Heart Songs

This morning, I had to take care of a few things with Lucia's dad, so I got to be with Lucia for a few hours. As soon as the car door opened and she saw me, she yelled, "Mommy!" And then she pointed at herself and said, "Baby!"

Such joy.

/

I spent most of the afternoon working on another project that was graciously given to me. I was tasked to translate several kundimans (Filipino love songs) for an album that a couple of friends of mine are involved in. These aren't just any songs, mind you. These are time-honored classics, using a language that is all too foreign to me (embarrassingly).

It was difficult and humbling. There are so many nuances to the words that are just near-impossible to capture in English. I found myself reading the lyrics on their own first before going on ahead and translating the whole song. (Okay, Google helped. Somewhat.) I had to feel the cadence of the words, the lyricism of each word as it melted into the next. And then I found that I wasn't translating the words, I was translating its message. Being where I am in my romantic life, well, I could tell you that I had no problems talking about loss, desperation, longing, and every nasty (okay, most were beautiful) little bit that comes with love. (Who me? Bitter. Scoff medicine please.)

Behold, an excerpt from Kung Hindi Man by Nicanor Abelardo:

Irog sandaling dinggin ang aking pagtangis
Irog sandaling tunghan ang humihibik
Kung di man nararapat sa iyong dikit
Isang sulyap mo lamang, Aliw na ng dibdib.

I anticipated a lot of difficulty (which I did have), but I wasn't expecting to finish the whole line up in a day. Maybe it was the conduciveness of the environment (I wrote in the studio of my friend who was sculpting beside me the whole time), or the fact that I fell in love with Tagalog (all the way being deathly afraid of it), either way, I'm done with the initial draft.

I fell in love with a language I hardly speak, and when I do speak it, I butcher it to death. I fell in love with days gone by, when love lasted, when utterances of eternal love were mostly true. I fell in love with images of a country I only see in books, from stories from my Nana. I fell in love with the heart of a people who fall magically, tragically in love.

/

When I was still a teacher, this would often be my prayer:

"Thank you for your gift of language, with which we may convey what we mean. But thank you still for the futility of language, that we may appreciate that meaning far outweighs any language we are capable of speaking."

/

My child, who only uttered two words, but whose love -- so enormous that it took away the sting of not being with her -- is so true. So pure.

The struggle to understand and repackage the heart songs of a people who are in danger of extinction from memory. (Live on, live on, ghosts of our pasts! Live on!)

Not having to speak at all, as my friend and I were both ensconced in our own worlds of art.

Finishing the translation, being enthralled by language, and then realizing its futility.

Falling in love with Love -- it's promises, illusions, foolishnesses, hopes, languages, meanings.

/

...Such that this entry is a bunch of seemingly incoherent paragraphs. But you get what I mean.