#VOXPOPULI | Knee-high burgundy boots
by Ryann Andrea R. Lakip
*This essay was the winning entry for this year’s Grade 9 Essay Writing Contest held for the Humanities Festival English Olympics. The competition required Grade 9 participants to write a creative nonfiction piece answering the following prompt:
Arguably, voices from different classes, nations, and genders resound profoundly more than ever, thanks to the power of the Internet. The reality, however, is that British and American influences still dominate the world. There is a McDonald’s store in almost every country. Economic performance is still measured in dollars. And Shakespeare, along with some other British writers, is still widely studied in many English curricula. How, then, can we make sure that all voices are heard?
Setting three on the electric fan is not enough. We’re well into November yet the bimpo on my back still clings stubbornly to my damp skin. The humidity of my bedroom engulfs me whole as I look through the carefully-curated feed displayed by the glowing rectangle in my hands, my thumbs numbing with every passive scroll. Eight-second videos rock my thoughts into a dead lull. Three hours later, I lie at the foot of my bed, finally deciding to put the phone down. My eye catches the winking sun sinking into the horizon as I attempt to recall all I’ve seen, thoughts ablur.
The women on my feed tell me I am an autumn girl. They say my aesthetic matches with a Russian author by the name of Dostoevsky and that of another white man I cannot remember. My wardrobe, they insist, should include turtlenecks, beige cardigans, sweater vests, and knee-high, burgundy boots. These supposedly pair well with the pumpkin spice latte I am to bring to school with me every day. The books on my shelves — Meyer, Smith, Du Maurier, Homer, Henry, Westover, Wilde, seem to loom over me intently as I absorb all this. And I take this to heart, forgetting we have but two seasons in the Philippines.
Despite this, I continue to fold myself and others into the various subcultures and aesthetics introduced by these European and American content creators. My friend Jada, for instance, is “Lana-del-Rey-Americana core.” Riva, on the other hand, embodies a mix of the “cottagecore,” “fairycore,” and “bubblegum princess.” For us, each curated crumb of content is a reward. The intricate complexity of my brain is reduced to a rat-like form, scurrying for periodic and temporary rushes of dopamine from the illusion of belonging, heavily rooted in the need for validation from the creators of these reels. On the occasion that a fellow kababayan appears in one of these videos, we clap, just as we all did when Jake Zyrus appeared on Glee, or when Pia Wurtzbach became Ms. Universe in 2015. But this applause for Filipino representation is stopped at the gates of Western validation. When our attention shifts to purely Filipino media, we balk. We then dismiss those who embrace it as somehow lesser than those who take pride in indulging in Western culture.
Through this paradox, I, along with the multitudes of Filipinos facing similar predicaments, have unknowingly become both a victim and perpetrator of the continued erasure of non-Anglo-American voices. Colonialism, though long buried in history books, remains within us all — suppressing any true sense of cultural identity and measuring it against the “standard,” being Western ideals. Even the education system we now undergo remains Western-centric, neglecting local and Indigenous voices. Amost 400 years of colonialism in our history have ensured that the role of the white man in our society cannot be unraveled completely. With this, the discussion of freeing our media from Western-centrism must be tackled with the idea that it cannot be undone, but can be built upon.
An air of must and aged paper fills our classroom as Shakespeare is introduced. His guests? Austen, Wordsworth, and Fitzgerald — all dubbed the “best” or the “fathers” of some form of literature defined by a period in English history. Their genius, we are told, is unmatched. We are taught of their sheer intellect, deserved recognition, and utter dominance in the market. Yet the system in which they thrived, built brick by brick by patriarchal figures of Anglo-American history, remains unreferenced when discussing their works. In this environment, we are prompted to inspire a rethinking of the factors contributing to the heavy of these authors in the curriculum, which must be accompanied by advocating for the inclusion of local and Indigenous works in higher levels of educational attainment. The palisades that hinder diverse pools of writers from becoming beacons of representation are broken through, thus enriching the reservoir of stories included and analyzed under official curricula.
Outside the shelter and guidance a fixed curriculum is supposed to provide, a responsibility to actively seek out media independent of larger organizations falls to us, as consumers. The rubble that is media is oversaturated by the need to constantly stimulate ourselves and must be sifted through to ensure creators of underrepresented demographics are duly recognized and brought into the mainstream. This forest of media includes untapped voices in literature, poetry, music, and all others that for years have tried reaching for an audience, beyond the confines of the online world.
Within the confines of our internet, diversity has been duly achieved. Every crevice of every online platform has been filled with personalities and distinct voices that share cultural concepts available for all those on the interwebs. With this ever-growing digital space, the algorithm remains the only limitation to true representation. Through the promotion of Western creators, the internet, once a symbol of advancement, is weaponized and used against us, furthering our confirmation biases against ourselves. This instills a sense of self-hate from which this lack of support for our own blooms. The way we consume media is controlled, and the role we play in how we consume this information becomes a passive one. Though one may argue that their algorithm already caters to the voices of minorities, in the Southeast Asian, or Philippine context, the practices and concepts in these videos are rarely carried out in the physical world. The intricacies they carry ignore certain cultural nuances that are crucial to the identity of a nation. Thus, instead of blindly mimicking these ideas, there is a need to filter, adapt, and apply them thoughtfully to make them fit into the social climate.
I remain in my room, sticky with sweat, my hair frizzy after tossing and turning, as the electric fan rattles furiously and fails to keep up. Cardigans, sweater vests, and pumpkin spice lattes mock me from the screen as I stare at what they say I should be. This is the reality. Unless I choose to crack open my door to amplify the distinct voices that take on the difficult task of dictating how we are perceived, I am Sisyphus, continuously rolling my boulder only to tumble back down once more, a failure. In my mind’s eye, I am a girl standing five feet and seven inches tall, brown-haired, green-eyed, picking out her fall outfit comprising sweaters, scarves, and knee-high, burgundy boots to combat the cold. This image of an autumn girl, a cookie-cut reminder of what I am not — will remain a thorn in my side — making a fool of me so long as I allow it to.
*This essay underwent minor copy editing by The Science Scholar Staff.
