| Category: | Books |
| Genre: | Other |
| Author: | Various Authors |
Bloody
Inquirer Books’ second installment of the “best” of the hitherto popular Youngblood column needs no less than a myth of a collective youth, an alleged generation X “plus Y” to prop up its motley compilation of rantings, confessions, revelations and occasional opinions as well as to warrant its well-received existence.
This confused cocktail of amateur writing begins with an insufferable series of over-elongated musings about varied topics ranging from a “beloved” radio in “The Radio” to nail acrylics in “Nail File” to “Chicken Pox”. As a consolation of sorts, there is an effort in some of the articles to move from the mundane to the metaphysical; in “Bahay-bahayan” the parlor game is likened to juvenile fatherhood and “Doing the Dishes” is compared to the confession and repentance of sins, which could have been a fairly reliable device to get across certain messages if it weren’t such an obviously contrived afterthought, with the ‘words of wisdom’ shooed-in at the last two or so lines of three-page essays. For the most part, a huge chunk of the first ten or so articles seems to have sprouted from sheer boredom and lack of better things to do, rationalized into moments of miraculous lucidity and profundity with nothing more than its novelty and its being written in not-too-shabby and, at times, skillful English by “the youth” to keep it barely afloat. In “Chicken Pox”, Amabel Calub incriminates herself and the book when she says that writing is her way of “relieving boredom”.
From the cute, the essays take a sharp turn into the realm of the sentimental and poignant with a series of articles that spew family issues and the whole train of emotions thereof. From the death of a loved one, to celebrating relationships with parents and relatives, the subject matter of the following series of essays enjoys the blanket of depth and seriousness. However, the same self-indulgence and over-romanticism still hovers above a majority of the pieces, with several “I” articles enforcing and reinforcing feelings of self-centrality and isolation, factors which limit and ultimately diminish the value of the material to shallow storytelling and ‘do-it-yourself’ catharsis. Although there is a dribbling of surprisingly insightful pieces that really do say something, they are lost in a sea of repeated banality if not outright irrelevance. “A Burger for Graduation”, wherein a 13-year-old recounts her family’s economic realities and connects them to legislation by Sen. Ernesto Herrera, is put right smack in the middle of an article that talks of math like it was a boyfriend and another that complains about doing the dishes.
In its final distinct shift of subject matter, the articles then “mature” into expositions of twentysomethings’ experiences in newfound occupations and roles rather than plain preoccupations. From womanhood and motherhood to being a teacher, a doctor, and a slew of other professions and vocations to “Going Corporate”, the articles explore several yet still limited, fields of endeavor and experience, painting a picture of the same mythical generation all becoming professionals and yuppies. Except for a notable couple of pieces like “Revolt from the Kitchen” and “Awakening”, which speak of provocative social realizations regarding women’s issues and even trade liberalization, the articles sustain the same romanticism and reinforce an accepting and embracing attitude towards the roles they play, may it be woeful or otherwise. In fact, most of the articles end with gratitude and an air of contentment, if not hope for contentment, coupled with religious overtones and clichés.
All in all, there is a screaming vacuum of purposiveness, with the majority of the articles undeniably serving the main function of self-exorcism and even grandstanding, with a lot of articles displaying unnecessary literary mannerisms and somersaults to the point of forgetting that writing is a public, and hence social act; which should have been a primary concern because of the nature of the YoungBlood column which enjoys the rare privilege of nationwide circulation, much more, a compilation touted as “The Best of YoungBlood”. Because of this, even the few inspired, insightful and important articles’ potency is diminished by being relegated to the ranks of the mediocre majority which at best consoles likeminded readers and helps them “deal” with their emotions.
The considerable lack of literary, if not logical, merit and insight of the bulk of YoungBlood 2.0 supposedly finds salvation in its “truth”, in its being the “unstoppable” and “electric” voice of “this generation”. Being spawned by a broadsheet, it inevitably inherits the illusion of objective reportage and as a consequence seems to wash its hands of any responsibility for the quality of articles that it includes, save for the supposed deftness in language that its contributors possess. This cannot be any less true. As a book which is said to give the youth a much needed voice, it is its publishers and editors responsibility to discern which voices need to be heard. It is their responsibility to select whose “truths” are given a chance to be read. Again, more so because it has been turned into a compilation of “the best”. The YoungBlood column presents a rare venue for social discourse, but to demand that its editors have a sense of social responsibility is probably too much to ask. After all, Jorge Aruta and Ruel de Vera are still mere employees of a corporation called the Philippine Daily Inquirer which, as a profit-oriented institution, is still bound to the bottom line. As such, it is inevitable that the articles they select appeal to the sensibilities and interests of the moneyed middle class youth. How else can one explain the articles they publish and even deem “the best”? How else can one tolerate an article about nail polish and “cyber love affairs” sandwiched between an article about death, abuse and Philippine politics and one about how to get a job and other “corporate concerns”? How else can one explain the sustained self-indulgence in the mundane and the outsiders’ perspective of poverty and oppression?
Ruel de Vera gave it away when he said that “…YoungBlood is a column whose writers are invariably its readers as well.” This further exposes the fact that a column that takes in contributions in English and mainly through e-mail, unwittingly censors and limits both its authors and readers to those who are educated enough to compose passable essays in English, those who have access to computers and other modes of communication and more importantly those who have the economic capacity to patronize the column and the book. These are hardly the people who need “a voice” to be heard but is nevertheless shoved into a single crate slapped with the label of Gen X/Y, a title which is in itself exclusive and is not so much an age bracket as it is an imposed set of traits and ideals.
YoungBlood 2.0, as a sophomore effort, does not depart much from its predecessor and expectedly so, since as all sequels go, it rides on the success of the first one and on the reduced economic risk of producing more of the same. In the end, it’s really just a vampiric effort to encourage and further bleed the GenX/Y-wannabes’ rabid need for attention for all its worth.
To quote Juhn de la Pena’s “Windows”:
“What is your story?
That question can be asked of anybody in a sea of myriad faces, each masked by
boredom and callousness to the times and circumstances. The times are difficult.
One lives and struggles to survive in the urban jungle of capriciousness. Scruples
are flung away as easily as a whore would her undies for the color of money.”
And to think I paid 145 pesos.
