Silent, magical nights
Some time back I wrote about how difficult it seems to translate “Silent Night” into Filipino or other local languages because Christmas in the Philippines is always so festive, filled with fanfare, and rarely, well, silent.
Doing some background research for that column, I found two anonymous Tagalog translations on the Internet. One was a literal translation, while the other, which seems to sing better, takes some liberties by becoming a song about a guiding star.
After the column was published three readers wrote in with more translations. Luz Evangelista sent a translation that can be found in the United Church of Christ hymnal. Virgilio Yuson sent his own translation which he and other Ateneo Glee Club alumni will be singing for retired Jesuits, and Cleotilde Balagot had still another translation to be used at the Assumption Mass.
These translations, and a most placid and quiet river cruise last Sunday night, where one is transported into a magically silent world of Christmas trees with nature providing gentle blinking lights, convince me that maybe a silent Christmas is indeed possible in the Philippines.
Seasons of life
But more on that in a while. I did want to write a bit more about the western context of “Silent Night,” spurred by e-mails from two readers. One came from Ariel Lopez, a former student of mine currently studying in the Netherlands, who asked for clarification about my mentioning that Christmas has pagan ritual origins, possibly marking the onset of spring. Ariel wondered if perhaps Christmas’ origins were in rituals meant to mark the start of winter, rather than spring, while Easter, which also draws on older non-Christian rituals, might have marked the renewal of life that comes with spring.
Another reader, Walter Siegfried Hahn, wrote in to say he appreciated my mentioning “Silent Night,” which comes from his native Bavaria. He went on to mention how Christmas is associated with the winter solstice. I did some more research and found that indeed, Christmas does have links to the winter solstice which occurs on Dec. 21 and, in earlier times, had almost a sense of dread ushering in a long and difficult season when food became scarce with very real risks of hunger and famine. Christmas perhaps provided some kind of counterpoint, transforming bleak winter nights into a time of reflective and silent hope associated with the birth of Christ.
Cultures everywhere mark nature’s challenges with different kinds of festivals. Our truly merry month in the Philippines is May, right before the start of the rainy season. Amid the celebrations there is some collective nervousness and worry that the dry season may be prolonged, which would affect planting and the subsequent harvest.
The fiestas therefore function as well as a time for beseeching the heavens for life-sustaining rains. I can’t help but wonder if Obando’s fiesta, where women dance to become pregnant, are also associated with asking the heavens for rain, which, when they do fall, are greeted with much relief although as the rainy season unfolds, new fears, of powerful typhoons, emerge. In Southern Tagalog provinces, farmers have a term, “inaagosto,” referring to the month of August when food supplies, and finances, run low and people wait and hope for a bountiful harvest. But one powerful typhoon can wipe out all those hopes.
(If we do push through with moving the school opening to August or September, which seems almost inevitable, I hope schools will consider deferring the payment of tuition for students from poor farming families who are inaagosto, in the midst of scarcity and hunger.)
Fast forward now to December. Perhaps our Christmases are so rowdy because, unlike in Europe and North America where winters are severe, our Christmas comes at a time of relative abundance, with harvests or, for urbanites, yearend bonuses.
Christmas can become profligate, and it is only right that this year, many schools and offices cancelled parties or had more austere celebrations–a way of expressing solidarity with survivors of Supertyphoon “Yolanda” and Typhoon “Santi” and the earthquake of central Visayas. “Silent Night” does take on new meaning in this context of disasters, and of people rebuilding their communities and their lives.
Tinkerbell
All these thoughts crossed my mind last Sunday night as I was drifted down a river on a small boat, with my 4-year-old daughter on my lap. Usually boisterous, she was quiet this time, completely captivated by the solitude of the night. From time to time she would let out a soft “wow” or “Tinkerbell,” a reference to a tiny fairy from a children’s story.
The river cruise is one of the less known attractions of Puerto Princesa in Palawan. Completely managed by a barangay, the cruise takes you down the Iwahig river, mainly to look at the fireflies in the mangroves. The darker the night, the more dazzling the display, helped along by the boatman/guide flashing a red light, which makes the fireflies light up in larger numbers–a way of warning one another of potential predators. “Our wireless Christmas trees,” explained our guide.
Started in 2008, the half-hour cruise becomes a learning experience not just about fireflies but also about the environment and conservation. You learn that the fireflies need oxygen so the enzymes in their bodies can generate the light. That is why you very rarely find fireflies now in Metro Manila.
My daughter was more fascinated by the natural lights in the river itself. She would dip her hand in and, as the boat glided forward, the water would produce tiny sparks of light from bioluminescent plankton, tiny organisms which serve as food for the fish. As with the fireflies, you don’t find these light-producing plankton in polluted rivers such as the Pasig.
And so the river cruise went, with the guide explaining the mangrove ecosystem and why fireflies congregate there. It’s the flowering species that attract the fireflies. I thought of a Quiapo vendor selling to me, some years back, an amulet that she described, magically, as “kahoy ng dapdap na dinapuan ng alitaptap”–a piece of dapdap wood touched by fireflies. Dapdap trees have splendid red flowers.
A totally unexpected bonus was star-gazing. We had a cloudy night on Sunday, but we were still able to catch Orion and Pleidades, and the planet Venus. Our boatmen also provided the local names of the constellations: Orion’s belt of three stars, for example, is “Tres Marias” in some places and “Three Kings” in others.
The boats are small, each carrying a maximum of three passengers, which means a quiet and less invasive cruise. The cost per boat is P600, very much worth it. The project has helped put some of the guides through school.
I asked our guide if there will be cruises on Christmas Eve, and he said yes, but only limited to 7-9 p.m. What a wonderful activity, I thought, for Christmas Eve, with loved ones humming, very softly, I hope, “Silent Night.”
