My sister Joanne will be getting married next summer, and while it is just over a year away, the planning has already begun. Of course, there are the usual things to arrange –the bridal party, the groomsmen, the reception, the guest list, and so on and so on. In addition to this, however, there are a few more details because my sister and her fiancé are planning a Filipino wedding.
Along with the standard Catholic mass, the traditional Filipino wedding will have additional pairs of attendants after the bridesmaids and groomsmen. There are sponsors, who serve as moral guides, and then secondary sponsors, who assist in the lighting of the wedding candle, the veil, and cord ceremonies, which all represent unity. The couple may choose to have one unity candle instead of two, which would stand at each side of the couple, which the candle sponsors light. The veil sponsors pin a veil over the bride’s head and on the groom’s shoulder. The cord sponsors make a figure-eight loop around the bride and groom with the cord, often a silk rope or ribbon.
When I last spoke with Joanne, she was unhappy about another tradition in the wedding – the arrhae, or the giving of coins. The groom, as a symbol of providing for the family, gives the coins (13 pieces of gold or silver) to the bride. My sister said that this reflected stereotypical gender roles of the male as provider and that it also meant, more or less, that she could not provide for herself. I suggested that they could exchange coins, representing their dedication to providing for each other. However my mother pointed out that we should not change the tradition, even though she agreed that the ritual represented a patriarchal gender role. While we were growing up, she would urge my sister, brother and I to be financially independent, because we would never know what might happen. Nevertheless, she urged my sister to give the “old-fashioned” way another thought.
Traditions can be hard to break, but in some cases, if not many, adapting our practices to our current contexts can be significant and invaluable. Another example that I have is with the Tinikling, a Filipino folk dance. On a few different occasions I have performed this dance, mostly in my youth. The dance, which consists of at least two people with bamboo poles and at least one dancer, imitates the movements of the tikling bird, which would move among tree branches and grass stems. The two people holding the bamboo poles hold them parallel, raise them slightly off the ground, and then hit them on the ground and against each other in a particular rhythm. At the same time, the dancer or dancers jump in and out of the parallel poles, sometimes with a complicated choreography. Originating in the island of Leyte in the Visayan Islands, the Tinikling is one of the most famous dances of the Philippines.
I first performed the dance at 11 years of age for a cultural event hosted by the Asian-American association at my parish. I remember being proud and excited about my costume, with bright colours and large sleeves, especially since I recognised the faces of my fellow parishioners cheering us on as we escaped the perilous bamboo sticks. There were two teams of four, two dancers and two pole holders each. My friend and I jumped in and out of the poles, hopping left foot outside, right foot in, left foot in, right foot out, as my brother and her brother clapped the poles in a 3⁄4 rhythm. The audience cheered as the boys began to rotate in a circle without stopping the rhythm, the other team of dancers in sync with us, as we imitated the tikling bird.
A few years had passed when I came across the Tinikling again, my first year of secondary school. This time, my gym class teacher announced that for part of our dance curriculum, we were learning the Tinikling. Unbeknownst to her, my friend Annalizza and I had both performed it separately, her for her own cultural events. We immediately raised our eyebrows in scepticism. Our curiosity was spurred by the fact that we attended a white suburban school, and we represented two of the six Filipinas in our 108-strong freshman year grade. And although we remained sceptical throughout, we were also excited that our prior exposure to the Tinikling not only let us show off our dance skills in class, but also gave us a chance to be in the spotlight and share with our peers a part of our history.
While there are a few issues I talk about on the surface, such as “traditional” and the “authentic” experience, what I focus on here are the ways that tradition has intersected with our everyday experience. Annalizza and I – although we were a bit offended that the Tinikling was not performed in 3⁄4 time but in 4/4, and to Kool & the Gang’s Celebration – we knew we did not own the folk dance and were still happy that a part of our culture was taught in our high school. And although the Tinikling had been adapted for the gym class and was taught as “ethnic” as opposed to how we experienced it as American, as we understood our own lives as American, we took the partial acknowledgement and gave it our nods of recognition. Even writing about it now, I see how problematic this situation can be, but even within that it was still rewarding.
As my sister plans her wedding, I’m sure she will continue to adapt the traditions with her own modern values and views. After all, not all customs are great to begin with. But we find ways we can adapt tradition to our circumstances. It might be worthwhile to ask ourselves about our traditions, and how as we move and change we can adapt our practices to our everyday lives.
Diane Sabenacio Nititham is a PhD student at University College Dublin. She writes a monthly column to Metro Eireann
diane.nititham@ucd.ie
When I last spoke with Joanne, she was unhappy about another tradition in the wedding – the arrhae, or the giving of coins. The groom, as a symbol of providing for the family, gives the coins (13 pieces of gold or silver) to the bride. My sister said that this reflected stereotypical gender roles of the male as provider and that it also meant, more or less, that she could not provide for herself. I suggested that they could exchange coins, representing their dedication to providing for each other. However my mother pointed out that we should not change the tradition, even though she agreed that the ritual represented a patriarchal gender role. While we were growing up, she would urge my sister, brother and I to be financially independent, because we would never know what might happen. Nevertheless, she urged my sister to give the “old-fashioned” way another thought.
Traditions can be hard to break, but in some cases, if not many, adapting our practices to our current contexts can be significant and invaluable. Another example that I have is with the Tinikling, a Filipino folk dance. On a few different occasions I have performed this dance, mostly in my youth. The dance, which consists of at least two people with bamboo poles and at least one dancer, imitates the movements of the tikling bird, which would move among tree branches and grass stems. The two people holding the bamboo poles hold them parallel, raise them slightly off the ground, and then hit them on the ground and against each other in a particular rhythm. At the same time, the dancer or dancers jump in and out of the parallel poles, sometimes with a complicated choreography. Originating in the island of Leyte in the Visayan Islands, the Tinikling is one of the most famous dances of the Philippines.
I first performed the dance at 11 years of age for a cultural event hosted by the Asian-American association at my parish. I remember being proud and excited about my costume, with bright colours and large sleeves, especially since I recognised the faces of my fellow parishioners cheering us on as we escaped the perilous bamboo sticks. There were two teams of four, two dancers and two pole holders each. My friend and I jumped in and out of the poles, hopping left foot outside, right foot in, left foot in, right foot out, as my brother and her brother clapped the poles in a 3⁄4 rhythm. The audience cheered as the boys began to rotate in a circle without stopping the rhythm, the other team of dancers in sync with us, as we imitated the tikling bird.
A few years had passed when I came across the Tinikling again, my first year of secondary school. This time, my gym class teacher announced that for part of our dance curriculum, we were learning the Tinikling. Unbeknownst to her, my friend Annalizza and I had both performed it separately, her for her own cultural events. We immediately raised our eyebrows in scepticism. Our curiosity was spurred by the fact that we attended a white suburban school, and we represented two of the six Filipinas in our 108-strong freshman year grade. And although we remained sceptical throughout, we were also excited that our prior exposure to the Tinikling not only let us show off our dance skills in class, but also gave us a chance to be in the spotlight and share with our peers a part of our history.
While there are a few issues I talk about on the surface, such as “traditional” and the “authentic” experience, what I focus on here are the ways that tradition has intersected with our everyday experience. Annalizza and I – although we were a bit offended that the Tinikling was not performed in 3⁄4 time but in 4/4, and to Kool & the Gang’s Celebration – we knew we did not own the folk dance and were still happy that a part of our culture was taught in our high school. And although the Tinikling had been adapted for the gym class and was taught as “ethnic” as opposed to how we experienced it as American, as we understood our own lives as American, we took the partial acknowledgement and gave it our nods of recognition. Even writing about it now, I see how problematic this situation can be, but even within that it was still rewarding.
As my sister plans her wedding, I’m sure she will continue to adapt the traditions with her own modern values and views. After all, not all customs are great to begin with. But we find ways we can adapt tradition to our circumstances. It might be worthwhile to ask ourselves about our traditions, and how as we move and change we can adapt our practices to our everyday lives.
Diane Sabenacio Nititham is a PhD student at University College Dublin. She writes a monthly column to Metro Eireann
diane.nititham@ucd.ie
