27/08/2025
MY LINGGO NG WIKA STORY
When I think of Linggo ng Wika, one memory always stands out. I was in 2nd year high school, and like most schools, we celebrated it with contests that showcased our culture—folk dances, poetry recitations, and Filipino song competitions.
Unfortunately for me, I was the class clown. My teacher, probably tired of my antics, decided to teach me a lesson. Out of all the students, she picked me to join the singing contest. The twist? I had to sing a Filipino song with a minus-one tape—and the contest was the very next day.
The problem was, I didn’t really sing, and worse, I didn’t even know where to find a minus-one track. Back then, you couldn’t just search on YouTube or Spotify. Everything had to be bought, borrowed, or begged for. Our small cassette player at home played mostly my dad’s music—The Cascades, The Platters, Engelbert Humperdinck, and of course, the entire comedic repertoire of Yoyoy Villame and Max Surban. Not exactly a goldmine for Tagalog ballads.
Frustrated, I went to a classmate who lived nearby. Luckily, he had one tape—but it only featured one artist. I wasn’t familiar with the lyrics, but I had no choice. Something was better than nothing, especially with my teacher’s wrath waiting if I didn’t show up.
The next day, the school gym was packed. Everyone was there: students, teachers, even parents. Contestants were lined up at the back of the stage. As my turn drew near, my nervousness climbed higher than ever. Then I noticed something else—every contestant was dressed for the occasion: barong, baro’t saya, even kimona. Meanwhile, there I was: jeans, a white T-shirt, a sleeveless jacket, and a bonnet. Para akong tanga.
When they called my name—“From 2nd Year Venus!”—my heart dropped. My classmates were already laughing, and the murmurs in the audience made me want to disappear. But there was no turning back. I held the microphone, the music started, and the crowd erupted into more laughter as they recognized the intro of the song.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I told myself, 'If you can’t run, then stand your ground'. I pictured myself rooted firmly to the floor, like a tree refusing to bend even as the storm howls. My voice wasn’t perfect, my hands were shaking, but I sang anyway.
As the chorus came, something that i didn't expected, the crowd that laughed at me began to sing along...
Magkahawak ang ating kamay
At walang kamalay-malay
Na tinuruan mo ang puso ko
Na umibig na tunay...
La-la-la-la, la-la, la-la, la-la-la...
And right there, everything shifted. It didn’t matter that I was out of tune or parang tanga. What mattered was that I stood there, unafraid, and turned what could have been my most embarrassing moment into one of my proudest.
Looking back, I realized that day wasn’t just about a contest. It was about facing fear head-on and finding strength when you least expect it. Maybe that’s why we celebrate Buwan ng Wika—to remind us that language and culture are not just about songs and costumes; they are about identity, courage, and showing up even when you feel unprepared. Manuel L. Quezon once dreamed of Filipinos who were strong and unyielding, capable of standing tall through storms. And maybe, in my own awkward way, that’s what I learned to be that day.
And of course, Ang Huling El Bimbo will always remind me that some moments stay with us forever—not because they were perfect, but because they taught us something. Just like the song’s bittersweet message, some lessons come wrapped in laughter and a little embarrassment, but they stay in your heart for life.
-Bodyguard ni DJ Xiomara (August 28, 2025)
![[ORIGINALLY POSTED APRIL 11, 2015]Sa Grade 3 pa ko nipalit akong papa ug cassette player kay nahatagan siya ug bonus sa ...](https://img4.medioq.com/606/195/1128282226061959.jpg)
