BECAUSE THE FILIPINO LANGUAGE IS THE LANGUAGE OF THE POOR

Just when you thought that the snidey remark on the Pinoy fashion sense by a Filipino is by far, one of the most trashy opinions you'll read and hear online, here comes James Soriano, who took advantage of the 'freedom of speech' so that the world would have a piece of his 'brilliant' mind.

In his well- written article, Soriano has made us realize one thing: His brain is that of a Stegosaurus.

James is the last dinosaur, not Denver

Photo Credits: eeburah.com

James Soriano pointed out that he is privileged to have grown up speaking in English, which is apparently, the language of the 'learned' according to him.

I wonder how the Japanese, Spanish, German, Korean, etc. would react to this. Because I'm pretty sure, he will get the apt reaction he deserves from the Filipino nation.

The arrogance of this man is astounding. I admire his bravery for publishing his conyotic thoughts that are tasteless, tacky, rude, disgusting, and senseless. Congratulations, you are on your way to becoming infamous!

Manila Bulletin, please filter the articles that are being published on your site. This is purely racist.

James, just in case your Stegosaurus brain doesn't know, the Filipino language is one of a kind. The rolling Rs and Ls, the solid Ts, the prominent 'enye' and 'nang' sound have basically enabled us to adapt and survive in other parts of the world where people speak totally different languages. Filipinos do not have problems with learning and speaking a new language because basically, we do not have troubles with letter pronunciation and enunciation. Our language is as flexible as our people. It's a language that has an edge.

But I guess my fellow Filipinos wouldn't mind when you called our language the 'Language of the Poor'. Because overall, you have a bigger problem. You're neither an American or a Filipino. An Askal who thinks he's an American Bulldog. A fake bag who keeps on selling himself as a CLASS AAAAAA.

Marapat lang sa iyo ang kasabihan sa wikang Tagalog:

"Ang langaw, kapag nakatungtong sa Kalbaw, pakiramdam niya'y mas mataas pa siya sa Kalabaw."

You are the epitome of what conyo children shouldn't be. Parents, please guide your children.

And James, do yourself a favor. Search for your identity and write a better article!

Here's his trash. Read on. :)

P.S. I have read and heard that this James Soriano is from Ateneo. I have nothing against Ateneo, but these people taint the image of good schools such as ADMU. It's hard to pin- point what's to blame: the way these kids were raised or the way our culture reveres ENGLISH as the 'SOSYAL" language.

Language, learning, identity, privilege

By JAMES SORIANO

August 24, 2011, 4:06am

Source: http://mb.com.ph/articles/331851/language-learning-identity-privilege

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.