the fairy maiden

 

Si Alberto at ang Diwata

Noong unang panahon, may isang payapang baryo na naghahanda para sa kanilang malaking pista. Isang binata, si Alberto, ang naglakbay patungo sa pagdiriwang. Dahil malayo ang kanyang tahanan, siya’y nagsimulang maglakad isang araw bago ang pista. Habang siya’y naglalakbay, nakita niya ang isang magandang dalaga sa unahan niya. Mahaba ang buhok ng dalaga at may hawak siyang payong na tila nagpoprotekta sa kanya mula sa araw. Akala ni Alberto, pupunta rin ang dalaga sa pista kaya’t binilisan niya ang kanyang mga hakbang upang abutan ito.

Ngunit sa kabila ng kanyang bilis, hindi siya makalapit sa dalaga. Tila palaging nasa malayo ang dalaga, kahit na halos tumakbo na si Alberto. Nang makarating sila sa baryo, nakita niyang umakyat ang dalaga sa isang maliit na bahay. Napagpasyahan ni Alberto na doon din magpahinga, at sa bahay na iyon, nakilala niya ang dalaga na ang pangalan ay Aura.

Pagkatapos ng pista, nagpaalam si Aura at nagsimulang maglakad pauwi. Nag-alok si Alberto na samahan siya, at pumayag ang dalaga. Naglakad sila hanggang makarating sa pampang ng isang ilog, na sa kabilang dako ay naroon ang bahay ni Aura. Nang makita ni Alberto na walang bangka o tulay, nagtanong siya kung paano sila makakatawid.

“Sumunod ka lang sa akin,” sabi ni Aura. Binuksan niya ang kanyang mahiwagang payong at iniabot ito kay Alberto. Nang hawakan niya ito, nakaramdam siya ng kakaibang gaan, para bang siya’y hinihipan ng hangin. Lumutang sila sa ibabaw ng ilog, na parang mga alon lamang ang kanilang nilalakaran. Laking gulat ni Alberto nang makita niya ang isang palasyo na, mula sa malayo, ay parang isang malaking bato lamang.

Doon napagtanto ni Alberto na si Aura ay isang diwata. Kinaumagahan, nang magpaalam na si Alberto, binigyan siya ng diwata ng isang supot ng pilak na mga barya bilang pamamaalam. Subalit may isang kondisyon: huwag niyang sasabihin kahit kanino kung saan nanggaling ang kayamanan. Pumayag si Alberto at muling tinulungan siya ng diwata na makatawid sa ilog bago ito tuluyang naglaho.

Lumipas ang mga araw, at nagsimulang mag-alala ang pamilya ni Alberto. Hindi nila maunawaan kung saan nanggaling ang kayamanan ng binata. Dahil sa labis na pag-aalala, nagkasakit ang kanyang mga magulang at mga kapatid, at isa-isa silang pumanaw hanggang ang kanyang ama na lang ang natira. Takot na takot si Alberto na pati ang kanyang ama ay mawala, kaya’t sa wakas, inamin niya ang kanyang lihim.

Ngunit sa sandaling sinabi niya ang katotohanan, ang mga barya ay biglang naging mga bato. At mula sa hangin, narinig ni Alberto ang boses ni Aura: "Hindi mo sinunod ang aking bilin, kaya’t babawiin ko na ang kayamanang ibinigay ko sa iyo."

At sa isang iglap, nawala ang lahat ng kayamanan, at naiwan si Alberto na nagsisi, alam na ang hiwaga ng diwata ay kasing delikado ng mga pangakong binitiwan.

Myths and legends of Polaqui

 

The Tale of Polangui's Name

Long ago, in a lush settlement, a grand tree called Oyangui stood proudly with its red leaves glowing under the sun. The tree was so striking that the early villagers used it as a landmark, calling their home Oyangue in its honor. Over time, as more settlers arrived and trade grew, the name Oyangue spread far and wide. Eventually, as the years passed, the name evolved into Polangue and later Polangui, which became the town's lasting name.

Another story tells of a beautiful maiden named Pulang Angui, which means "Red Maria." She was known for her beauty, modesty, and love for the arts. When the Spaniards first arrived and asked the name of the place, the villagers, thinking they were asking about the maiden, told them "Pulang Angui." The Spaniards recorded this name, which eventually became Polangui over time.

Oral myths and legends

Long ago, in a time when the land was untamed and lush with ancient beauty, there stood a tree unlike any other. The tree was called Oyangui, and its leaves shimmered with a deep, crimson hue, as though each one held a drop of the sun's last light at dusk. It towered over the small village, its majestic branches reaching toward the heavens. The villagers revered the tree, for it was not only their protector from the sun’s scorching heat but also a symbol of life and endurance. Beneath its wide canopy, children laughed, lovers whispered, and elders shared stories of the past.

The village, nestled at the tree’s roots, came to be known as Oyangue, a name whispered in awe by travelers who passed through the region. They marveled at the red-leafed giant that stood watch over the people, and soon the fame of Oyangue spread beyond the hills and valleys, reaching faraway lands. To the villagers, the Oyangui tree was more than just a landmark; it was a guardian spirit, a living heart of their home.

But as with all stories of beauty, this one held the seeds of tragedy.

One fateful day, foreign ships arrived on the shores, carrying men who spoke a strange language and wore heavy armor that gleamed in the sun. These were the Spaniards, and they brought with them new customs, a foreign god, and an insatiable hunger for power. Led by the friar Baltazar de Magdalena, they sought to claim the land and its people. They were not moved by the stories of the Oyangui tree, nor did they care for the deep roots it had in the hearts of the villagers. Instead, they saw only a new place to conquer, to mold into their own image.

The Spaniards renamed the village Binanuaan, and though the villagers reluctantly accepted the new name, the spirit of Oyangue lingered in their hearts. They continued to call their home by the tree’s name, keeping its memory alive with every whispered prayer beneath its branches.

For years, the Oyangui tree stood tall, silently watching over the village as more and more settlers arrived, drawn to the rich land and the stories of the crimson giant. But as the village grew, the delicate balance between man and nature began to falter. The settlers cut down nearby trees to make way for their homes, and soon the Oyangui tree, once surrounded by a forest of life, stood alone, a towering reminder of a world that was slowly fading.

The day of the tree’s doom came without warning. A great storm swept through the village, its winds howling like a beast unleashed from the depths of the earth. The villagers sought shelter, but the Oyangui tree stood firm, bending but never breaking under the storm’s wrath. Yet when the winds ceased, the damage was done. The once-vibrant leaves had turned brittle, and the mighty branches, though still reaching for the sky, were weakened.

The villagers wept, for they knew the tree was dying. Though they cared for it, wrapping its ancient trunk in offerings and prayers, the Oyangui tree withered with each passing day. The settlers, indifferent to its plight, saw no reason to preserve the old giant. It was a symbol of the past, a past they wished to erase. And so, with axes sharp and hearts unmoved, they felled the great tree.

As the mighty trunk crashed to the ground, a silence fell over the village. It was as though the soul of Oyangue had been torn from the earth. The crimson leaves, once so full of life, lay scattered and crushed beneath the feet of the settlers.

But the villagers did not forget. Though the tree was gone, its spirit lived on in the name they continued to speak. Oyangue became a memory carried on the wind, and as the years passed, the name changed, like a whispered secret traveling through time. From Oyangue, it became Polangue, and finally Polangui—a name that endures to this day, long after the last of the Oyangui leaves have turned to dust.

Though the tree is no more, its tragic tale remains in the hearts of the people of Polangui. The red leaves may have fallen, but the spirit of the Oyangui tree still lingers, woven into the very name of the town, a reminder of what was once and what was lost.

The Story of the Red-Leafed Tree Oyangui

he name of Polangui back to a majestic red-leafed tree. In the earliest days of the town’s settlement, a giant tree called Oyangui stood proudly in the village. Its vibrant red leaves made it a striking landmark, and its presence was so significant that the early settlers often referred to their home as Oyangue in honor of the tree. The Spanish colonizers, when they arrived, also noticed the towering tree, and the settlement became known far and wide by its name.

Prior to this, the town was called Binanuaan, a name given by a Spanish friar, Baltazar de Magdalena, who lived among the 500 indigenous people of the area. But the name Oyangue began to spread beyond the village, especially as trade grew and more people came to settle. Over time, the name Oyangue morphed into various forms, from Polangue to its final version, Polangui. Though the Oyangui tree is now extinct, its legacy lives on in the name of the town

Red Maria 

Long ago, in a village surrounded by lush hills and flowing rivers, there lived a young woman named Pulang-Angui. Her name, which means "Red Maria" or "Beautiful Maiden," came from her love of the color red, which she wore in her clothing and adorned her life with. With flowing dark hair and a radiant smile, she was admired not only for her physical beauty but also for her many talents. Pulang-Angui was modest, skilled in the arts, and deeply devoted to her faith, often leading her tribe in joyous celebrations and religious festivities. Her lively spirit and graceful manner made her the object of affection among many men, though she remained humble in the face of such admiration.

As the years passed, Pulang-Angui's name became synonymous with beauty, kindness, and leadership. The people of her village looked up to her, not just as a maiden of beauty, but as a symbol of harmony and culture in their community.

Then, one fateful day, the Spaniards arrived in the region, bringing with them their language and customs. A group of Spanish soldiers, exploring the area, came across the village where Pulang-Angui lived. They were curious about the name of the place and asked the locals. However, the villagers, misunderstanding the foreigners’ question, thought they were asking about the maiden Pulang-Angui. And so, they answered, "Pulang-Angui."

As time passed, the name began to evolve, as foreign tongues struggled with the local sounds. "Pulang-Angui" slowly became Polangui, the name we know today. The maiden’s legacy lived on, not only in the name of the town but in the cultural memory of its people.

the fairy in the Brook

 

The Diwata of the Brook

Tale from Bikol

Once upon a time, in the quiet barrio of Mabatya, nestled in the town of Polangui, Albay, there was a magical brook that flowed from the foot of a hill. Atop the hill stood a grand and shady tree, so vast that even at the height of noon, its cool shade kept the brook below serene and inviting. The villagers often came here to bathe and fetch water, and it was said that the brook held a special enchantment.

One sunny afternoon, a young man named Jose went to the brook to collect water. As he approached, his eyes widened in wonder. There, by the edge of the brook, was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her skin was as fair as moonlight, and her long, flowing black hair gleamed as she washed it in the water. A soft, sweet fragrance surrounded her, and tiny fireflies danced in the air above her head, adding to her ethereal beauty.

To Jose's surprise, the girl turned to him and greeted him by name. He was taken aback, for he had never seen her before. “How does she know me?” he thought. But being young and curious, he approached her with a smile and began to speak. He asked her where she was from, and she told him that she had always lived in the barrio.

Jose found this strange. He knew nearly everyone in the small village, and there were only a few families—most of them his own relatives. Still, there was something enchanting about the girl, and he soon forgot his questions as they talked by the water's edge. Over time, Jose and the mysterious girl became close friends, meeting frequently at the brook. Each day, they would talk and laugh together in the dappled shade, their bond growing stronger.

But one day, something unusual happened. Jose went to the brook to fetch water, as he always did, but this time he did not return home. Hours passed, and when his father realized that Jose was missing, he went to the brook to find him. All he saw was the bamboo tube Jose used to carry water—there was no trace of his son.

Worried and confused, the whole village was thrown into a panic. The men searched every corner of the barrio, calling out for Jose, but no one could find him. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, but still, there was no sign of the young man. Ninety days passed in sorrowful waiting.

Then, on the exact day and hour that Jose had disappeared, something remarkable happened. As if by magic, Jose appeared at his family's doorstep. His mother was busy working on abaca threads when she looked up and saw her son standing there. Overcome with joy, she rushed to embrace him. But as she hugged him, she noticed something strange—Jose was still wearing the same clothes he had on the day he disappeared, and they were perfectly clean, as if no time had passed.

Jose, too, was puzzled by his family’s reaction. He insisted that he had only been away for a short while, visiting his friend, the beautiful girl by the brook. With his family gathered around, he shared his extraordinary tale.

Jose explained that the girl had taken him to her home, a grand palace atop a mountain. They had traveled in a golden carriage, and when they arrived, Jose was awestruck by the sight of her home—a magnificent house made entirely of crystal, sparkling like the stars. Inside the palace, he saw many servants, all of them Aetas, who attended to their every need. Jose was given all kinds of delicious food, but he was warned never to eat the black rice. The girl told him that if he did, he would never be able to return home.

Jose said that the days passed like a dream, but one day, the girl noticed that his family and the villagers were searching for him in distress. Seeing this, she gently told him it was time to return to his world. As soon as he descended the crystal staircase of her palace, he found himself back at the brook, where he had first met her. But when he looked around, the bamboo tube he had left was gone, and so, with a heavy heart, he made his way home.

As Jose finished his story, his mother and the villagers realized the truth. The girl by the brook was no ordinary mortal. She was a Diwata, an enchanted being, a guardian of the land who had taken a liking to Jose. The village spoke in hushed whispers about his encounter, knowing that Jose had been touched by the magic of the unseen world, where time flowed differently, and where the Diwata still watched over their beloved brook.

From that day on, the brook was treated with even greater reverence. The villagers would often come to its waters, but with a newfound respect for the magic that lingered there, knowing that in the shade of the great tree and the cool waters of the brook, the spirit of the Diwata still dwelled, watching over them all.

The Nightsky of Bicol

In old Bicol , the night sky, moon, and stars were objects of fascination and romantic longing for various reasons. These celestial bodies held spiritual and mythological significance, serving as navigational tools for seafarers, influencing agricultural practices, marking cultural events, and inspiring romantic themes in traditional folklore and oral storytelling. The celestial elements played a vital role in daily life, contributing to the rich cultural heritage of both modern and indigenous people and shaping their worldview.

In pre-colonial Philippines, the night sky, moon, and stars held a profound significance and were objects of fascination and romantic longing for several reasons:

Spiritual and Mythological Significance (Bicol)

   - Pre-colonial Filipino societies had animistic beliefs, and they often associated celestial bodies with deities and spirits. The moon and stars, in particular, were believed to have divine qualities and were sometimes linked to creation myths and epic narratives. In Bicolano mythology the night sky was considered by many as the vast Celestial ocean, realm of the deity Tubig (Tubigan) and all the ancient Swimming monsters

 Navigation and Timekeeping:

   - The indigenous peoples of the Philippines were skilled seafarers and traders. The night sky served as a natural navigational tool for maritime activities. The position of the stars and the phases of the moon were used to determine direction, helping seafarers navigate the vast archipelago.

  Agricultural Practices

   - The pre-colonial Filipinos were primarily agrarian communities, and celestial events were often linked to agricultural practices. The phases of the moon, for instance, were essential for determining planting and harvesting seasons, as well as for other agricultural activities.

Cultural and Festive Observations

   - Celestial events often marked important cultural and festive occasions. The cycles of the moon, for instance, might be associated with the timing of rituals, celebrations, and festivals. The appearance of certain constellations might be linked to specific cultural practices.

Bulan at Haliya

Symbolism and Romanticism:

   - The moon and stars held symbolic meanings, representing love, beauty, and inspiration. The night sky became a canvas for poets and storytellers, and its beauty inspired romantic themes in traditional folklore, songs, and poetry.

Oral Tradition and Storytelling

   - In the absence of a written language, the pre-colonial Philippines relied heavily on oral traditions for passing down knowledge, stories, and cultural values. The night sky, with its celestial bodies, became a source of inspiration for myths, legends, and stories that were orally transmitted from one generation to the next.

Connection to Everyday Life

   - The movements of the moon and stars influenced daily activities, from timekeeping to religious rituals. Observing the celestial bodies provided a sense of order and connection to the broader cosmos, fostering a deep appreciation for the natural world.

The night sky, moon, and stars, therefore, played a multifaceted role in old Bicol  societies, serving as sources of guidance, inspiration, cultural identity, and romantic symbolism. The celestial elements were intricately woven into the fabric of everyday life, shaping the worldview and cultural expressions of the indigenous people in the Philippines.

Haliya goddess of moonlight

 astronomical terms found on Vocabulario de la lengua 

Compiled Jeremiah Cordial ❤️

𝗠𝗮𝗴̃𝗻𝗮 𝗬𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗼𝗻 𝘀𝗮 𝗟𝗮𝗴̃𝗻𝗶𝘁  Astronomical terms in Bikol based on Vocabulario de la lengua Bicol by Maŕcos de Lisboa (d. 1628)

𝗦𝗮𝗹𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗴- (or Aldaw) the Sun, its brightness and heat.

𝗕𝗶𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗻- star. A big star is called 𝗡𝗮𝗴𝘀𝘂𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗴, literally referring to the emitted light from the sun. A particular star called 𝗣𝗼𝗴𝗼𝘁 is used as a sign of coming typhoon, while a particular group of three stars called 𝗧𝗼𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 is used as a sign for typhoon season or impending storm. A group of stars are called 𝗦𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗯𝗶𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗻.

𝗣𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴- the Southern Cross constellation.

𝗟𝘂𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗴- the three stars found on Orion's belt.

𝗠𝗼𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗼𝗿𝗼- Pleiades, or a cluster of stars.

𝗦𝘂𝘄𝗮𝗴- quadrangle of stars, used as a sign of midnight.

𝗠𝗮𝗸𝗮𝗸𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗹𝗮𝗴- Venus, first believed to be a star.

𝗕𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗹𝗮𝗸𝗮𝘄- comets and asteroids.

𝗞𝘂𝗹𝗼𝗽- solar or lunar eclipse.

𝗠𝗮𝗴̃𝗻𝗮 𝗬𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗼𝗻 𝘀𝗮 𝗟𝗮𝗴̃𝗻𝗶𝘁 - Phases of the moon and words related to earth, tide, and night. Based on 1950 Kalendaryong Bikol and Notes from Vocabulario de la Lengua Bicol.¨

𝗕𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗻- the moon, the natural satellite of planet Earth.

𝗕𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗴- full moon. Written as 𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗹𝗮𝗴𝗼𝗻 by Lisboa which lasts the whole night.

𝗚𝗶𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗮- new moon. Written as 𝗖𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻 𝗻𝗮 𝗱𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗺 by Lisboa which happens five to six days. 𝗡𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗮 means to become a new moon.

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗮- waning moon. 𝗣𝗮𝘀𝘂𝘀𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗼𝗻 also means the same but takes longer in coming/fading out (from the word subang, to emit light).

𝗣𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗹𝗮- waxing moon.

𝗧𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗸𝗼𝗹- the tide rising as the moon becomes bigger. Also written as 𝗟𝘂𝗯𝗮𝗴 by Lisboa. I usually hear this word spoken as "tignarakol" but Lisboa spells it Tig̃narakol.

𝗞𝘂𝗯𝗼𝘀- the tide decreasing as the moon becomes smaller. Also written as 𝗨𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 by Lisboa. When the tide stops ebbing, 𝗔𝘆𝗮𝗮𝘆 is used.

𝗗𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗺- refers to the darkness when the moon is no longer seen above the sky.

𝗞𝗮𝘁𝗶- refers to the sun rising when the moon is still in its last quarter, as in 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗸𝗮𝘁𝗶 𝗻𝗮 𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗻. The word 𝗞𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁 is also used when the sun rises while the moon slowly disappears early in the morning.

𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗯𝗮𝗻- the Earth.

𝗗𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘆𝗮𝗽- the moon or sun when covered by the clouds, dimming their light.

DARAGANG MAGAYON IN AI ART

 

DARAGANG MAGAYON IN AI ART 

AI Digital Art by Hazel Iris Yao Escalante

Tanding

The Legend of the Gentle Giants: Whale Sharks

The legend of the Whale sharks. One of the oceanic wonders in Bicol, whale sharks emerge as the third-largest creatures, trailing only the magnificent blue whales and fin whales. These gentle giants, contrary to their imposing size, are remarkably docile, posing no threat to humans. As researchers and divers have discovered, these majestic creatures willingly share their aquatic realm, allowing for close encounters that defy the typical narrative of fear associated with enormous marine life. The enchanting tale of the whale sharks finds resonance in the legend of Tanding, a colossal soul dwelling in the coastal realm of Bicol.

Whale sharks, with their colossal frames, embody the epitome of grace within the ocean's depths. Unlike their massive counterparts, these gentle giants neither instill fear nor pose a danger to humans. The symbiotic relationship between these majestic creatures and the researchers and divers who explore their habitat exemplifies a harmonious coexistence in the underwater world.

TANDING

The legend of Tanding, a giant among men in the coastal town of Bicol, draws parallels to the essence of whale sharks. Tanding, burdened by the weight of solitude, sought refuge on the fringes of civilization, mirroring the peaceful disposition of the whale sharks in their vast marine environment. Just as the townsfolk feared Tanding without cause, society often harbors misconceptions about the supposed menace of large sea creatures, including whale sharks.

The tale takes an unexpected turn when the town succumbs to an ominous specter, a nightly massacre shrouded in fear and uncertainty. Misguided by conjecture, the townspeople lay blame on Tanding, unleashing their anguish upon him. However, destiny, in its enigmatic design, unveils a different threat—a legion of  Aswang shaped like wild dogs descending upon the town, casting an eerie shadow over the narrative.

Tanding, embodying the spirit of sacrifice and redemption, emerges from his seclusion to confront the impending peril. In an act of selfless heroism, he corrals the frenzied dogs, enshrouding himself with them, and leads them into the vast embrace of the sea. The struggle between man and beast transforms into an epic sacrifice, transcending the fear that once enveloped Tanding.

As the waves recede, a poignant silence blankets the town, punctuated only by the fading echoes of canine cries. Tanding, the once-feared giant, succumbs to the currents, leaving behind a legacy of benevolence that immortalizes his name. In the days that follow, a peculiar sight graces the waters near the shore—a colossal fish, a guardian spirit patrolling the tides. The townsfolk, now enlightened by the sacrifice of Tanding, bestow upon this guardian the name Tanding, a tribute to the gentle giant's noble essence.

The legend of the whale sharks, intertwined with the tale of Tanding, illuminates the profound truth that lies beneath the surface of the ocean and the human psyche. These gentle giants, feared by some without cause, embody a serenity that transcends their colossal size. The legend serves as a timeless reminder that understanding and embracing the unknown can unravel the beauty of coexistence, even with the largest inhabitants of the deep blue sea. The whale sharks, like Tanding, become symbols of benevolence, dispelling myths and inspiring reverence for the wonders that dwell beneath the waves.

BUTANGDING

An butanding (ingles, whale shark, Rhincodon typus) sarong klaseng sira' na konsideradong iyo na an pinakadakula asin ini minimidbid na sarong pating. Pigsasara' niya an saiyang pagkakan paagi sa pagbuka kan dakula niyang nguso.

An konpirmadong naisihan na pagkadakula nag'abot sa laba' na 12.65 metro (41.50 pie) na may gabat 21.5 tonelada (47,000 libra), dawa igwa pang mga inoosip na mas dakula pa kaini. An pating na ini, na burikbutikon iyo sana an myembro kan genus Rhincodon' asin kan saiyang pamilya, Rhincodontidae na nasa lindong kan subklaseng Elasmobranchii, sa laog kan klaseng Chondrichthyes.

An sirang ini nakukua sa mga tropikal asin mga maiimbong na dagat, asin nagbubuhay sa kahiwasan kan dagat na may lawig-buhay naabot 70ng taon. An species na ini nagpoon mabuhay kaidto pang 60 milyon na taon. Dawa kadakula an nguso, an butanding haros kinakakan sana mga plankton, mga tanom na mikroskopiko asin sarosaradit na hayop sa dagat.

An sugok kan butanding nahimsa sa laog mansana kan tulak kan inang butanding. Iyo na daa ini an pinakadakulang sugok sa mga sira

TOURISM IN BICOL 

Sa Donsol, Sorsogon kan Filipinas bantogan nang gayo an butanding asin ipigtotolod ini bilang pangturistang atraksyon. Pigprograma kan gobyerno lokal na mapakarhay an pagdalan asin pagrani sa mga butanding sa kadagatan bilang proyektong eko-turismo. An mga butanding maboot asin bako lamang ma'olyas na hayop mala ta pwede ranihan asin hapiyapon. An sirang ini dayo asin hale pa sa hararayong dagat. Natipon ining dakul sa Donsol poon Nobyembre abot Mayo na noto'dan man kan mga turista na magroso' sa siring na panahon sa pagdalan kan mga maboot na sira.

Bago naglaog an gobyerno lokal asin naki-aram sa pagligtas sa butanding na dai mapuho kan mga parasira, an sira na ini namiligro na maubos sa kadagatan kan Sorsogon. An sira na ini binabakal kan mga Intsik na mga taga-Taiwan ta pigtutubod na delicacy asin pampagana sa sex asin an naggugurang nang butanding (mga 30 anyos edad) nagkakahalaga nin Php 400,000. An laman kaini nagprepresyong HK$500 o Php 1,700 an kilo

WHERE IS DONSOL, SORSOGON?

Donsol is a municipality located in the Bicol region of Sorsogon, situated in Luzon, Philippines. Fifteen years ago, it served as a residence for local fishermen and their families, characterized by unpaved roads and water wells. In the present day, Donsol has transformed into a vibrant tourism hub and serves as the headquarters for the Whale Shark Interaction Eco-Tourism Project.

Donsol is at the forefront of sustainable tourism in the Philippines, setting an example not only for responsible travel but also for engaging the public in a unique interaction with the majestic Whale Shark.

Donsol stands as a pioneer of sustainable tourism in the Philippines, showcasing a model for responsible travel and actively involving the public in a distinctive interaction with the magnificent Whale Shark.

reminders when interacting with the Gentle whale sharks

-Don’t touch the Whale Shark

-Don’t restrict the movement of the Whale Shark or impede its natural path

-The recommended distance from the whale shark is 3 meters from the tail

-No flash photography.

-No scuba scooters, jet skis or any motorized underwater propulsion

-A maximum of 6 snorkelers per Whale Shark

-Only one boat per Whale Shark

 

Language Patterns and the Dynamism of Legazpeño at Home

J. Cordial

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Born in Legazpi City, Albay, I grew up with Central Bikol as my mother tongue. My family usually speaks inside our home using the Legazpeño speech variety, most notable for the non-occurrence of initial /h/ sound on many Bikol vocabularies (e.g. harong > arong), and the exaggerated use of the prefix -on as an intensifier for adjectives (e.g. magayón > magayúnon > magayununúnon > magayununununúnon). I’ve also noticed that we are comfortable adding Tagalog vocabularies in our daily conversation to replace complex Bikol words, such as those that appear in Catholic prayer booklets.

As a kid, I notice that my siblings and I do tend to make up words in addition to our language—which are mostly ridiculous—but at that time we clearly have no idea that we were doing it. This made me very inquisitive about the language patterns that happen within our home.

Revisiting My Vocabularies

The possibility of unintentionally creating a full-functioning language that is only used by a family within their home led me to examine the language patterns that my family and I used. Although we did not create a language, somewhere in my library of thoughts stored the old vocabularies that we have once constructed, and I know that they are unintentionally made to meet our specific purposes.

With this in mind, I asked my siblings: “Are there any words that you can remember that we used as a kid that only our family can understand?” And I was surprised that we did.

Take a look at the sentence below:

Ídto su sukray. Idî ‘yan. Sublion daa ni nyóni. (“This is the comb. Not that one. Mama says she wants to borrow it”).

The words ídto, idî, and nyóni are some of the terms that can confuse people outside our house because these are used only within the context of our home.

Ídto (which means “this”) comes from the Tagalog word ito. We use it as a demonstrative pronoun to point to an object close to us. In contrary, the word ídto that is already existing in Central Bikol is the opposite (which means “that”) to point to an object far from us (Mintz, 1971). I sometimes use ídto instead of ini when I am speaking with my mom, and she understands it as everyone in the family does.

The word idî (which means “no”) comes from the Tagalog word hindi. The letter h is dropped perhaps due to the prominence of omitting the letter h as can be observed in TSL dialect (e.g. harong > arong). I also use this to respond to my mom instead of saying dai. This word is influenced by Tagalog, as I have mentioned that we do tend to mix up vocabularies in Bikol and Tagalog.

The word nyoni (variants: ñoni, niyoni, ñon) refers to mother. The origin of the term nyoni is a funny memory for us because it comes from a name of an actual person we don’t know—whose name is Neoni. Every time we remember that, we end up cracking in laughter because it was my older sister who first used this term to refer to my mom, until eventually all of us are calling her nyoni.

In total, I have gathered up more than 17 lexicons that we used only within our home. Most of them are used throughout my childhood, but as my siblings and I grew up, we started to lose most of them. I categorized these lexicons as to their purpose:

1. Words formed to soften disgusting things.

Profanities are a big no-no at home. We cannot swear, we cannot curse, and we cannot even say our private body parts without receiving glare from our parents. My siblings and I grew up without swearing and cursing, thus we did not see any necessity to make a counterpart of it. Even the terms for our private body parts already have existing nice versions. Thus, the words we made up are to soften only the things that are too disgusting to talk about at the table. For instance, instead of saying udô (poo), we say utô or udyô. Both terms are derived from its original word.

2. Words formed for endearment or honorifics.

My family is not very affectionate when it comes to endearments, but family honorifics is important. So although we have terms of endearment, they are mostly made to make fun of the person. For example, our term for older brother is kudì, which was derived from kúya. For older sister, we either call her nóti or ípis. Nóti comes from the song Nosi Ba Lasi by Sampaguita, which was being sung by my older sister at that time. Its resemblance to the English word naughty makes it even more funny to tease her with it. Meanwhile, ípis has nothing to do with cockroaches. It is derived from a hard pronunciation of áte (older sister), pluralized in English: átes. Our endearment for our mother is nyóni, sometimes spelt ñoni, niyoni, or ñon. It comes from an actual name of a person, Neoni, as explained earlier.

3. Words formed to express emotions.

This mostly refers to interjections for expressing emotions. Whenever we talk to our pets or kids, we use itót, indyót, and udót-údot. The words itót and indyót are derived from the Tagalog isus to express how cute it is to see our pet or a kid in doing a certain behavior. The word isus comes from hesus (as in Jesús), which is used to express many emotions in Tagalog. However, as an interjection, we use itót and indyót only in response for something adorable. Meanwhile, udót-údot is our direct translation for cute. One possible explanation behind this term is that it’s derived from the Bikol word kudót, which means to pinch. When someone is kakudót-kúdot, it means that they are too cute not to be pinched.

4. Words formed to mix up Tagalog and Bikol.

The reason why we sometimes mix up Tagalog and Bikol is because it does not put the tone of our voice into something mean. It’s very comparable to how we use Taglish to avoid being too formal or too casual. However, instead of switching from Tagalog to Bikol, we created a new set of words: ídto, idî, alâ, and uu. This is in response to make the Tagalog words sound more Bikol. Ídto and idî are derived from íto (this) and hindî (no). The word alâ comes from the Tagalog word walâ (nothing), while uu comes from the word oo (yes). However, uu is not disyllabic like its original word. It’s a prolonged hard /ū/ sound pronounced in a high pitch. Then, some time later, my siblings and I used the word papet, a sloppy version of the word bakit (why). Although it’s not meant to sound like Bikol, the word was borrowed from Tagalog as well.

5. Words formed for toys.

We undoubtedly have terms for our toys back when we were kids that are unique to outside speakers. My younger siblings and I were one of the kids who played with clothespins to form our Megatrons. These robotic clothespin figures have a “basic form” composed of only two clothespins (one for the head, and one for the body). We call them chá-chà for unknown reasons and until today, we’re still laughing at ourselves for calling them that way. We also had 1-inch Pokémon figures that time, which we called pik, also for unknown reasons, but is possibly derived from Pokémon. I was a huge collector of these toys back in elementary and we use them to create our own zoos and pretend they are actual animals. Lastly, we have a term for stuffed toy, specifically a bear one. My younger sister usually calls it bíbilog for unknown reasons. It’s possible that it’s a combination of bibi (rough pronunciation of baby) and turog (sleep) because she used to bring her stuffed toy to sleep as a kid.

6. Words formed for specific purposes.

There are things that we cannot explain, and even our parents have difficulty in giving a word for it. For example, raised shoulders high up your ears (looks like a prolonged shrug), we called it naka-uk-uk. It’s derived from the Bikol word ok-ok (which refers to “a person without a neck”). In our context, when someone is naka-uk-uk, it means that he/she purposely did it to imitate our dog who did it first. Instead of explaining it as is, everyone calls it naka-uk-uk (as if you don’t have a neck). We also have gulgul, which refers to a manner of tickling someone’s back or nape using their elbow. This causes extreme, annoyingly funny sensation. Hence, when someone throws you that tickle, it becomes tigagulgul (tiga + gulgul). Before we know it, everyone is screaming, hastily running away from the paragulgul—usually me.

Theory of Language Dynamism

Human speech, in general, is prone to change due to environmental, geographical, cultural, social, and other external factors. It’s what makes our language dynamic, thereby influencing language patterns and evolution—the birth of dialects, varieties, and even a separate language.

In the context of our home, I have observed that the unique vocabularies my siblings and I made were formed as a response to our changing verbal needs, that’s why I categorized them as to their purpose. In addition to new words formed, here are other patterns that supported language dynamism occurring at our home:

Semantic shift.

This happens when we give new meaning to an already existing word in Tagalog or Bikol. For instance, ídto (from Bikol ídto, “to point to an object far from us”) is given a new meaning: this, to point to an object at the speaker’s hand. It’s important to note that the Bikol ídto is not used in standard Legazpeño but utó. This semantic shift was confined to the context of our home and is not understood by our neighborhood.

Malapropism.

This refers to misunderstanding or misuse of words. For instance, ok-ok (a person without a neck) was misused to mean a person pretending to have no neck (became naka-uk-uk). This is in relation to a common shrug we used to do at home, by strangely prolonging that shrug high up our neck when asked and does not know the answer to it.

Word play.

This is in relation to making fun of a word. For instance, ipis (which means sister) is a play of the word áte (pluralized in English as átes > atis > itis > ipis). There came a time when we often used átis, coincidentally used to make fun of the Tagalog riddle, “Ate ko, ate mo, ate ng lahat ng tao,” where the answer to it is the fruit átis (as in the pluralization of átes in English).

Infantile speech.

Also known as baby talk. We lost this speech for quite some time, after the five of my siblings grew way past our puberty. It came back when my nephew was born. Infantile speech is a common language pattern not specific at my home. This is very much like in English where, instead of saying adorable, they say adowable. Eventually, it led to the formation of new words. For instance, udót-údot (possibly derived from kakudot-kudot), which we use to refer to something irritably too cute not to be pinched.

Blocked-nasal speech.

Blocked-nasal speech happens when your wet mucus blocks your nasals while having common colds or fever. We used to do this speech for fun even though we don’t really have colds. Hence, instead of saying, “Wara man ngani ako kaan,” we’d say, “Wada bad gadi ago gaad” (I said I don’t have that one). This is spoken in a manner by purposedly blocking your nasals where the consonants /m/, /n/, and /ŋ/ significantly changes into voice stops /b/, /d/, and /g/, respectively.

Pluralization.

Legazpeño, as in many features of Bikol languages, essentially don’t need the plural marker “mga” to pluralize a word. You can leave them conjugated and still understand that there are more people doing the action. For instance, the word nagkakaon (eating) means someone is eating, but nagkakaraon (the infix -ra- pluralizes the subject to agree with the verb) means several people are eating. My siblings and I often do it even if it’s not meant for several people. Hence, whenever my brother invites me to eat, he’d say, ‘magkaraon ka na’ even though I am obviously one person.

How would the language patterns of your home differ?

Feel free to participate on a personal linguistics study I am working on about language patterns at home, specifically about words created within the context of your family. I am interested to know how words are formed within a home and what circumstances are attached for this pattern to occur.

Language

Linguistics

Bikol

Grammar

Patterns

Written by J. Cordial

Writes about trends in Linguistics, Philippine Languages, Etymologies, and Grammar.