Siguro Filam siya siguro kaya ganun. Pagbaba ko sa 1st floor ng Fullybooked may nakita akong caucasian/foreigner guy na kausap ang staff ng Fully Booked ng tagalog.
Wow! parang nabaligtad ang mundo. Here is a moreno filipino guy who can't speak tagalog kahit mukha siyang pinoy talaga di tisoy or di mukhang half pinoy,. At eto naman etong foreigner guy na who speaks tagalog. Hahaha
Siguro mormon ang foreigner kasi I noticed most mormons can speak tagalog even bisaya.
I also noticed a maraming foreigners na masmadali matuto ng tagalog compare mo sa mga Filams na may dugong pinoy. Nakakahiya talaga tsk tsk
Ang problema sa pinas ay paginglesero ka sosyal ka, pero pagdi ka marunong sa ingles ay bobo ka na.
Pero kung titingan mo ang first world countries like France or Japan di naman marunong magenglish ang mga tao dun pero masenso naman ang bansa nila compare mo sa 3rd world countries like Philippines and India na fluent sa English language.
Sa mga international beauty pageants lagi may interpreter si Miss Venezuela or other latin countries pero lagi naman sila panalo.
Gusto ko ishare ang isang Indian short story:
The story Karma illustrates the famous proverb "Pride Comes Before a Fall". It is the story of an arrogant person who feels bad about his country's culture, lifestyle etc. He is condescending to his wife because she is an ordinary woman unable to appreciate his aristocratic English culture.
PlotMohan Lal was a middle-aged man who worked in the British Raj. He was ashamed to be an Indian and hence he tried to speak in English or in Anglicized Hindustani and to dress as if a high-ranked British official. He used to fill the crossword puzzles of newspapers, which he did to show his immense knowledge in English. His wife Lachmi was a traditional Indian woman and due to this difference they were not having a sweet married life.
The important event occurred on a journey of Mohan Lal and Lachmi in a train. Mohan Lal made her sit in the general compartment and arranged his seat in first class compartment, which was meant for British. There he saw two British soldiers who tried to abuse him. When the arrogant Mohan Lal tried to oppose, he was thrown out of the train. He could only look through the rails on the moving train.
Here are some examples of pinoys na feeling masmataas sila sa ibang pinoy kasi magaling sila sa english language
"Language, learning, identity, privilege"
by James Soriano
MANILA, Philippines — English is the language of learning. I’ve known this since before I could go to school. As a toddler, my first study materials were a set of flash cards that my mother used to teach me the English alphabet.
My mother made home conducive to learning English: all my storybooks and coloring books were in English, and so were the cartoons I watched and the music I listened to. She required me to speak English at home. She even hired tutors to help me learn to read and write in English.In school I learned to think in English. We used English to learn about numbers, equations and variables. With it we learned about observation and inference, the moon and the stars, monsoons and photosynthesis. With it we learned about shapes and colors, about meter and rhythm. I learned about God in English, and I prayed to Him in English.
Filipino, on the other hand, was always the ‘other’ subject — almost a special subject like PE or Home Economics, except that it was graded the same way as Science, Math, Religion, and English. My classmates and I used to complain about Filipino all the time. Filipino was a chore, like washing the dishes; it was not the language of learning. It was the language we used to speak to the people who washed our dishes.
We used to think learning Filipino was important because it was practical: Filipino was the language of the world outside the classroom. It was the language of the streets: it was how you spoke to the tindera when you went to the tindahan, what you used to tell your katulong that you had an utos, and how you texted manong when you needed “sundo na.”
These skills were required to survive in the outside world, because we are forced to relate with the tinderas and the manongs and the katulongs of this world. If we wanted to communicate to these people — or otherwise avoid being mugged on the jeepney — we needed to learn Filipino.
That being said though, I was proud of my proficiency with the language. Filipino was the language I used to speak with my cousins and uncles and grandparents in the province, so I never had much trouble reciting.
It was the reading and writing that was tedious and difficult. I spoke Filipino, but only when I was in a different world like the streets or the province; it did not come naturally to me. English was more natural; I read, wrote and thought in English. And so, in much of the same way that I learned German later on, I learned Filipino in terms of English. In this way I survived Filipino in high school, albeit with too many sentences that had the preposition ‘ay.’
It was really only in university that I began to grasp Filipino in terms of language and not just dialect. Filipino was not merely a peculiar variety of language,derived and continuously borrowing from the English and Spanish alphabets; it was its own system, with its own grammar, semantics, sounds, even symbols.
But more significantly, it was its own way of reading, writing, and thinking. There are ideas and concepts unique to Filipino that can never be translated into another. Try translating bayanihan, tagay, kilig or diskarte.
Only recently have I begun to grasp Filipino as the language of identity: the language of emotion, experience, and even of learning. And with this comes the realization that I do, in fact, smell worse than a malansang isda. My own language is foreign to me: I speak, think, read and write primarily in English. To borrow the terminology of Fr. Bulatao, I am a split-level Filipino.
But perhaps this is not so bad in a society of rotten beef and stinking fish. For while Filipino may be the language of identity, it is the language of the streets. It might have the capacity to be the language of learning, but it is not the language of the learned.
It is neither the language of the classroom and the laboratory, nor the language of the boardroom, the court room, or the operating room. It is not the language of privilege. I may be disconnected from my being Filipino, but with a tongue of privilege I will always have my connections.
So I have my education to thank for making English my mother language.
Yeah, I get it now. Marian Rivera is the embodiment of Filipinos’ collective nosebleed — the bright star representing the answer to the popular admonishment: Tagalugin mo na lang!
And so here we are, wondering all the while why Filipinos do not see the obvious solution to their ignoramity — to become part of the elite, one needs to learn the language of the colonial master. Sounds pretty straightforward, doesn’t it?
Apparently to da Pinoy masa the easier way to go is to simply sneer at English speakers and surround themselves in the comfy world of mediocre Tagalogdom. Rather than step up and embrace the language of global intellectualism, they embrace the dialects of mediocrity and assure one another that they are “special”. Marian Rivera is the idol that validates that aspiration.
Well, so much for that.
I used to cringe whenever I find myself in the midst of a din of call center accented English whenever I drop by certain Starbucks stores for the occassional latte. But now I realize that I need to give these call center folk a bit of credit. At least they consciously and deliberately worked on improving their English and productively worked with the hand dealt them. Yeah, of course not all of us grew up in a household that encourages the use of English. In a sense, those who did were simply born into royalty. Now I take my hat off to those who were born into jeje-land but managed to extricate themselves from that pit by learning how to speak English properly and can now hold their own in a conversation without suffering from “nosebleed”.
So, yeah, big difference, like the difference between that conyo kid driving daddy’s car and the self-made guy who graduated from Batino Elementary School driving a car he bought with his own savings.
As for Marian Rivera’s rabid fans? Well, there was something to be said about the way they continued to cling on to that notion of “royalty” following her “royal” wedding to Dingdong Dantes. Now there is also something to be said about how furious they are over the perception that their idol’s supposed archrival, Heart Evangelista, seems to have been given a free pass by the media and bloggers despite what was seen to be an equally ostentatious wedding.
Perhaps these starstruck serfs hadn’t noticed that there was a big national crisis currently on-going that tied up the bandwidth of certain bloggers they had expected would be saying something about Heart’s marriage to Senator Chiz Escudero. Or simply that strong points had already been made during that whole DongYan Wedding circus that need not be repeated again.
But, hey, this is the Philippines, home to the society with the flattest learning curve in the world. Certain lessons do need to be repeated over and over again. But like the proverbial seeds that land on barren soil, as that parable tells of, there really isn’t much in the way of results we should be holding our breath for.
What was the term some guy used to describe the Philippines some years back? A damaged culture I recall it was. True that. The Philippines does suffer from the mother of all daddy issues. Too bad many of us chose a Spanish-looking palengkera as their therapist.
Sana makaranas ng racial discrimination si Kate at James Soriano sa USA, Australia or Europe
Kasi kahit gano sila kagaling mag English mukha pa rin silang asian
Shame on these people
Some pinoys talaga have a superiority complex and colonial mentality combined tsk tsk tsk