The fine art of oversharing
MANILA, Philippines - These days, it is rare for a group of people to convene in the name of poetry, literature, and the written word. People line up for the latest gadget, or tickets to a show; some aren’t even physically in line, but refreshing a browser, finger poised over a mouse to purchase a digital release the moment it comes out. These are commonplace scenarios today, but a group of people banding together because of words? A little unheard of, one must admit.
Reading and writing are what many would consider quiet human activities, but these are ways by which we communicate. Ideas have been spread by oral tradition and printed material, and the different media by which we can access these words make it easy to consume them by yourself, in the solace of your own home. Manila, however, has been addressing this isolation through Happy Mondays, a gathering of lovers of the written and spoken word, where people come up to the mic and bare their hearts and souls. Occasionally, there is live music. There is never not any beer.
On one particular Monday, I get there, armed with some cashews, some friends, and stars in my eyes. “Who would be reading today?” I thought. Pancho Villanueva, an artist and writer, asks who among us would like to. Gian Lao, one of my batchmates, volunteers, and I am excited because he has always been one of my favorite poets. A few moments later, we are ushered inside, in full view of the stage. I recognize a few names, and I braced myself for poetic musings and the lovely weaving of words to rain upon my weary head.
The night passes by, and poems of every style is read. At one point, someone says of a person readying himself to speak: “Oh, he is the worst.” There have been three times when I had been asked to read my poetry aloud, two of which were for high school English classes. The most mortifying was during a writer’s workshop. In the presence of some of the most talented writers in the Philippines, I had to read a poem we were asked to write on the spot. So, I knew how this person felt—a mix of trepidation, fear, and an unfortunate stirring in my bowels—as he tried to get these wretched feelings out into the open. He finishes to scattered applause, and I am thankful when he is done. I wonder if he knew what those people thought. I’d like to think he did, and for this, I applaud his bravery.
The magic of pen and paper: It’s a form of escape. After nine readers, the night wraps up. Most read poetry, one person read song lyrics, as prompted by this invitation: “You can read whatever you want!” Krip Yuson read the shortest poem he ever wrote, and made a joke about himself, which I caught on video but wish I didn’t. My table passed around a sheet of paper, each contributing a line to a poem about an exitentialist bird. It has been forever immortalized on someone’s Twitter feed.
Joel Toledo, one of the nation’s poetic national treasures and a staple in Happy Mondays history, begins his reading with an epitaph from Frenchman André Gide: “‘Therefore’ is a word the poet must not know.” I’d always been curious about the going-ons of Happy Mondays, having heard of readings by Manila’s Lit Elite, and I left, thinking that I was a little disappointed. Perhaps it was because I had always pictured my heart swelling at the beautful words, swooning at the possibilities the English language opens up to people who can wield it well.
As the night wore on, however, I realized that sometimes, what matters is getting things out, this rare glimmer of honesty, wearing a badge of courage, even if it might be met with snickers and judgment and rejection. I saw the importance of doing something you need to do, despite the consequences, and despite not knowing what comes after “therefore”.
