It’s All in the Mind

By Emmanuelle

Being born in Pangasinan, the middle child among five children was not the only edge this writer had over her other siblings. She was also the only child delivered by her own physician-father, in his and his nurse-wife’s own house. Her infant wails were accompanied by the shouts and laughter of the various aunts and uncles visiting for the summer, playing table tennis down below the wide open windows. Her father was an only child of generations of Pangasinense; at the other extreme, her mother’s parents from the Visayas believed kids came cheaper by the dozen. 

Understanding and speaking the Pangasinense dialect was never a problem. Ditto with Ilocano. Also, the different Visayan variations. Tagalog too.

But, Ms Ric, writing in Pangasinense or in any of these dialects is an entirely different matter altogether. Just thinking about it – the mind conks out, eyes cross over to the opposite sockets, fingers fumble with the keyboard. The creative factory closes shop. This writer goes dumb and numb.

And these manifestations happen just as this writer was just at the early stage of contemplation on granting your request of writing in the dialect. Actually, at its earliest stage. In fact, at its very beginning. The very first letter of a wrong spell. Just peeping at the possibility, a teeny-weeny bit of hope of maybe it can be done this time? Ta, ciguro nayarian ko met amo?

An older writer-cousin who wrote the only dictionary in Pangasinan around, would smirk at the obvious cowardice (There, the C word is out!). Hah! Let him smirk at this writer’s quirk.  Just Don’t Make Me!

You see, Ms  Ric, this  writer has this long list of phobia. Not surprisingly for someone cute (kuanda, aliwan kuanto!) she has acrophobia, a fear of height. Antakot ed atagey ya too!  Especially, when  the atagey ya too is standing more than two floors below and the someone who used to be cute is looking down from above, frozen and definitely losing her mind.

There is her agoraphobia, which sounds like a fear of coats made from animal fur, but really is a fear of open spaces or crowds of people. She hears this plan to go to the mall, and her vision shrinks to small to none at all. Excuse her, she has just lost her consciousness and it’s awfully hard to find it again at this point in time.

As Christmas time nears, she develops claustrophobia, a fear not of Santas but of enclosed spaces. Elevator doors shut, she shouts Let me out! Someone just cut off my air! YOU LOUTS!

She walks by night or just before the sun rises, not because she is a blood-sucking vampire but she has photophobia, an abnormal intolerance of light. But then, in soothing sleepy darkness, what to do with her arachnophobia? What with the fact that there are more insects than humans in this world, her skin simply gooses over with bumps! A perpetual state of huge bumpity bumps.     

Bobo ya tua! Anggapoy maong ya kapalaran to yan too. She even has  the rare phobophobia, a fear of one’s own morbid fears! She is afraid to be afraid of being afraid. Her own shadow freaks her out. She would not raise her voice to raise an echo. Boo! Boo!

So, you see, Ms Ric, this writer would have gladly liked to oblige your request to write in Pangasinense or Ilocano. Labalabay to talaga, manisya ka kumon. Peksman.

In a world peppered with squared holes, she is a round peg. Very round. So she says she stays on the ground. A ground where there are no holes. No holes, no snakes.

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