FIFTY years or so from now, I can imagine grandkids calling out to their Lolo Bryan, Lolo Kevin, Lolo Ethan, Lola Margaux or Lola Nicole.
You and I may chuckle at the thought, but that’s what the future holds as a consequence of today’s trend in giving Western-sounding names to new babies.
This trend cuts across all classes. The master carpenter who was constructing our house extension last year went by the name William. His assistant answered to the name Jobert, while the other assistant’s name was Marlon.
Whatever happened to Perfecto, Danilo, Ceferino, Porfirio, Redentor, Severo, Domingo, Segundo, Isidro or Rodrigo? Why this fondness for giving our children fancy Hollywood-sounding names?
Is this something like the Italian thing called esterofilia, which is a liking for all things foreign? Could it be a result of the OFW diaspora, the social media, watching Hollywood movies, cable TV programs? I have a feeling the answer is all of the above.
Even our favorite local stars go by such names as Coco, Piolo, Sam, John, Kim, Anne, Nadine and Kathryn. Gone are the days when we had Fernando, Gloria, Anita, Charito, Lolita, Josemari, Romeo, Luis, Dante, Mario, Leopoldo or Juancho.
Name your child Bartolome or Bienvenido or Consuelo or Constancia and people will be aghast. Are you kidding, they’ll say. That’s so bariotic, so old-fashioned and traditional. Pity your kids when they are in school; they’ll be the laughingstock.
Remember that time when the names for newborn Filipino babies were picked from the names of Catholic saints in the calendar? Nowadays, hardly any baby carries the name of a saint. Parents prefer to have their babies baptized as Jason, Liam, Joshua, Alexandra, Margaux and other fancy names that have become au courant. In fact, in keeping with the trend of having multiple godparents for their baptism, today’s kids are given not just one, but multiple stateside-sounding names, as in John Robert or Patrick Jason, so they can be nicknamed JR or PJ.
What about this trend of combining the names of parents as in Arnor (Armando + Norma) or Elmar (Elena + Mario) or Alger (Alma + Gerardo). Well, you get the drift. It’s a variation on the past practice of combining names of saints or religious icons.
Remember Jejomar or Josemari? Why not MelGasBal (Melchor, Gaspar, Baltazar,) as historian Ambeth Ocampo suggested in a column.
Remember that tacky thing of giving a new spin or twist by adding the letter “H” to whatever name when Boy was spelled as Bhoy, Rey became Rhey, May became Mhay? Jomar suddenly was spelled as Jhomar. What used to be Bong becomes “Vhong.” Sometimes a name is rearranged, like John now becomes Jhon, or Jan becomes Jhan. Now, the emerging variation is manipulating the spelling of the usual names as in Jhennylin, Shecill, Patrixia, Thrizzia, Merrie, Raysheil, Ais Krystal. I’m not inventing these names; I got them from a random list of beauty-pageant candidates. I suspect this is an offshoot of swardspeak, which deliberately distorts words and phrases to make them understandable only to those belonging to their circle.
At least we seem to be done with naming our babies after literary and historical figures such as Tolstoi, Soren, Orlando, Portia, Socrates, Voltaire, Robespierre, Isagani, Rizalino and so on.
What’s with our peculiar ways of naming our children? For one thing, it’s generational. Our traditional names are now fast fading into the “Jurassic” era, to use contemporary lingo. The name you bear tags your generation. Millennials can’t wait to distance themselves from their Lolo and Lola’s era as if it were light years away. Western-sounding names mark a line in the generational divide. If you’re Arsenio, you’re then; if Barry, you’re now.
Another reason could be social. A name can be a social signifier, a tool to draw a line among the social classes, used by each class to set them apart from those perceived to be below them: the old rich from the noveau riche, the broad C from the masa. It’s a way of saying, this chosen name says we don’t belong in your crowd. We’re up here. You’re down there. Or something like that.
But another reason may be cultural. By nature, the Pinoy is superficial and fun-loving, and eternally juvenile. And so he loves to play around with names. He can also be perversely playful. I used to read about someone named Bernardo Bernardo, Nicolas Nicolas, Llewellyn Llanillo and Amado Amador, Fortunato Fortuno, Santiago Santiago, without thinking how the poor kid would survive school being the butt of jokes.
Frankly speaking, we have never been really proud of our native roots. Mababaw ang ating ugat, so to speak. That’s why when we were compelled by the Spanish colonial authorities to adopt Spanish names, we might have acquiesced too easily. Or maybe we even took pride in doing so because that put as on the same level as our “colonial masters.” They were just layers to be discarded skins of his chameleon-like nature at various points in our history.
As I was reflecting on the significance of various trends in the Pinoy name game, something piqued my interest. It was a tiny news item about Auraeus Solito (in itself a unique appellation), the director of the award-winning indie films Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros and Busong. He has transitioned into his new name, “Kaakan-Balintagos.” I don’t know what it means, but it’s definitely un-Caucasian and it goes against the current trend. Perhaps it’s his way of paying homage to Kidlat Tahimik (Eric de Guia), a pioneering Pinoy indie filmmaker.
I recall that our ancestors had names like Lakandula, Magat Salamat, Lakanlili. These names not only sound rhythmic; they are also more meaningful to us.
My own predilection is for native-sounding names like Bayani, Lualhati, Liwayway, or Magiting, Magilas, or Diwata, and Langit, Bughaw or other Malayan-rooted names. These were the names of our pre-Spanish ancestors. They distinguish us, for one thing, and they carry meanings that have inherent native significance. Why not Biyaya, Langit, Ulan, Dampi, Mayumi, Dangal, Buwan, Bundok, Tilamsik, Gilas, Dagitab and Mulatil?
Our revolutionary heroes were very imaginative when it came to noms de guerre. Jose Rizal’s code names were “Laong Laan” and “Dimasalang;” Bonifacio, “Agapito Bagumbayan” and “Maypag-asa;” Emilio Jacinto, “Pinkian” (flint); Antonio Luna, “Tagailog;” and Emilio Aguinaldo, “Magdalo.” Marcelo H. del Pilar was known by his pen name “Plaridel,” but he also went under cover with such names as “Kupang,” “Patos,” “Siling Labuyo” and “Piping Dilat.”
I long to see the day when such names finally become cool. I hope we take our cue from Kidlat Tahimik and Aureus Solito and return to native names. This would reconnect us to that original cultural layer that is part of our DNA. It will help regain our sense of racial and cultural pride.
These names will enable us to reconnect again with that primal or primeval layer in our cultural DNA that should help nourish our roots and help us grow a sense of national pride in our cultural identity. Such names will also help us value what our names signify.
Names like Mulatil, Binhi, Bughaw and Bituin will hopefully elicit in the persons bearing those names a sense of reverence and respect for the elements or forces of nature.
In an article she wrote a few years back, assistant professor Liberty I. Nolasco of the Ramon V. del Rosario College of Business of De La Salle University makes a convincing case about how we are defined by our language. Language, she wrote, has its own structure that conveys the ideals of a culture or race. That’s why language is an important part of our cultural development as a person. Promoting a foreign language can promote cultural alienation, a lack of national identification of a people and a half-baked person.
If this is so, then we, too, are defined by our names. So to today’s young parents, maybe you should give more thought in the selection of names you give to your children. For the name you give them defines them, defines our identity as a race and as a people.
1 comment
Thank you for your mention of the article I wrote Sir Nick Tayag!