In love, service, and activism

Sometimes I ask myself: Is it futile to pursue the causes we believe in when our dreams seem too elusive?

I have been a campus journalist for more than five years now. I have spearheaded two student publications in high school and contributed to numerous school papers. I have witnessed and read more stories than I can ever count.

Initially, I equated journalism to a means of self-gratification. Winning press conferences and publishing my works seemed enough to say that I am excellent. Now, working for a community multimedia collective in Southern Tagalog and spending my first few months at the University of the Philippines Los Baños (UPLB), my views have changed—on both the meaning of storytelling and the fight for my principles.

As an arts student back in senior high school, I am familiar with the words “danas” (experience) and “kamulatan” (consciousness). When I was studying at Eugenio M. Lopez Jr. Center for Media Arts Senior High School in Quezon City, everything we did was dedicated toward a cause. “Progressive” is my best definition of our school.

Thinking of my own danas and kamulatan, the first thing that comes to mind is when we produced a documentary about cultural artists in the Philippines for our DokEU Festival.

That documentary enabled me to travel to places, meet new people, and do things I have never done before. Bonifacio Day last year was the first time I went to Laguna (younger Ali never knew he would later study in UPLB). During my two-day stay, we interviewed artists from several organizations, who were then working on an effigy.

Effigies interested me. It was the topic I proposed to our production. Some believe that effigies came from the famous Higantes Festival in Angono, the art capital of the Philippines. During the Spanish colonial era, hacienda farmers would use giant puppets as a form of mockery against the ruling hacienderos.

Effigies are now used as “a way of visualizing collective victory and signify the struggle to overcome and destroy inequality,” as professor Lisa Ito, who teaches protest art history and theory at the UP College of Fine Arts, explains.

Witnessing effigies, writing about them, producing a full-fledged documentary, and featuring them on the big screen in a Quezon City cinema showed me how fulfilling it is to tell people-centered stories. It urged me to commit my life to something else, to exceed my surface definition of writing.

Danas still expands my kamulatan. I am aware that the search for a purpose in life is a very complex pursuit. Some theorists would argue that our telos are for self-actualization; others would say a life lived meaningfully is enough. I would say it is related to my view of the preservation of our national identity and patriotism.

I remember my Wika 1 professor once asking us, “Ano sa tingin niyo ang humuhubog sa ating pagka-Pilipino?” I knew it was not a trait, neither was it a unique history. It was not something we usually find gratification in because of foreign validation. It was not kabutihan, not resilience, not even adobo or sampaguita.

I think it is that we only become Filipinos when we start fighting for it. It is a purpose in life. Even if several cultures enter our minds and our social spheres, as long as we are fighting for our “Filipinoness,” then we fulfill our patriotic roles.

Patriotism is one born out of our search for our lives’ meaning. It is not merely taught but shaped by our societal conditions. Even our history shows us that we have been constantly enmeshed in the battle for the betterment of our society. We are Filipinos because our identity is inside love for our country and a vision for a better society.

My life is a case study of it. When I started crafting my meaning and purpose in senior high school, I realized that I wanted to live in communion with the masses. For me, such a motive is patriotic. To see myself as a part of a collective action for social change feels gratifying.

Whenever I reflect upon this, I reminisce about the times I was in the streets. When I shout my calls, when I write stories of the marginalized, when I dive into the epicenter of social reality, when I use my words as an instrument for the representation of the masses, I think I genuinely realize my identity as a Filipino.

This is my perspective of patriotism—an act of pushing my warm body forward for a cause far larger than myself. Life is lived meaningfully when it is lived in love, service, and patriotism.

Living like this feels like I am living for others as well. However, being patriotic alone is insufficient—those who already move for the plights of the nation are responsible for sharing this with others. We need a concerted power that drives change in the face of the infringement of our identity. We are to teach patriotism, to touch the hearts of people with it, to instill it so that the coming generations are molded to dedicate their lives to far more meaningful causes.

By doing this, we build not only a nationalistic community but a self-identity entangled with the fight for a better society. This is imperative for us, the youth of today, or else we will repeat the horrors of our past.

Whenever you think that there is a permanence to the ills of society and that pursuing its improvements is futile, just remember that movements and efforts for social change never fail—for they are all reminders that we are still fighting.

Move forward, find your meaning in love with the people.

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Prince Luke Alicum Cerdenia, 19, storyteller and lawyer-in-the-making living in Los Baños, Laguna. He dreams of a world where he can freely write about the stars, the trees, and all the kindness of the people.