The conclusion summarizes your argument and emphasizes its importance

The example below is a paragraph from the body of an argumentative essay about the effects of
the internet on education. Read it to learn more.

Argumentative essay example paragraph

Expository essays

An expository essay provides a clear, focused explanation of a topic. It doesn’t require an

original argument, just a balanced and well-organized view of the topic.

Expository essays compare, explore, and discuss problems. While there's a bit of a storytelling
element to them, their purpose is greater than that. It's always to explain some integral concept
to the reader. As such, they inform, describe, and explain.

The introduction of an expository essay states your topic and provides some general
background, the body presents the details, and the conclusion summarizes the information
presented.

When writing an expository essay, the text needs to:

 Be concise and easy to understand.

 Offer different views on a subject.
 Report on a situation or event.
 Explain something that may be difficult to understand.
A typical body paragraph from an expository essay about the invention of the printing press is
shown below. Study it to learn more.

Expository essay example paragraph

Narrative essays

Narration means you're telling a story from a certain viewpoint, and there is usually a reason for
the telling. This is usually a story about a personal experience you had, but it may also be an
imaginative exploration of something you have not experienced. All narrative essays have
characters, setting, a climax, and most importantly, a plot.

A narrative essay isn’t strictly divided into introduction, body, and conclusion, but it should
still begin by setting up the narrative and finish by expressing the point of the story—what you
learned from your experience, or why it made an impression on you.

When writing a narrative essay, remember to:

 Include sensory and emotional details, so the reader will experience the story, not just read
about it.
 Allow the story to support the point you're making, and make reference to that point in the
first sentence.
 Write in the first or third person.
Study the example below, a short narrative essay responding to the prompt “Write about an
experience where you learned something about yourself,” to explore its structure.

Narrative essay example

Descriptive essays

Descriptive essays describe the traits and characteristics of people, objects, events, and
feelings in intricate detail. What's being described will be thoroughly examined. For example, if
you were describing roses, you might want to detail:

 Their origin
 Their appearance
 Their color
 Their fragrance
When you write a descriptive essay, you want to involve the reader's senses and emotions. For
example, you could say, "I got sleepy." Or, you could write, "While I waited for Santa, my eyelids
grew heavy, the lights on the tree began to blur, and my head began to droop." The second
excerpt provides vivid detail, allowing readers to feel like they're there.

A descriptive essay can be quite loosely structured, though it should usually begin by
introducing the object of your description and end by drawing an overall picture of it. The
important thing is to use careful word choices and figurative language to create an original
description of your object.

Study the example below, a response to the prompt “Describe a place you love to spend time
in,” to learn more about descriptive essays.

Descriptive essay example

Essay writing is something that may never leave your life. And, no matter the format, always
remember your transition words!