Suppose
eighty years ago, a certain Remedios fell in love with
an Arsenio, and the latter wanted to propose to the
girl.
In accordance with
the traditional pamalaye, Arsenio did a sondalisa
(from the Spanish sondar or to sound out) to
check if there was a chance Remedios’ parents
might consent to a marital union. He sent a note through
a messenger to her parents begging leave to visit at
around 6pm on a Wednesday.
Remedios’ parents liked the idea so they did not
answer—after the third day of the note delivery,
silence from them meant it was alright.
On a Wednesday, Arsenio
went with his parents, relatives and friends to Remedios’
house, carrying pots of rice, viands and tuba,
which they left under the girl’s house upon arrival.
They did not want to show it to their hosts just yet. Neighbors
heard the news and watched from a distance.
The doors and windows of the house were closed for the occasion.
And no one moved, until the spokesman for the boy’s
family asked for permission to come inside:
Uroy, tagbalay, makadayon ba; ning ang-ang makatikang ba?
(Graceful hosts, may we ascend; on your staircase may we step?) Ani-a kami ing silong nagtindog ning ugmaran mo
(We are here, standing on our feet; a humble audience do we
seek.) Arang ba kayha kami pasak-on sa tambongan patigsampongon?
(Will you deign to accept our greeting, and bid us to enter
your dwelling?)1
Now, Arsenio’s
spokesman was the mayor, a family friend and
their chosen go-between who could represent
him and his parents. After all, Remedios’
parents could accept or reject him based on
his spokesperson’s prominence, wit and
tact. The mayor was the mamamae (the
one who proposes) and the dakong tawo
(great man) who would negotiate the stipulations,
arrangements and conditions of their marriage
should it be so.
After all, Remedios’ parents
could accept or reject him based on
his spokesperson’s prominence,
wit and tact.
Remedios’ family also had their own spokesperson (the
pugong or shield for her interests and welfare), their
parish priest.
The priest, upon hearing the mayor’s plea, acted surprised
and responded:
Kinsa ba karong nag-aghoy, nag-awhag nang ugmaran ko?
(Who is he whose sighs I hear, wailing sounds foreign to my
ear?) Dili kayha makasakang dayon, kay ako pang susolingon ug
pagaduma-dumahon.
(I pray you wait awhile, till your countenance I see, and
make sure who you may be.)2
After urging the boy’s family inside, the dakong
tawo and the pugong engaged in an oral debate
about love, the constancy and dignity of woman, man’s
faithfulness and marriage.3 They became
more poetic, using flowery words, for as long as four hours.
When the mayor mentioned asking for Remedios’ hand,
the purpose of the visit, everyone inside and outside the
house waited in anticipation. The parish priest, however,
cleverly evaded the issue, as Remedios watched from behind
her door.
Then, the mayor and the boy’s family offered their food
and drinks, and after some initial refusal, the other side
accepted. Arsenio’s relatives (known as the tindogon)
assisted Remedios’ relatives (the lingkoron).
… the dakong tawo and the pugong
engaged in an oral debate… using
flowery words, for as long as four
hours.
When the
mayor asked for an answer from the parish priest,
the girl’s pugong conferred with
the parents. They said yes to Arsenio’s
delight. Had Remedios’ side said no, Arsenio
would need to do the pamalaye again until
he got it right.
Here lies the supposed end of the story that
took place eighty years ago.
According to Dumaguete-based award-winning poet Cesar Ruiz
Aquino, the important role of the spokesperson was traditionally
played by a poet, the most eloquent the boy’s family
could find. “It’s like a joust between the two
families on who could outdo the other,” he said.
Over time, however, this poetic element to the pamalaye
has waned in actual practice.
Dumaguete City General Services Officer Paulito Honculada
shared he had served as a close friend’s spokesperson
early this year, and he did not recite poetry.
Being his second time as the dakong tawo, he calmed
his friend down before entering the girl’s house.
But he only asked the girl’s family about the
possibility of the two getting married. After the negotiations
and the meal, both sides were calling
each other “pare” and “mare”. The
wedding took place last June 30, 2007.
“This still practiced tradition,” he said,
“is because we need our families to support us: financially,
emotionally.” For him, that was why formally asking
the girl’s parents for her hand was important; to
get their consent, and consequently, their support.
Silliman University Sociology and Anthropology Head Solomon
Apla-on concurred with this idea of support when he said,
“The family is the best insurance.”
Seeking for the girl’s hand in marriage, he said,
is symbolic of how when one gets married in the Philippines,
one does not only marry the girl or boy; one marries
each other’s families, expanding the inter-relatedness
of family life.
“I wish that the pamalaye will still be practiced
in the years to come because it is a beautiful tradition.
It is inherent in the Filipino family to want their
children to [have happy families as well],” he
said.
