In the northern Luzon provinces of the Philippines, spurious remnants of Lakan, Apo
and Gat are still applied as honorifics to the local gentry whose bloodlines
are traced to affluent native families. It serves well to know what it means to say, Gat Jose Rizal. Or lightheartedly, Apo Danny. (Albeit, Lakan Dula only sounds great
for a Pinoy fantasy.)
The vestiges of a pre-Hispanic class of monarchy also still thrive in the Philippine
south, where Sultan, Datu and Rajah remain. The titles are a hodge-podge of
Arabic, Malay and Indo origins. But those are anachronisms with modern
substitutes. These days, the traditional titles evoke bottles of vinegar and spicy
delicacies my relatives bring home from provincial trips.
“Mestizos” and vast numbers of
“Chinitos” are classified in a different order, and whether Spanish,
American, Chinese or any exotic DNA modified our Indo-Malay genes, we are
simply Filipinos now. I’m sitting perhaps on a cultural fence, so to speak, but
I do have issues with how people call me. I’ll bet I’m not alone with this
rather unspoken thing. Call me, Johnny Alegre, esq.
Ever had a problem within anyone calling you “Sir”? I didn’t until I was
unexpectedly knighted by the corporate hosts and addressed as “Sir
Johnny” for
the rest of my career. It took some getting used to. When I was in
the elementary grades, some birthday invitations referred to a boy named
Master
Juan Alegre. This was something I had to reconcile with stories about
Genii
and magic carpets. Call me Mister, that’s okay.
It gets more refined with modern womenfolk, who prefer being called Ma’am, an
abbreviation of the aristocratic Madame. But English is a far more expansive
language with nuances of utterance. A Dame
(with the short a) is an exalted title (read, Dame Margot Fonteyn), equivalent
to the knightly Sir. But
"dame" changes meaning with a long a. Same spelling, two words. Like row, and row, entirely different meanings.
How would you accept to be prefixed as “Mang”? Imagine your favorite Pinoy Rock
superstar twenty years hence, “Mang (choose
your icon: Pepe, Wally, Ely, Raimund; the stellar list goes on). It’s a
traditional Filipino prefix for village elders, but I can't fathom them being that kind of old. Think Keith Richards,
Eric Clapton, David Bowie or even Billie Joe Armstrong in geezer mode. Reactions
will vary, I much suspect. If I were any one of them, but I'm obviously not, I would be in complete denial. Mang is a
migrated word from the Indian caste system, associated with menial workers. You
don’t agree? Look it up in Wikipedia!
Mang-gagawa, even mang-babatas (humor intended), are occupations taken root
where hands were dirtied in the line of duty.
I had a paternal uncle, Don Ramon
Alegre (bless his dear departed soul), who was conferred an award by Queen
Sofia of Spain
a decade ago. “Don” in this case wasn’t a rank of wealth but a rank of honor
bestowed. Cards from the Casino Español
de Manila address me as “Sr. Don”, in which the dotted abbreviation is a
prefix meaning Señor, the Hispanic Mister. This isn’t so bad with the “Sr.”,
but I’d think it would be dangerous to be called simply “Don Juan” among the
ladies.
How about being called “brod”, which is a Filipino colloquialism for Brother?
Most won’t mind. But others will because it dilutes some very viscous neophyte
memories. I joined a fraternity in my college days that binds me for life, so I know how it feels. But
let's look at “Ka”, a shortening of kapatid (i.e. sibling) that functions as
equivalent to colleague or comrade. It’s tricky: “Ka Juaning” sounds satirical if not subversive. I guess it’s
the usage and context. We’re actually more accustomed to using “Manong” and
“Kuya”, Ilocano and Tagalog words for Big Brother. Or “Lakay”, meaning, elder.
So Kuya Eddie becomes a comforting
brand to good effect, as it did. And Manong
Johnny still sounds okay.
But to each his own. I want my coffee brown
(“cortado”) and my eggs poached, if I may digress. Different strokes.
Ever heard of “Ser”? It’s just a corruption of “Sir”, a play on the
diction.
It works wonders on the road when you’re asking for directions or a helping hand
(imagine your car stalling, in need of a push). You get maximum
cooperation
when you beseech, "Ser, maaring maki-suyo?" Don’t laugh now, please, this is earnest stuff.
A rose by any other name is the same,
so why prejudice it? As that great sleuth would say in the most menacing of
tones, “My name is Bond, James Bond.”
By Johnny Alegre
(Being an unsuccessful attempt at commissioned work.)
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