By Michael Tan
Inquirer
Last updated 02:12am (Mla time) 08/29/2007

Many overseas Filipino workers have heard (some even imitate) Singaporean English, with its distinct singsong quality and numerous words borrowed from Minnan Chinese (for example, “chao chao” to mean rotten or foul, and the characteristic “la” at the end of a sentence). Singlish, as it is sometimes called, is a lingua franca, spoken by most Singaporeans, regardless of class or ethnicity.

Has the same thing happened to Filipino English? Last Friday, I described how Filipino English still remains a language of the upper classes. Because of that association, Filipino English becomes part of middle-class aspirations. Through the years, several variations of Filipino English have emerged (old rich, new rich, upper class and middle class) reflecting our stratified society. English seems to divide us.

Carabao English

Many English words do enter Filipino, and end up being used by people on the street. I already mentioned that in this year’s Sawikaan, a search for “Salita ng Taon” or word of the year, the winner was “miskol” from “missed call,” with “roro” (roll on, roll off) and “friendster” as runners-up. Last year, “lobat” (from low battery) won, with “botox” (the cosmetic procedure) and “toxic” as runners-up. In 2005, it was “huweteng” (from the gambling jueteng), followed by “pasaway” and “tibak/t-back” (from "aktibista," which in turn comes from activist).

Note that the words of the year are chosen also based on saliency, related to hot issues of the day. Nevertheless, it is still significant that many of the terms used to describe the burning issues are derived from English.

Purists might bristle at the way English is “invading” Filipino, but even the extremely nationalistic Japanese have borrowed numerous words from many Western languages and, in the postwar era, from English, the language of their erstwhile enemy. These borrowed words are written in Katakana, a syllabary (written symbols representing syllables like ba, ka, da).

The English words that enter Filipino are also “Filipinized” in pronunciation and spelling, and subjected to Filipino grammatical rules. English nouns, for example, often become verbs, conjugated in the Filipino way (for example, the present tense “Mag-Internet tayo,” the past perfect tense “Nag-Internet ka na?” even a future tense “Mag-Iinternet ako mamaya”).

The incorporation of English into Filipino does not necessarily reflect American cultural domination. English words are transformed to take on new meanings, often reflecting the Filipino gestalt. Thus, miskol no longer just means a missed call on the cell phone. Ateneo de Naga professor Adrian Remodo, who “nominated” the word, explained that miskol is enmeshed in the "paramdam" (feeling your way) psychology of Filipinos. An intentional split-second ring, he says, connotes “Buhay pa ako. Magparamdam ka naman." ["I am still alive. Please get in touch soon.”]

At the level of popular culture, out in the streets and in the communities, what we have is something called “carabao English,” held in disdain by Filipinos who consider themselves proper speakers of English.

"Chiswisang Backlush" [gay slang] actually has a lot of this carabao English (and carabao Spanish), as exemplified by a recent title of a TV documentary: “Learningin ang lenguang dingerszie,” which means, “Learn gay language.” And just as Chiswisang Backlush develops partly in response to discrimination, a way of poking fun at society, carabao English deliberately twists, even mangles English words’ pronunciations and meanings, a way of saying, hey, how how the carabao, my English is carabao but I’m not ashamed of it, just as I am not ashamed of my social status. Imitating the English of the upper classes, whom the masses call “inglisera” (prone to using English) may even be mildly spiteful. “Your every wish is my command,” I once heard a harassed store clerk mutter behind a bossy inglisera manager.

There may even be bittersweet social commentary in carabao English. For example the urban poor themselves will call their communities “depressed” and talk about having to use “criminal water,” sometimes to refer to the tap water, which they don’t trust, and at other times to the expensive “mineral’’ water that they have to buy, but which they suspect is just recycled tap water. “Criminal water” speaks of the way the poor are caught between the devil and the deep blue sea when it comes to their drinking water.

There’s irony in the way English follows our class divisions, and yet might sometimes end up uniting people, such as the poor. “Ay, ganyan ang buhay, parang life,” I’ve heard the poor (and middle class) sigh, and others nod in agreement. Carabao English is, ultimately, part of our evolving Filipino, and it’s not all despair. More often, carabao English is light-hearted, marked by intense punning and rhyming that spices up the sense of camaraderie, as when young urban poor kids go, “Let’s go, sago” or “What’s up, ulam naming sapsap.”

Carabao English is not a variation of Filipino English. It belongs instead to Filipino, a work in progress. I wouldn’t be surprised if even the Arroyisms eventually blend into carabao English, as people imitate the President. So, as we continue our quest for a national language, allow me to paraphrase one of the Arroyisms, “Sana ay magkatotoo ang ating mga panaginip” literally but not yet correctly Filipino, may our (linguistic) dreams come true.

source: http://opinion.inquirer.net/inquireropinion/columns/view_article.php?article_id=85260