It is a misconception that I know everything about the Spanish language. I still have tons to learn especially since I was reared in schools that used English as a medium of instruction. What is more precise is that I'm more of an advocate for its return than a teacher of grammar.
Interestingly enough, I learned two new Spanish words on the first few days of my grieving. And it was in rustic Abra de Ílog, of all places. It happened on two consecutive days: the first was on the day we were to bury Yeyette, and the second was the day after.
On interment day, the hearse had to wait outside the house for an extended period of time. I wondered why. So I asked around what's going on, why haven't we been marching towards the town church yet. One of her aunts told me that we still had to wait for the cereales to arrive.
Upon hearing the word, the first thing that came to my mind was cereals, of course. But certainly, food was the last thing her aunt had in mind. I had to ask her again what she meant by that. It turns out that she was referring to the processional candle holders. Later on, when I consulted a dictionary, I found out the spelling was actually ciriales. It's the plural form of cirial and is pronounced exactly the same as cereal/cereales, hence my confusion.
Ciriales are usually three individuals who lead a funeral march going to church and cemetery. The one in the middle holds a long wooden or steel bar which bears a crucifix on top while the two on either side are for the candles. Unfortunately, there was a miscommunication at the parish church. The ciriales were not available that day. That is why no walking funeral march occurred during my wife's interment. The march towards the church and cemetery was a bit faster because we all made use of vehicles. Besides, that afternoon was awfully hot, so we really had to.
The following day, we went on a picnic at the riverside retreat of my wife's family to commemorate her life and times as well as to celebrate the 55th birthday of an uncle of hers. They call the place Tagbong (Yeyette's favorite place in her hometown). While drinking whiskey and beer, her uncle was giving me heartfelt advice, that from then on, I will be my family's timón. I had to secretly ask a cousin of Yeyette what timón means. She explained that it's that part of a boat that is used to steer it (see 2nd image courtesy of Encyclopaedia Britannica). Her uncle had to wax poetic to inspire me how to carry on with my family now that his beloved niece was gone.
I only found out that ciriales and timón were Spanish words right after I got home and looked them up the dictionary. Apparently, both ciriales and timón are already a part of the Tagálog language. But I was amazed that I encountered them in a place far away from Metro Manila. This reminds me of a scene from my childhood days in Unisán. In one barrio, a naughty kid spanked the crown of my head with an open palm. And with a mischievous smile, he declared "¡Pendong, pase!" while throwing the peace sign with his fingers. Pendong is a local slang for what he just did to me. But pase I still yet to find out. Which I did in adulthood. Pase, it turns out, is from the Spanish "pasar" which means —in the context of what that naughty kid did to me— pass, or that I'm not allowed to hit him back. And he said it in the formal second person of the imperative mood!
We have countless Spanish words and phrases deeply embedded in our indigenous languages that it will almost shock us when we are made to realize that they are not native after all. And what's more surprising is that some of these rarely used Spanish words turn up in places you least expect them to appear.
No comments:
Post a Comment