The stroy of a concealable stigma*

The X-Men film series has decided to move forward by looking to the past. The latest installment, X-Men Origins: Wolverine, is a prequel that discusses the genesis of Wolverine, perhaps the most charismatic and relatable of the mutant characters. We learn who Wolverine is and how he comes to be the intriguing and internally conflicted enigma presented in earlier films. The film predominately focuses upon the evolution of his physical indestructibility, as we are introduced to Wolverine the research subject whose skeletal structure becomes bonded with a rare and ipowerful metal known as adamantium. Embedded in the subtext of this film is an issue of great social importance and psychological weight. This issue explains both the success of the X-Men movies and why Wolverine is a unique character deserving of his own story. Below the idiosyncratic superpowers, awesome fighting abilities and witty one-liners of the X-Men, are personalities embattled by stigma. Mutants just want to be normal in a world that insists on labeling and treating them as abnormal.

The real conflict is not between one mutant and another as the film presupposes, but between mutants as a group and the rest of society, and the battle is for the acceptance and affection that all humans need to live in happiness. In the psychological literature this type of dilemma is known as a concealable stigma. Historically, groups like African-Americans or the handicapped have suffered because of a minority identity that can be visibly identified. You can’t walk into a room and hide the fact that you are black. However, in recent decades, research has investigated populations who can walk into a room and hide their stigma, such as closeted homosexuals or those that have been institutionalized for mental illness. On the surface, such identity-presentation flexibility may seem like a benefit, but emerging research is suggesting the groups that can opt for the closet may actually face greater mental health difficulties, all of which span across the cognitive, social and emotional spheres of functioning. In addition to the stress of stereotypes, discrimination and hate crimes, concealable stigma populations must construct an identity without explicit social feedback and manage an identity that is under constant threat of being uncovered. Evidence of the heightened mental health consequences may exist in theories of self-esteem that claim the more you are rejected by others in childhood (i.e. parents and peers), the more your sense of self becomes dependent upon those prejudiced external standards as well as regulation theories that suggest that when you exert energy pretending to be someone you are not, you have less cognitive resources left over to enact optimal performance in other facets of life.

Learning to construct and manage a clear and stable identity is the hidden goal of each mutant, but this psychological dilemma and struggle is most vividly embodied in Wolverine. In between car chases, gun fights and explosions, we see Wolverine’s chiseled shoulders slumped in despair, his hairy brow furrowed in anguish. These emotionally charged moments depict an individual grappling with a concealable stigma.

Imagine you are gay and nobody else knows it. You may not know who is going to accept and reject you, or for that matter, whether life will be better lived in the closet or out. There are two basic paths to take - self-acceptance which leads to a coherent identity or self-rejection which leads to a fractured one. When Wolverine isn’t defending himself against Stryker, he sits at this crossroad. As with all internal wrestling matches, there is an angel and a devil on each shoulder. The wrestling match is unintentionally manifested in the form of two other central characters. The devil is Wolverine’s older brother, Victor (later to become Sabertooth). He represents self-rejection, as he seems to be fully persuaded by the negative societal message that equates being different with being monstrous. In the beginning of the film, he behaves like a monster: killing innocent civilians and capturing fellow mutants. Reflected in this destructive path of self-rejection are many psychological symptoms: he is quick to feel abandoned, he is easily brainwashed into betraying his personal moral code and he is dominated by feelings of loneliness and anger. The angel is Wolverine’s girlfriend, Kayla Silverfox, who translates the societal message into, “to be different is to be unique and worthy.” She accepts and embraces Wolverine’s mutant identity, helps him to assimilate into the mainstream and solves problems peacefully. Contentment, tranquility and a life lived in-line with true values are all by-products of this path toward self-acceptance. As it happens, the mutant civil war depicted in the film series, in this case between Wolverine and Victor, may serve as a decent metaphor for the internal battle waged within an individual with a concealable stigma. Before this person can get down to the business of living a happy life he/she must resolve the conflicted aspects of self.

Throughout the film external pressures cause Wolverine to vacillate over this psychological issue - is he a monster or is he a unique human being? This is the pivotal question and one the film cements as unanswered once Wolverine’s memory is erased. We know from the previous three films that Wolverine continues to lead the fight against those mutants that seek war with society and assimilated mutants. Rejection versus Acceptance. This leaves little time to explore who he is and how he can peacefully negotiate his assimilation into the only world that exists. Perhaps the fifth film will tackle this weighty question, but until then we must continue to be saddened by a restless, conflicted and unfulfilled Wolverine.

*

 

peculiar hero

I saw him this very morning as I was getting into my way to the office. It was really unexpected. Long before the semester ends, I intend to keep up with him - to have a minute or two and know about him. I wanted to have a feeling what is it like to sit beside him and perhaps, understand the oddities of his supposed realities.

I always saw him walking, but most of the time, standing, along the pathways of Sunken Garden in Diliman. He was not very difficult to spot. One could even recognize him from afar. This morning, he still is in his usual fashion - a stand out, unique of our time though seemingly, an eyebrow-raiser. I guessed he really does not care about what others would might think about him. More so if does entertain the thought of it.

His is fascinating. Though I’ve known a lot of people like him, I actually never met one of his kind. I’m intrigued, to say atleast. I wanted him to satisfy my curiosity. I had looked for him since I started to realized such wonder and peculiarity of human life. I always had my eye open. I had the opportunities before; everytime a colleague and I would jogged around the oval in the afternoon. We would passed him. But I did not have the courage then to approach him since I am uncertain of his reaction, of other’s people thought when I talk to him. It isn’t his fault if he makes my pal uncomfortable just like the others.

I would like to know what he is thinking - what he is capable of thinking, his plans. I would like to know how does he spend his every single day in the manner he had become and life puts him into. I would like to understand him - why’s and how’s….But I never did. I lost sight of him. When the time that I were already determined and willed enough to talk to him, he was gone. He no longer stands across the building. He could not be seen. I searched for him but no one knew where he lives - he is a wanderer, they would say. I heard stories about him - his family and how he become to be what he is now, but all of these are myths.

Until today, I saw him again. It brings again into my consciousness the want that I temporarily forgotten. It reminded me. There he was. Striding as if no cars are crossing along the street. He walked like the wind his carrying his feet - not minding the trouble he would get into every time he passes by. Just the usual, he wore his masks, his cloak and his superpowers. There was Zorro. The one who ignited my curiosity about schizophrenia.

peculiar hero

peculiar hero

Photo from http://media.photobucket.com/image/zorro%25253B%20diliman/CarloNasol/ZORRO2.jpg

visualizing my thoughts

 with every dusk at each day’s end,

comes a new hope, a new beginning to all those who wait for the dawn…

upon the vastness of uncertainties

 

 

 

 

 

 

lies ahead is one’s destination…everything always has an end.

     and as we journey to life

 

 

 

 

 

 

we could stumble and fall…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

nota simple

Enero de 2006, que era la vez pasada lo oí. Esto era quizás el tiempo incorrecto para mí para ofrecer adiós pero yo no podía mentirle entonces. Hice daño a él, una vez. Pero allí él era, permaneció el daño fiel hasta maldito y su ego se magulló. Hice daño a él, dos veces, entonces él se marchó. Lo aparté. Yo no estaba seguro lo que era mi razón primaria entonces. Yo tenía muchos de ellos, aturdido. Pero una cosa que yo podría recordar consiste en que dejé van porque me costó devolver el amor que él ofrece. Ahora, después de todos estos años, él se quedó. Verdadero a sus palabras que él va a permaneció al lado de mí. Morar para siempre dentro de su misma alma. Él volvió.

 

Todavía soy magullado por el pasado pero decidí dar la bienvenida a la nueva vida de cosas me da ahora. No quiero cernerme ya que quise vivir y dejar a la segunda posibilidad que giré lejos hasta mí ahora. Moví el que ya, pero los escombros del pasado todavía están aquí. El fuego fue extinguido ya pero las cenizas permanecieron. Di la bienvenida a usted no aunque barrer las cenizas. Pero espero que usted pudiera dejar al viento llevárselos antes de que yo pudiera construir otra vez algo allí con usted.

Pasensiya na sa mga mistakes that I have committed while trying to express myself in Spanish. I could barely remember my Spanish lesson.

a poem

A Poem for My Jo*
When the night starts to swallow the day’s sun, i’ll be here.
When the aria of sadness fills the air, i’ll be here.
When u need someone to talk to, i’ll be here.
When u need someone to sing for you, i’ll be here.
Time may pass, but i’ll still be here.
In your heart, i’ll forever dwell.
I may be far, but i am close to you too.
For my love, jo, has never left you.
The letters you sent, i sleep with at night.
Coz they’re my dreammakers, they’re you by my side.
The photos of u i have, smiles back at me.
Photos of pulchritude, they give me serenity.
Ego amo te semper, my jo, it is true.
*it had yellowed while faithfully sitting and lying inside the old man’s chest. time had passed but it there remained, left and undisturbed. now, it lives out the dust whilst welcoming the bright light

til its finally over

perhaps i could now have my head up and confidently say, “the book has been closed and im done with its last page”. this is an epilogue. it is over now for me and to all those people i have inconvienced with the whims and the mischiefs i have had during one of my weakest point in time (yes, mind you, i were weak then), im sorry. on one hand, thanks pals for beating me up making me reliaze that partly, i have a fair share of everything - that it will always takes two to tango…

im done. im over. its over. the end.

however, i am not ready yet to start another book. i just want to enjoy the moment of idleness in my life and the solitude company of my ownself. i said it’s over but there were still debris of the past and the memory of the lines the story was made up. that i want to forget as i am lingering and wandering off all by myself…

random thoughts

i really hate to write at this point of time because i cannot be that objective. i am in rage right now. not really that furious, but getting to my boiling point already.

anybody, this is just my initial reaction to a thread of comment into another network site just like this which was forwarded by a friend. the point is not actually whether what meduim of instruction is the most efficient tool in uplifting education. anyway, whether english or tagalog or filipino, as long as the teacher could actually relate and transmit the knowledge or hatver information, or perhaps learning, to the students effectively.

as for me, i would actually suggest that the education system should not adopt a single language, ergo, tagalog or filipino, as the meduim of instruction contrary to the pending bill in the congress advocating for english as the meduim of instruction in all levels. bear in mind also that we as nation is diverse in culture including our tongues. we have so many dialects that most of the indigenous communities are actually more well versed in english than in tagalog. this is not to say however that i am for english.

no, my position is, kung ilocano or bisaya or maranao ang mas naiintindihan ng estudyante at mas nakakatulong sa kanilang pag-aaral, bakit mo ipagpipilitan ang tagalog o ingles!!! yun lang ang akin…

p.s. do not speak as you do know what is best for the rest of the community especially if you had been living in the four walls of your comfort zone.

hurot na…

ito ang isa sa mga bagong salita na natutunan ko dito sa cebu. funny it was na sa energizer pa. hahaha anyway, it just means, wala na… i do not exactly understand…or let us say, since we filipinos most of the time do not use the word or phrase as they were coined originally, i am not sure if i am or will be using it like the native folks.

it’s over. i wanted to be over him…

it’s finished. yes, us is finished. after all, wala namang “tayo” eh…we were never been together…

hurot na. yes, i know. it still a wishful thinking… something that i have tried to do years back but i failed… and now, i am still suffering because i cannot really say “hurot na”…

worst, i am not even sure if i want to stop - if i want it to be all gone…

an sms

“once there was a butterfly in my palm,

but i let it flew…

not because i do not love it,

but because i wanted it to enjoy the flowers and the bees.

keeping it in my palm won’t make it the best butterfly it can be,

so from a distance, i’m happier watching it fly and play in the garden while the sun is shining…

because when the rain comes,

i know, if it truly loves me,

it will fly back to me.”

wala lang

i do good things sometimes.

however, i don’t do it just to have a good impression. i don’t give a damn if people will like it or not. the hell i care with turn ons and turn offs.

i prefer to be seen at my worst attitude - no pretentions. not to be disliked not disgusted.

rather, to be accepted despite having the worst of my kind.