Art Exhibits and Awkward English

"Dinagyang Masks" by Didit Robillo Van Der Linden

"Have you seen the invitations?" my aunt whines. "Have you seen the English on them?"

I cringe. I know what's coming.

"Who wrote this stuff?"

Don't ask me, I think to myself. It's what I ask myself every day, and I'm no closer to the answer after a year in this place. For a country with a huge proportion of native English speakers in the population, you'd think they'd be spitting out poets and novelists left and right. Instead, they've got words like "dinning" (that's "dining" with the addition of an "n" out of nowhere) and press reports, business documents, and assorted textual ephemera, mangled and disjointed with nary a second thought.

In my job, I often have to pick up the pieces after such acts of terror on the English language, and I often have to contend with clients who insist that they're right, and I'm wrong. I just smile and remember the paycheck. And that my writing is not the same as saving the Universe.

I could take a stab at what keeps the local grasp on English absurdly loose--like many of the objects in their life that aren't native to the land (language, culture, Filipina maids), English is useful, but hardly precious. Use 'em, but what's the point of taking care of 'em? What's the point of falling in love with it, expressing thought with it, growing a culture out of it?

Back to the invitations. My aunt's coming to town to exhibit a few pieces of art, side by side with other Filipino artists. The website can be viewed here. If you've got an hour to kill, I suggest you drop by and support the up-and-coming Filipino artist. Buy one or two pieces if you've got a mind to. I'll be there, happy in the thought that at least for a week or so, I have a relative in town who knew me when. And who knows I don't care how bad the invitations read. Much.