So sanggibo ā ranon na piatai ā satiman ā tadĕman.
When I
first heard this, I assumed it’s a walk in the park. Let's try a translation,
nice and easy:
A thousand cares is killed by a single hurt.
Oh-huh.
What do we have here? I'm beginning to smell rat, I daresay. The question begs
itself: Whose POV was this spoken? Is it from the point of view of the one who
brought all the cares (a thousand cares at that and maybe still counting) or
the one who was hurt? In short, who has an ax to grind? Was the hurt
fatal that it cancels out the thousand cares? Or was it merely a gripe that it
was only made as an excuse.
It
isn’t clear. It could swing either way.
The
proverb is neutrally said from the point of view of a disinterested third party
or maybe a go-between who laments the break up between the two lovers because
he wanted them to make up so he can have the choice cut of the carabao to be
slaughtered on the eve of the wedding that now is in limbo.
For
the sheer fun of it, let’s butt in and introduce some colors to the sepia:
A thousand cares is snuffed out by a single gripe.
A
keyword here is satiman(single) to
emphasize the alone-ness of the gripe. I don’t feel comfortable at all
with the word piatay (killed) so we can
drop it in favor of snuff because in the
modern era, the dominant means of killing is the gun, but snuff is just as instant but more evocative
like the wind snuffing out a candle’s flame. In addition, to turn off any
device, the Maranao uses the word bono
which is a synonym for piatay. This is
the genius of his language.
I also
toyed with the word erase but
I feel the image's dismissal rather gradual.
The
most critical word here is tadĕman. Tadĕman
used in the negative is bitterness. Tadĕman
could also mean a remembrance. From the point of view of the guy who was
cherishing, a gripe is not much of a bitterness. So to him, it doesn’t justify
snuffing out a patiently built love.
Interpreted
this way, the proverb could be referring to the woes a lover is experiencing,
who had patiently built his reputation and caring for the object of his love.
And after pooling all his thousand-care eggs in one basket (hers), with just
one misstep—pow!—he was rebuffed. Everything he had worked painstakingly was
cancelled out by a one silly mistake. I figure that the woman is not sincere at
all from the get-go; she was just hanging out, waiting for an excuse to happen
to get rid of the poor lover. Maybe she saw him kiss an old friend on the cheek
or shared an umbrella with an office mate and she would entertain no
explanation.
Another
word that could come in handy here is to use the word squelch or squash which
is very colorful indeed—as in rubbing it in (the pain). Thus:
A thousand cares is squelched by a single gripe.
If the
ancients were alive today, they would as likely dig for this:
So sanggibo ā ranon na kidĕs ā satiman ā tadĕman.
I kind
of like this improvisation because it emphasizes the absurdity and unfairness
of the girl's decision. You squelch an insect, an ant or a lice with your
thumb. But here the odds are stack against the thumb 1:1,000.
So far
so good.
But
then let’s not forget the woman’s standpoint. So, taking her POV, we get:
A thousand cherish is killed by a single bitterness.
Okay,
the man may be caring alright in all ways, and they were engaged, the wedding
had been set (the go-between is anticipating his carabao meat) except that the
day before she saw him with another woman getting into a cab. She followed them
and saw the two ended up in a motel with a glowing neon marquee on it. This one
is fatal. Kaput.
Pitting
one against one thousand is also found in other ancient sayings. “A journey of
a thousand miles begins with a single step,” said Lao Tzu. And of course we
have the Arabian tales of A Thousand and One
Nights told by Scheherazade.
Oh, I
don't know. The old folks who must have had originally said this proverb
certainly had an ax to grind. In the olden days a rebuffed young man
resorts to challenging his love rival in a duel to the death. This is not your
average cowboy Western gunslinger duel. This is the cut-and-slash dance of kris
and kampilan. By the way, did you read about the Spaniard who challenged the
Coralat of Combés, Sultan Qudrat himself, in a duel? If you’re merely relying
on your school textbook, which during my high school days was mainly by Zaide,
then you probably haven’t come across it.
The
story was that the young Spaniard was thoroughly drunk when he issued the
challenge.
I
found one of his kind the other night at a dive in Timog, Quezon City. The
bartender refused to give him one more drink. “Go home,” he told him. “Sleep on
it.” His butt was slipping off the high stool of the bar, so I yanked him
upright just in time as I entered. He looked at me with glazed eyes, and it
took time for his eyes to focus before he recognized me. He was not the one in
our proverb, but he was an old friend. The story in Marawi was that he had been
outbid by a rival in the dowry, so he was drowning himself with San Miguel.
Short
of hauling him, I dragged him outside the bistro. He was etching for a brawl and I had to take him away. It was already past midnight,
windy, and dark clouds scudding across a full moon overhead. I could not reveal his name, but he got the moniker "GC" from the lost girl, short for "Grenade Catcher." She can't get enough telling everyone that when she asked him how far he would go for her, he replied a Bruno Mars: "I'll catch a grenade for you." Cute line, I'd say. He was sobbing by the asphalt road as we were flagging for a ride. "Hell," he said now, by way of update, "I would have eaten even a volley from an RPG, if she had asked." "Dismiss her, man" I said, "she's worth a nothing."
A few minutes of waiting, then a cab stopped for us. We got in. My friend had
mellowed somewhat but not quite. We drove away. It was a Saturday when most radio
station played the oldies. Dr. Love had just finished giving a thrashing lecture on a lovelorn listener, and to soothe her, he played a song by way of intermezzo. It didn’t help my friend’s mood on the deserted road. "All is
fair in love, love's the crazy game, two people vowed to stay…"
Yes,
all in love is fair. Either way, it’s your POV.
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