Hugot

Every so often, you come across a piece of writing that speaks to you. It was as if the author were looking at you straight in the eye and says, "I know you."

It was a moment of uncanny recognition that was much needed in the dreariness that came as the breathtaking snowscapes in the mountains that surrounded my town began to melt.

But first, a short flashback of sorts.

My heart had began to calcify in the past few weeks. The remedy was a karaoke session, something I hadn't really been into before coming to Japan. Back home, everyone was so much better - so passionate about their personal set lists, I couldn't gather enough nerve to really sing unless I was coerced.

Fast forward to the past year and half here, I've gotten a lot bolder at not only coming to karaoke, but also initiating it. I've gotten better at this whole confidence game, and I've been acquainted with the disappointment that accompanies a karaoke session being cut-off by time with my choice setlist still in the queue.

I have rediscovered my love for OPM (Original Pinoy Music - Pinoy being a national nickname for Filipino) since singing it allowed me the protection of ridicule (not that Americans are like that - Filipino has it's own special word for being tone-deaf: sintunado, much like the Japanese 音痴　onchi). More tellingly, it allowed me to reclaim my identity as a Filipino.

Filipino love songs are better than American love songs. I had struggled to explain why. While many American pop songs about relationships are not shy about expressing love, affection, sex and the like, there's something missing about them.

What was missing was hugot (ˈhü gôt), a concept so intrinsic in the Filipino psyche that it has become its own social media movement in the past few years.

Hugot literally means to pull or to yank, much like pulling the plug out of a socket. However, it also has the added layer of implied depth. Such as pulling out at the end of a sexual act, or to draw something out from the depths of one's memory. This of course also applies to emotion, like plunging a hand into the depths of your heart, yanking out a painful memory, and leaving it exposed to the elements.

Yeah, I may not have explained that as well as I could have. A struggle for words, not knowing what to say. So last week, over the hubbub on social media about Valentine's Day, I came across this gem of an article on CNN Philippines.

I've already outlined my initial reaction in the opening of this entry. The introduction, just the introduction, struck a chord and plucked at my cardiac muscles like it was nothing.

And in a very Holden Caulfield-esque moment, I felt the urge to get reach out to the writer, a certain Ms. Petra Magno. I wanted to explain to her how her innocuous introduction floored me, devastated me as a reader. I wanted her to know the potency of her words. On the other hand, as a writer, I wanted confess my (professional) jealousy over what she has achieved, and how I wished that I had written what she had so skillfully articulated.

So in a departure from my usual entries, this one in particular aims to extoll the the brilliance of Ms. Magno's piece and to write a commentary on my own choice of songs that I like to frequently belt out in that perpetual search for catharsis.

If you're interested in the entire article you can find it in the link below. I will just reproduce the passages (in italics) I want to comment on.

The 25 best Filipino love songs of the last 25 years By CNN Philippines Life, Feb 10, 2017

Anne Carson in 1986, inadvertently describing hugot: “Simultaneous pleasure and pain are its symptom. Lack is its animating, fundamental constituent.” Hugot, the quality of confession, is produced in that lack. The beloved object is far from you, and so you pull the feeling from within yourself with even greater force.

This simultaneous pleasure and pain is what I struggled to articulate. It's a difficult, almost masochistic, emotion that is widespread among Filipinos. It is not a giddy pleasure (we have another word for that: kilig - a sudden inexplicable sense of joy, butterflies in the stomach, good kind of shiver, usually over a romantic or ideal situation), but something closer to catharsis - a good cry over a sad novel. It's definitely addicting, and Filipinos keep coming back for more. 

Hugot, as a process and not yet the product, is violent. It’s essentially a violent act to drag something out from within, to dredge up something that was meant to remain concealed. While not all hugot becomes a Filipino love song, all Filipino love songs are hugot. The most admirable quality of hugot is that it is essentially avowal upon avowal, and the most admirable quality of a Filipino love song is its core of hugot: guileless in the confessional, sans irony, sans armor. Defenseless in its honesty.
Western love songs in the ‘90s adopted sardonicism, or awkwardness, as armor against the violence inherent in hugot. “I talked for hours to your wallet photograph,” sang Rivers Cuomo, “You laughed, enchanted by my intellect, or maybe you didn’t.” Hugot is hardly self-conscious, though, and while “The World Has Turned and Left Me Here” remains a love song, Cuomo is too self-conscious to have achieved hugot; he’s escaped the damage by disavowing it right away.

While I had often dismissed many American pop songs that pertain to love as either shallow or too sexual (really check out most of the recent songs about love, like Taylor Swift), I liked how Magno points out that hugot is a confession sans irony, sans armor. I admit, I may have scared off many a guy with my forwardness. It's almost unbelievable how I could be so honest. In the wilderness of dating, there is too much posturing, too many games, which in turn have rules upon rules that complicate what is already complicated.

The world has taught many to be wary of honesty. As I have said before, I am not too good at this game. I play with my cards open, much to my own disadvantage.

Off the top of my head, the closest analogy I could think of would be like country music as a genre, or for singers, all of Adele's songs.

And yet the Filipino love songs counsels, “Huwag mong ikatakot ang bulong ng damdamin mo.” And yet the Filipino love song asks, “Ilang awit pa ba ang aawitin, o giliw ko?” The Filipino love song doesn’t suppress, and the Filipino love song doesn’t tire.

The Filipino love song does indeed counsel. It is a collection of wisdom and foolishness, very much self-aware of the absurdity of love and in its unabashed celebration of emotion, oddly intellectual in its dissection of the predicament. The first line says, "Don't be afraid of the whisper of your own feelings," while the second one asks "How many songs, do I have to sing, my beloved?"

Translation doesn't do it justice. Giliw as a word for the object of one's affection does have some old timey connotation, but is not as awkward and distant as saying beloved. It's at the intersection of beloved, dear, and desired.

And as the Filipino love song doesn't tire, so does the Filipino lover - well, as long as he is adequately drip-fed with love songs. My friends have asked why I do not tire of all this. Of course, I do get tired. There are many moments when giving up, relenting to the hopelessness and the futility of it all, seems to be the only recourse. However, somewhere within me, the amidst the ashes of the burnt-out coal of my heart, a piece of ember still glows.

“What the lover needs,” writes Carson, “is to be able to face the beloved and not be destroyed.” This is why we create things like music; we need something to exist in our stead, to contain the feelings that would rip us in half if we housed them for too long. How close is the product to that which produced it though? I believe that nowhere are feelings more pure than when they’re in a Filipino love song.

I cannot write more to explain this further. Isn't that the scariest thing of all? That fear of being totally obliterated by someone who has this power over you? The experience is universal. But the response is not.

And so as the Filipino heart whose rhythms are synched with the Filipino love song continues to beat, I continue to write.

Or perhaps sing.

The Songs

These are some songs that I have more or less associate with the best of the

Friend of Mine

Ah, this one. This is the song that got me hooked on OPM love songs way back when. It's a friendzoned song way before that term even became a thing. 

At it's core its about the tragedy of falling in love with your best friend, or someone who is out of your reach. However, in lieu of anger, the persona instead swears fidelity instead.

It's counter-intuitive, but it's also about the helplessness one feels about being in the situation. The persona did not choose to be in that situation, and the song is just about dealing with this far from ideal situation. 

Back in the day, I fell in love with a best friend, and this song was my outlet for those feelings. 

He may or may not have reciprocated my feelings. I suspect there was a point that he might have, because in hindsight, he was coming on to me. I pushed him away because I had a boyfriend back then, but the damage had been done and he withdrew from our friendship.

Hmmm, took me years to get over that one. The reason was probably because I loved him more than I actually loved my boyfriend. In my mind, which isn't too far-fetched, my rejected pushed him into the closet, if ever he was any shade of gay.

It's a little weird to sing this now, but it's a good one for old time's sake.

Don't Know What to Say

Another one with Lea Salonga. She didn't originate both of these songs, but I love her versions the best. If she sounds familiar, you may have heard her before in these movies by this little known company called Disney. She was the singing voice of Jasmine and Mulan.

This song, I always sing. I love this since it fits me to a T. It's the self-confession of a hopeless romantic. It's right there in the lyrics. What tickles me in particular about this is how it captures that lack of eloquence that despite having seen countless films, sung endless love songs, the moment of truth is botched by the sense of awe of encountering the beloved.

Ligaya

At this point, I've moved on to the songs in Filipino. This first one is something that I only recently grew to love. The video here is a crude, fan-made music video, but I think it's adorable and captures the nostalgic experience of being in love when you're young.

This is a Filipino song that is quite specific. The title, "Ligaya," means joy, happiness and such. It's a list song of things that the suitor has done for the girl. The tone is not really a sense of entitlement, but rather of hope. He's done all these things for her, but he is fully aware that he is at the mercy of her decision.

The list of things he's done is a funny one, as he mentions how he bought a new shirt she didn't notice, sung songs for her, eaten grilled chicken gizzard skewers (it's a snack commonly eaten by college students- cheap and readily available, eaten standing up while taking to friends after class), even going as far to say that he'll write her thesis for her.

In exchange for her reciprocating his feelings for her, he promises her boundless joy. It's a naive assertion, but he acknowledges her fears and reassures her that his heart is true and has no qualms whatsoever.

Ewan

"Ewan" is a single word that expressed doubt and indecision. The connotation is quite dismissive, non-committal, and trust me on this one, quite frustrating. It can also be uttered as a exclamation of defeat and helplessness.

Even if the video I've chosen for this doesn't show it, this is a much older song compared to "Ligaya," and can be considered as a grandfather of sorts. The premise is similar. Young man courts the girl, and waits for her response. The newer version switches the gender, but it still works.

It's similarly a song that yearns for answer, with a confession of love "Mahal kita, mahal kita, hindi 'to bola" (I love you, I love, this isn't a joke) as it's opening and a plea at the end for the beloved to say something, just don't say "ewan."

Ikaw ang Lahat sa Akin

This last one is about (surprise) an unrequited love. However in this case, it seems to be more of the forbidden kind.

 I'll just translate it directly instead of commenting to much, but at its core, it's an unrealistic, improbable promise of fidelity, that no less true as any.

Ikaw ang lahat sa akin Kahit ika'y wala sa aking piling Isang magandang alaala Isang kahapong lagi kong kasama	You are everything to me Even if you’re not with me It’s one beautiful memory A yesterday that will always be with me
Ikaw ang lahat sa akin Kahit ika'y di ko dapat ibigin Dapat ba kitang limutin Pa'no mapipigil ang isang damdamin Kung ang sinisigaw Ikaw ang lahat sa akin	You’re everything to me Even if I am not supposed to love you Am I supposed to forget you? How can one suppress one’s feelings When what it shouts is that You’re everything to me
At kung hindi ngayon ang panahon Upang ikaw ay mahalin Bukas na walang hanggan Hanggang matapos ang kailan pa man Bukas na walang hanggan Doo'y maghihintay pa rin	And if now is not the time  For me to love you Then at the tomorrow that has no end Until whenever ends At the tomorrow that has no end There I will continue to wait

I've selected only three stanzas, but damn how the English cannot capture the power of the word choice in Filipino. The line "Bukas na walang hanggan," literally means the tomorrow that has no boundaries. The poetry of the original is in the transformation of an imaginary time, into a location of sorts, a transcendental place for the lover to wait.

Man, English makes the Filipino lover seem so foolish, doesn't it?

English as a language can be cold and unforgiving at times. It's good for science and other such things, but for the emotion, it's quite lacking, even the punishing the writer into feeling stupid for writing down one's feelings. So we resort to figures of speech. Whereas in Filipino, we can be more direct that. Our language may be too clumsy with words too long for scientific terms to be of practical use, but even the simplest, most common utterances of love are bursting with poetry.