Documenti di Didattica
Documenti di Professioni
Documenti di Cultura
Grade/Section: ___________________________
I. Directions/Instructions.
The diversity and richness of Philippine literature evolved side by side with the
country's history. This can best be appreciated in the context of the country's pre-colonial
cultural traditions and the socio-political histories of its colonial and contemporary
traditions. The average Filipino's unfamiliarity with his indigenous literature was largely due
to what has been impressed upon him: that his country was "discovered" and, hence,
Philippine "history" started only in 1521.
During the Pre-Colonial Period, inhabitants of our islands showcase a rich past
through their folk speeches, folk songs, folk narratives and indigenous rituals and mimetic
dances that affirm our ties with our Southeast Asian neighbors. The most seminal of these
folk speeches is the riddle which is tigmo in Cebuano, bugtong in Tagalog, paktakon in
Ilongo and patototdon in Bicol. Examples of these epics are the Lam-ang (Ilocano);
Hinilawod (Sulod); Kudaman (Palawan); Darangen (Maranao); Ulahingan (Livunganen-
Arumanen Manobo); Mangovayt Buhong na Langit (The Maiden of the Buhong Sky from
Tuwaang--Manobo); Ag Tobig neg Keboklagan (Subanon); and Tudbulol (T'boli).
While it is true that Spain subjugated the Philippines for more mundane reasons, this
former European power contributed much in the shaping and recording of our literature.
Religion and institutions that represented European civilization enriched the languages in the
lowlands, introduced theater which we would come to know as komedya, the sinakulo, the
sarswela, the playlets and the drama. Literature in this period may be classified as religious
prose and poetry and secular prose and poetry. Religious lyrics written by ladino poets or
those versed in both Spanish and Tagalog were included in early catechism and were used to
teach Filipinos the Spanish language.
A new set of colonizers brought about new changes in Philippine literature. New
literary forms such as free verse [in poetry], the modern short story and the critical essay
were introduced. American influence was deeply entrenched with the firm establishment of
English as the medium of instruction in all schools and with literary modernism that
highlighted the writer's individuality and cultivated consciousness of craft, sometimes at the
expense of social consciousness.
While in Japanese Literary Period, the common theme of most poems during the
Japanese occupation was nationalism, country, love, and life in the barrios, faith, religion
and the arts. Three types of poems emerged during this period: Haiku - a poem of free verse
that the Japanese like. It was made up of 17 syllables divided into three lines. The first line
had 5 syllables, the second, 7 syllables, and the third, five. The Haiku is allegorical in
meaning, is short and covers a wide scope in meaning; Tanaga - like the Haiku, is short but
it had measure and rhyme. Each line had 17 syllables and it’s also allegorical in meaning;
and the Usual Forms (Karaniwang Anyo) of literature during the other literary periods prior
this era.
During the Contemporary Period, the flowering of Philippine literature in the various
languages continue especially with the appearance of new publications after the Martial Law
years and the resurgence of committed literature in the 1960s and the 1970s. Filipino writers
continue to write poetry, short stories, novellas, novels and essays whether these are socially
committed, gender/ethnic related or are personal in intention or not.
For the reading materials, you can access them ate the references on the next page.
Procedure:
1. Using the table below, encircle all the five (5) literary periods in the Philippines.
Guide Questions:
1. How are these words classified as to their parts of speech?
2. How can we use these words in the present century we are living in?
Activity 2: Literature Through Time
Objective: 1. Describe the different literatures of the five (5) literary periods in the
Philippines.
Procedure:
1. After reading the five (5) literatures, describe them using a Venn diagram focusing on
theme, character, plot and setting.
Objective 2:
Match the literary pieces (Column A) with their correspondent Philippine literary periods
(Column B) by writing the letter of the correct answer on the space provided. Write using
capital letters.
Column A Column B
_____ 1. Biag ni Lam-Ang A. American Period
_____ 2. Malinac Lay Labi B. Japanese Period
_____ 3. Footnote to Youth C. Spanish Period
_____ 4. Haiku D. Pre-Colonial
_____ 5. Bayan Ko E. Contemporary Period
Example:
Guide Question:
1. What elements of literature are comparable and are different across the five (5) Literary
Periods in the Philippines?
Rubrics:
Key Answer:
Activity 2.2
1. D
2. C
3. A
4. B
5. E
IV: References
Gonzalo Flores, Ildefonso Santos & Rodolfo Rosales, “Haikus,” accessed May 30, 2020
https://www.tagaloglang.com/tutubi-haiku/
Writer:
Andrei V. Batalla
Name: __________________________________ Date: ___________________
Grade/Section: ___________________________
I. Directions/Instructions.
Francisco Sionil José (born 3 December 1924) is one of the most widely read
Filipino writers in the English language. His novels and short stories depict the social
underpinnings of class struggles and colonialism in Filipino society. José's works—written
in English—have been translated into 28 languages, including Korean, Indonesian, Czech,
Russian, Latvian, Ukrainian and Dutch. José was born in Rosales, Pangasinan, the setting of
many of his stories. He spent his childhood in Barrio Cabugawan, Rosales, where he first
began to write. José is of Ilocano descent whose family had migrated to Pangasinan prior to
his birth. Fleeing poverty, his forefathers traveled from Ilocos towards Cagayan Valley
through the Santa Fe Trail. Like many migrant families, they brought their lifetime
possessions with them, including uprooted molave posts of their old houses and their alsong,
a stone mortar for pounding rice.
Carlos Sampayan Bulosan (November 24, 1913[1] – September 11, 1956) was an
English-language Filipino novelist and poet who immigrated to America on July 1, 1930. He
never returned to the Philippines and he spent most of his life in the United States. His best-
known work today is the semi-autobiographical America Is in the Heart, but he first gained
fame for his 1943 essay on The Freedom from Want. Bulosan was born to Ilocano parents in
the Philippines in Binalonan, Pangasinan. There is considerable debate around his actual
birth date, as he himself used several dates. 1911 is generally considered to be the most
reliable answer, based on his baptismal records, but according to the late Lorenzo Duyanen
Sampayan, his childhood playmate and nephew, Carlos was born on November 2, 1913.
Most of his youth was spent in the countryside as a farmer. It is during his youth that he and
his family were economically impoverished by the rich and political elite, which would
become one of the main themes of his writing. His home town is also the starting point of
his famous semi-autobiographical novel, America is in the Heart.
1. Disastrous
a. causing great damage.
b. extremely unfortunate or unsuccessful.
c. involving or causing sudden great damage or suffering
2. Prodigal
a. having or giving something on a lavish scale.
b. using or expending something of value carelessly
c. lacking restraint in spending money or using resources
3. Heavenward
a. of very great size or extent
b. a very tall building of many stories
c. directed or moving toward heaven or the sky
4. Radiance
a. the partial or total absence of light
b. the time between evening and morning
c. light or heat as emitted or reflected by something
5. Peasant
a. deprived of strength or vitality
b. a poor farmer of low social status
c. lacking sufficient money to live at a standard
Guide Questions:
1. How are these words classified as to their parts of speech?
2. How can we use these words in the present century we are living in?
Procedure:
1. After reading the writings of Francisco Sionil Jose and Carlos P. Bulosan on the link
provided, describe and do a comparison of the two authors from Pangasinan focusing on
their style.
Objective 2: Relate the literary pieces of the two authors in your life as a student, as a son,
and as a friend.
Procedure:
1. In order for you to relate the literary pieces of Francisco Sionil Jose and Carlos P. Bulosan, write a
short essay focusing on the comparisons as a student, as a son, and as a friend. Write your essay in
not less than 5 paragraphs, with at least 2 sentences per paragraph using the English language.
Objective: 1.
Guide Question:
1. What elements of literature are comparable and are different between the writings of
Francisco Sionil Jose and Carlos P. Bulosan?
2. Interview your mother/father/guardian about his/her fondest memories of her and you as a
child.
Procedure:
1. Write a short comparison and contrast between the writings of Francisco Sionil Jose and
Carlos P. Bulosan. Write your answer in not less than 5 sentences using the English
language.
2. From the interview with your mother/father/guardian, write a short essay on you
childhood memories with either one of them. Write in not less than 10 sentences using the
English language.
Key Answer:
Activity 1.1:
1. A
2. A
3. C
4. C
5. B.
IV: References
Francisco Sionil Jose, “Sense of the City: Manila,” accessed May 30, 2020
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/3109471.stm
Carlos P. Bulosan, “Now That You Are Still,” accessed May 30, 2020
http://www.oovrag.com/poems/poems2011c-bulosan1.shtml
Writer:
Andrei V. Batalla
Name: __________________________________ Date: ___________________
Grade/Section: ___________________________
I. Directions/Instructions.
Read an analyze both poems
I do know English.
I do know English for I have something to say about this latest peace stirring between a
crack that’s split a sidewalk traversing a dusty border melting at noon beneath an impassive
sun.
I do know English and, therefore, when hungry, can ask for more than minimum wage,
pointing repeatedly at my mouth and yours.
Such a gesture can only mean what it means: I do not want to remain hungry and I am
looking at your mouth.
I shall call you “Master” with a lack of irony; lift my cotton blouse; cup my breasts to offer
them to your eyes, your lips, your tongue; keen at the moon hiding at 11 a.m. to surface left
tendon on my neck. For your teeth. And so on.
I do know English. Therefore I can explain this painting of a fractured grid as the persistent
flux of our “selves” as time unfolds.
There is a way to speak of our past or hopes for the future, the hot-air balloon woven from a
rainbow’s fragments now floating over St. Helena; your glasses I nearly broke when,
afterwards, you flung me to the floor as violence is extreme and we demand the extreme
from each other; your three moans in a San Francisco hallway after I fell to my knees; your
silence in New York as I knocked on your door. There is a way to articulate your silence—a
limousine running over a child on the streets of Manila and Shanghai. And Dubai.
There is a way to joke about full-haired actors running for President and the birth of a new
American portrait: “Tight as a Florida election.”
I do know English and so cannot comprehend why you write me no letters even as you
unfailingly read mine.
Those where I write of the existence of a parallel universe to create a haven when your
silence persists in this world I was forced to inherit.
Which does not mean I cannot differentiate between a reflection and a shadow, a threnody
and a hiccup, the untrimmed bougainvillea bush mimicking a fire and the lawn lit by a
burning cross.
I can prove Love exists by measuring increased blood flow to the brain’s anterior cingulated
cortex, the middle insula, the putamen and the caudate nucleus.
Nor is “putamen” a pasta unless I confirm to you that my weak eyesight misread
“puttanesca” as the crimson moon began to rise, paling as it ascends for fate often exacts a
price.
I can see an almond eye peer behind the fracture on a screen and know it is not you from the
wafting scent of crushed encomiums.
I can remind you of the rose petals I mailed to you after releasing them from the padded cell
between my thighs.
I slipped the petals inside a cream envelope embossed in gold with the seal of a midtown
Manhattan hotel whose façade resembles a seven-layered wedding cake. Which we shall
share only through the happiness of others. Which does not cancel Hope.
I can recite all of your poems as I memorized them through concept as well as sound.
I speak of a country disappearing and the impossibility of its replacement except within the
tobacco-scented clench of your embrace.
I can tell you I am weary of games, though they continue. Manila’s streets are suffused with
protesters clamoring for an adulterer’s impeachment. Their t-shirts are white to symbolize
their demand for “purity.” Space contains all forms, which means it lack geometry. My lucid
tongue has tasted the dust from monuments crumbling simply because seasons change.
Because I do know English, I have been variously called Miss Slanted Vagina, The Mail
Order Bride, The One With The Shoe Fetish, The Squat Brunette Who Wears A Plaid Blazer
Over A Polka-Dot Blouse, The Maid.
When I hear someone declare war while observing a yacht race in San Diego, I understand
how “currency” becomes “debased.”
They have named it The Tension Between The Popular Vote And The Electoral College.
I do know English.
II. Activity 1: Understanding Authors
Objectives:
1. Understand the lives of both female authors from two different literary authors.
2. Using the words below lifted from the poem ‘I do’ by Eileen R. Tabios, write the
definition and write a complete sentence using the English language: Wafting, Caudate and
Suffused.
Procedure:
1. Research about the lives of Leona Florentino and Eileen R. Tabios. Once done
researching, write things about their lives are similar and are different. Write your
comparisons and contrasts in not less than 5 paragraphs, with at least 2 sentences per
paragraph using the English language.
Guide Questions:
1. What are the things common and are different between the two authors?
2. How can we use these words in the present century we are living in?
Example:
Procedure:
1. Create a semantic map using elements you have written in your comparison and contrast
as basis for this activity
Objective 2:
After reading the two literary pieces, what traditions were shown in the piece and can still be
observed today? Write at least 5 and give an example each.
Procedure:
After reading the two literary pieces, what traditions were shown in the piece and can still be
observed today? Write at least 5 and give an example each. Write in not less than 5 paragraphs,
wherein 1 paragraph is composed of one tradition and at least one example. Do this activity using the
English language.
Guide Question:
1. What elements of these literatures are comparable and are different along elements and
structures?
2. Are these elements and structures still relevant for today?
3. Why is that female author your teacher’s favorite?
4. What factors could you also like about the author?
Key Answer:
Activity 2.2
1. D
2. C
3. A
4. B
5. E
IV: References
Writer:
Andrei V. Batalla
Name: __________________________________ Date: ___________________
Grade/Section: ___________________________
I. Directions/Instructions.
Read the short story for this activity.
One night, when it was particularly unbearable, Papa mustered enough courage and called
out. “Excuse me!” he said. “Our family would like to sleep, please? Resume your banging
tomorrow!” Of course, we had tried restraining him for we didn’t know how the elves would
react to such audacity.
We got the shock of our lives when silence suddenly filled the house–no more banging, no
more stomping from the elves. Papa turned to us smugly. Sheepishly, we turned in for the
night, thankful for the respite.
When dawn came, the smug look on Papa’s face the night before turned into anger for
shortly before six, the banging started again, and louder this time! We got up and tried
speaking to the elves but got no response. The banging continued all day and into the night,
and stopped at the same hour–eleven o’clock. And at exactly six a.m. the next day, it started
again.
Papa tried to call an albularyo to get rid of our unwelcome housemates but the woman was
booked till the end of the week. Meanwhile, the elves had become our alarm clock. When
they start their noise, we would get up and do our errands. Papa would start cooking, I
would start setting the table, Mama would sweep. The whole house–my older sister and my
cousin would water the plants, and my brother would start coloring his books. (We really
didn’t expect him to work, he was only four.)
After a week, we got hold of the albularyo. She spent the night in our house and by morning,
she told us to never bother her again. The elves had already made themselves a part of our
life, she said. Prax, the leader of the elves, had spoken to her and had told her that his family
had no plans of moving out. They liked things as they were.
We eventually settled down to a comfortable coexistence with the elves. They woke us up at
six, they let us sleep at eleven, and in return for the alarm service we would leave food on
the table. By morning, the food would be gone and the table cleaned.
After three weeks–the first week of May–I met Prax, the leader and oldest in the clan, and I
met him literally by accident. I was climbing the mango tree in our yard when one of its
branches broke. I fell and broke my ankle. The pain was so great that I just sat there numb,
staring at my ankle which had begun to turn blue. I could not move or cry out. I went to
sleep to forget the pain. My last conscious thought was that the ground was too cold to sleep
on.
Although I was curious, I kept my eyes closed. I imagined a hideously deformed face, with
long and sharp teeth. Would he disappear when I open my eyes? Or would he devour me? I
pretended to be asleep.
After several minutes, I could pretend no longer; I was too curious to remain still. When I
opened my eyes, the horrible sight that I expected was not there. Instead, there was this old,
wrinkled creature, even shorter than I was although I was the smallest in my class. He wore
overalls unlike any clothing I knew of. Its texture was a mixture of green leaves and earth. It
clung to his skin and writhed with a life of its own. Its color continually changed from deep
to light green, to dark to light brown, and to green again. It was fascinating to look at. I felt a
sense of awe and respect towards the elf.
He was good with his hands. My ankle already felt better. He was massaging it with an
ointment that smelled nice. Before I could stop myself, I sniffed deeply, bringing the healing
aroma of the ointment deep into my lungs. Detecting my movement, the elf turned to me and
smiled kindly. Although I didn’t see his mouth moving, I could hear him talking.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. His voice was so soothing that I had to fight my urge to snuggle
and sleep in his small arms.
I shook my head slightly. What was I supposed to say? Hello, elf? How are you? I could not.
I didn’t even know if I was supposed to call him that or just say Tabi or Apo.
As if knowing what I was thinking, the elf smiled again. “You call our kind dwendes or
elves, no?” I nodded. “I actually don’t mind if you call me an elf, but please call me Prax.”
Seeing my astonished look, Prax laughed. His laugh sounded like the whistling of wind
through the trees and a bit like the breaking of the waves on the seashore. I thought it nice
and longed to hear more. And I wanted to know more about his kind. Did they have
children? Wives? Did they play games like patintero? Habulan?
But Prax was not in the mood to chat. He told me that I should have been more careful. I
could have been seriously hurt.
I nodded absently, thinking that I liked his clothes, his laugh, and his voice. He reminded me
of my grandfather who had died a long time ago.
I closed my eyes, letting Prax’s healing massage lull me to sleep. Thirty minutes later when
I woke up, the elf was gone. Only the lingering fragrance of his balm remained.
When Mama and Papa arrived, I told them what had happened. It was really frustrating
seeing their reactions. They became pale, then collapsed on the sofa. I had to douse them
with water before they revived. Why couldn’t they be like other people and be glad that I
had been befriended by a supernatural being? I had told them about my first encounter with
a real elf, and they fainted on the spot! I sulked for the rest of the evening.
Mama told me to never, never talk to elves again. Or did I forget the countless tales of elves
taking people to their kingdom after killing them? I just shrugged. After all, the elf had
saved my life!
I thought no more of it and, indeed, began to enjoy the banging and stomping on our ceiling.
I almost wished to be hurt again just so I could see Prax. But nothing happened and I passed
the rest of my summer days dreaming about playing with elves.
I met my second elf in school. I was in Grade 3, a transferee to a new public school that had
a haunted classroom. My classmates related tales about dwendes, white ladies, and kapres in
our school. I believed their stories readily.
I tried to tell them about Prax but since they were skeptical, I decided to let them be. As it
was, I was excluded from their games.
In the classroom, I chose the seat I felt was the most haunted, the one farthest away from the
teacher’s table. Nobody wanted to sit near me. Behind me was a picture of the president.
Without the company of my classmates, I expected elves to make their presence felt. So I
waited.
By the third month in class, it happened. We had a very difficult math exam. Our teacher left
us and went to gossip outside and all around me my classmates were openly copying each
other’s work. I looked at their papers from my seat, hoping that their scribbles would mean
something to me but the answers to the blasted long divisions eluded me. I looked at the
ceiling, trying to see if my brain would work better if my head was tilted a certain angle. It
did not. I looked to my right, nothing there. And finally, I looked down and saw this tiny
little elf, smaller than Prax by as much as six inches, sitting on the bag in front of me tap-
tapping his foot impatiently.
“What took you so long to notice? I’ve been here for hours!” he said.
What gall! Did he really think that his race would excuse his bad manners? I ignored him
and frowned at my test paper. What was 3996 divided by 6?
Immediately, he apologized and told me that his name was Bat. He had seen me play outside
and thought that I was beautiful, sensitive, and romantic. Did I want him to help me in my
test?
Me beautiful? I enthusiastically agreed to let him answer the test. I showed him my paper,
and he snorted. “For us elves, this is elementary!” he said. I wanted to tell him that to us
humans, these problems are also elementary, third-grade in fact, but I changed my mind.
Bat and I became friends. He helped me with my homework and gave me little things such
as colored pencils and stationery that were the craze in school. He cautioned me strongly
against telling my parents of my friendship with him. After all, he said, some people might
not understand our relationship. They might forbid us from seeing each other.
I thought nothing of it and kept silent about my friendship with Bat. I enjoyed his company,
for he was very thoughtful. He was a good friend and I thought we would be friends forever.
The time came, though, when he declared that he loved me. He wanted me to go with him to
his kingdom and be his princess. I refused, of course. For God’s sake, I was only nine! I
didn’t know how to cook or do the laundry or do the other things that wives are expected to
do. And he was an elf! Short as I was, he only came up to my knees. What a ridiculous
picture we would surely make. He pleaded with me for days but out of spite I told him that I
had already confided to my parents, and that they were very angry. It was not true, but Bat
didn’t know that. He got angry and launched into diatribes about promises being made and
broken. Then he vanished.
That night I dreamed that Prax talked to me. He told me that I should have never offended
Bat outright. “That elf is a stranger in our town,” he said. “We don’t know his family. He
might be violent.”
But I had already done what I had done and there was no use wishing otherwise. I told Prax
I’d never worry. After all, he’d always be there for me and my family, right?
“Wrong,” he said. His gift was for giving good luck and for healing minor, nonfatal injuries.
“What good is that for?” I asked. He couldn’t answer and left me to a dream of falling
houses and shrieking elves.
The next day, I got sick and did not get well even after the best doctor in town treated me.
My parents had grown desperate so the albularyo was called once more. She told my parents
to roast a whole cow, which they did willingly. The albularyo and her family feasted on it.
When I was still sick after a few days, she instructed my parents to cut my hair; she told
them that elves liked longhaired women. The problem was Bat liked my new look, and in
my dreams, he was always there, entreating me to go with him. I got sicker than ever.
The albularyo, getting an idea from a dream, then tried her last cure–an ointment taken from
the bark of seven old trees applied to my hair. It cost more than the cow and nobody could
enter my room without gagging. The smell was terrible. That did the trick. Apparently, Bat
was disgusted but he would stop at nothing to get me, even if it meant getting my family out
of the way. I told him again and again that I didn’t love him and would never go with him,
but the elf’s mind was set. In the end I just ignored him, for who could reason with an elf,
and a mad one at that?
He did not turn up in my dreams the next few nights. In a week, I was up and running again
and I thought that all was right. My parents decided that I should transfer to another school,
this time a sectarian school.
Then something happened. My mother had a miscarriage. People blamed the elves and
talked about it for a long time. I remember the sad and fearful looks of my parents every day
as they heard the banging on our ceiling. Were they friends or were they responsible for the
accident? I had never told them about Bat, who Prax said was the one behind all these
incidents.
Years passed, and since nothing untoward had happened since my mother’s miscarriage, we
began to let go of our fears. The alarm service continued, and our belief that my mother’s
miscarriage was the elves’ doing was discarded. It was simply the fetus’s fate to die before it
was born.
“Bat left town, probably to look for some of his kin to help him,” Prax said.
It was a chilling thought, and with Bat’s words the last time we talked, I was terrified. I laid
awake at night thinking of a way to protect my family. I had Prax, but what about them?
When I was twelve, the banging on our ceiling stopped. We were having lunch, feasting on
the pork barbecue my mother had bought after her experiment with chicken curry failed. The
sudden cessation of the noise we had been living with for years was jarring. The silence
grated on our ears. For the first time, we could hear ourselves breathe.
No one moved. Even my brother, who was now seven, stopped chewing the pork he had just
bitten off the stick. Papa stood up and called to the elves. Nobody answered. Gesturing for
my cousin to follow him, they got the ladder and prepared to climb to the ceiling. They took
with them an old wooden crucifix and a bottle of water from the first rain of May. My
cousin brought along a two-by-two and a rope. I didn’t know what they wanted to do but we
looked on, our barbecue forgotten.
Papa went inside the ceiling and my cousin followed. Moments later, they came back
running. My cousin descended the ladder first and I don’t know whether it was because of
fright or just because he was careless, but a rung broke and he fell to the ground, back first,
hitting the two-by-two he had dropped in his haste. He lay there, unmoving except for his
ragged breathing, his back bent at an angle we never thought possible.
Mama fainted, Papa stood still, my sister called an ambulance, my brother wailed, and I sat
in the ground, laughing. It was not a laugh of gladness, just my nervous reaction to what
happened. But they misunderstood and locked me in my room. I cried, shouted, cursed, but
remained locked in. From inside my room I could hear them talking, the medical help
coming in, and relatives pouring inside our house. I was ignored. I slept and dreamed that an
elf was laughing. When I woke up, the whole house was filled by elven laughter. Then my
cousin died.
After another year, my little brother followed. He was run over by a postal service van. I can
still hear the anguished wail of the driver as he asked for forgiveness. He claimed that a tiny
creature had run in front of his van and he had swerved to avoid it. My brother was
unfortunately playing by the roadside and the van ran straight into him. Witnesses say they
had heard laughter at the exact moment the wheels caught my brother.
The driver was imprisoned, but the deaths did not stop there. Barely six months later, my
father drowned while fishing. A freak storm, the fishermen said, but for us who were left
alive there was no mistaking that our family would die one by one.
There were only three of us left: my mother, my sister, and I. We tried to seek help, but the
policemen laughed in our faces. We were branded as lunatics. And Prax was gone, defeated
by Bat and his family apparently on the day the banging stopped. Even the albularyo could
not help us. What use were her potions and ointments? What the elves needed was a good
dose of magic, and the albularyo was primarily a healer and an exorcist. She had no training
when it came to defending a whole family against vengeful elves.
And poor Mama! A mere week after my father died she followed. Extreme despair, the
doctors said but we knew better.
My sister and I left home and went to live with our relatives in the city, hundreds of
kilometers away. We told them about the elves but they laughed and told us we were being
provincial. “It is the 90s,” they said. “Belief in the little people died a long time ago.” We
knew they were wrong, but how could two orphaned teenagers convince the skeptics?
Perhaps, we should have insisted on talking more but, as things were, our aunt had already
scheduled counseling sessions for the two of us The fear of being sent to a mental institution
stopped us from further trying to convince them. In the end, we just hoped that the distance
from our old home would keep us safe from the elves.
But they followed and, one by one, our foster family died. Car accidents, food poisonings,
assassinations through mistaken identity–there were logical explanations for their deaths but
we knew we had been responsible. We could only look on helplessly, and despaired.
We traveled again, haphazardly enough to let us think that we could outwit the elves. But
they finally caught my sister about a year ago. We were on the bus bound for another town
when a tire blew out. The bus crashed into a ditch and although most of the passengers
including myself were injured, the only fatality was my sister. I realized then that there was
no escaping the fury of the little people.
After my sister’s death, there was a period of silence from the elves. I decided to continue
studying and enrolled at the local college. I had no problem with finances. I had inherited a
large sum from a relative I had unwittingly sent to death.
After I got settled in the school dormitory, Prax appeared in my dreams again. He told me
about a chant that he had dug up in the enormous library of a human psychic he had
befriended. It was a weapon against any creature–effective against those with malicious
intentions, whether towards humans or other creatures. Prax thought it would he better if I
could defeat Bat myself. After all, hadn’t Bat done me great harm already? I agreed and
prepared myself for the battle that would decide my fate.
It was not long after my conversation with Prax that Bat tracked me down. It was a weekend
and I had the room all to myself. I looked up from my notes and saw him–much older, his
once clear complexion now marred with dark, crisscrossing veins. Hate screamed from him,
and he stooped and walked with great difficulty. I pitied him.
He gave me an ultimatum: go with him or die on the spot. I pretended to look defeated and
worn out. My act was effective and Bat looked pleased. He wanted us to go immediately but
I dallied. At the pretext of packing my few valuable possessions, I told him to wait outside
and count to a hundred.
When he was gone, I took out the ingredients I had prepared and the mini-stove I had
borrowed. I boiled a small amount of sweet milk. I unwrapped Bat’s image made in green
and brown clay, with strands of his hair given to me by Prax, and started blowing and
chanting words that meant nothing to me.
Outside the room, Bat’s count reached 70. I put aside the image and into the pan I poured
hundreds of brand new pins and needles that had been blessed. The count reached 80. I
repeated the chant and immersed the image in the boiling liquid. I waited.
Bat’s count reached a hundred but I did not worry for it had become faint and weak, just as
Prax had told me. Then Bat dissipated into a mist–shrieking, I might add–to where, only
God would ever know.
Prax appeared again in my dreams that night and told me that they–Bat and his family–
would never bother me again. He himself would move his family away from humans to
avoid similar incidents in the future. It was too bad he didn’t discover the old book with the
vanquishing spell earlier for I could have saved my family. I could not bring them back, he
said, but I could build a good life of my own. With the luck he bestowed on me, I would
never be in need for material things the rest of my life.
I kissed the old elf, knowing that we would never see each other again. I watched him fade
away, seeing the last of my family go.
When I woke up, I went to my desk and studied math, remembering where it all began.
Procedure:
1. Words to be described: Blasted, Despair, Ditch, Enthusiastic, Foster
Guide Questions:
1. How are these words classified as to their parts of speech?
2. How can we use these words in the present century we are living in?
Procedure:
1. Based on your reading, draw one character on how he or she has been described on the story.
Objective: 1. Who are the characters in the short story entitled “The Little People
Objective: 2. Interview your mother/father/guardian about stories regarding supernatural
beings that have been told to them or they have experienced.
Guide Question:
1. Who are the characters in the short story entitled “The Little People?
2. What supernatural stories does my family know of?
Procedure:
1. Identify the following characters in the short story using the graph on the next page.
2. From the interview with your mother/father/guardian, write a short essay on any
supernatural beings they have encountered or have been told to them. Write in not less than
10 sentences using the English language.
How the elves
Characteristics How they met
Elves helped the
of Elves the elves
characters in
the story
III. Enrichment Activity:
List down at least five legends about various supernatural beings that Filipinos believe in.
IV: References
Maria Aleah G. Taboclaon, “The Little People,” accessed May 30, 2020
https://www.sushidog.com/bpss/stories/little_people.htm
Writer:
Andrei V. Batalla
Name: __________________________________ Date: ___________________
Grade/Section: ___________________________
I. Directions/Instructions.
Creative Nonfiction – it encompasses texts about factual events that are not solely for scholarly purposes.
It may include memoir, personal essays, feature-length articles in magazines, and narratives in literary
journals. This genre of writing incorporates techniques from fiction and poetry in order to create accounts
that read more like story than a piece of journalism or a report. The audience for creative nonfiction is
typically broader than the audiences for scholarly writing (Eastern Washington University, 2017). An
example of this is a Creative Non-Fiction Essay written by Jhoanna Lynn Cruz which can be retrieved
from: https://myessaymaster.com/essays/19285-creative-nonfiction-by-jhoanna-lynn/.
Hyperpoem - is a form of digital poetry that uses links using hypertext mark-up. It is a very visual form,
and is related to hypertext fiction and visual arts. The links mean that a hypertext poem has no set order,
the poem moving or being generated in response to the links that the reader/user chooses. It can either
involve set words, phrases, lines, etc. that are presented in variable order but sit on the page much as
traditional poetry does, or it can contain parts of the poem that move and / or mutate (Cabrera, 2017). An
example of this Three Faces, One Intention by Renee Chua which can be accessed from:
https://reneechua.wordpress.com/2016/08/25/hyper-poetry/?
fbclid=IwAR1KWagcAIo_ZkLcVXQEZNII2yfy1xX33CXyj5To74Ef3rx3LfndYJ_GTdg
Text Tula of 21st Century – this is a particular example of this poem is a tanaga, a type of Filipino poem,
consisting of four lines with seven syllables each with the same rhyme at the end of each line - that is to
say a 7-7-7-7 syllabic verse, with an AABB rhyme scheme. The modern tanaga still uses the 7777
syllable count, but rhymes range from dual rhyme forms: AABB, ABAB, ABBA; to freestyle forms such
as AAAB, BAAA, or ABCD. Tanagas do not have titles traditionally because the tanaga should speak for
itself. However, moderns can opt to give them titles (The 21 st Century Literature, 2017). An example of
this could be found from https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?
story_fbid=1191404094294300&id=1166493233452053&__tn__=-R which was written by Gumantason
et al., (2017)
Flash Fiction - is underdog prose. Scarcely discussed and often poorly defined, it becomes that much
more exciting, edgy, and experimental. Twist endings and sudden violence are hallmarks of the form,
where just six words can allude a complete story (Perfecting Your Craft, 2018). An example of this is a
flash fiction written by Zorlone entitled “Sacred Stone” which can be accessed at
https://www.140flashfiction.com/.
II. Activity 1: Literature and Multimedia
Objectives:
1. Identify the 21st Century Literary Types using the crossword puzzle below.
2. Using the words below lifted from the different 21st Century Literary pieces for this
activity, write the definition and write a complete sentence using the English language: Non-
descript, Guilty, Descendant, Patrimonial.
Procedure:
1. Using the table below, shade all the four (4) 21st Century Literary types.
Guide Questions:
1. How are these words classified as to their parts of speech?
2. How can we use these words in the present century we are living in?
Activity 2: Relevance of Multimedia and Literature
Objective: 1. Compare and contrast the four (4) literary types in the 21st Century using
Microsoft Word or WPS.
Objective 2: Create a comparison of the four (4) literary types in the 21st Century using a
graphic organizer basing on your answer in Activity 2, Objective 1.
Procedure:
1. Write an essay comparing and contrasting the literary types of this century. Write in not
less than 5 paragraphs, 2 sentences per paragraph focusing on the elements and structure.
Use the English language is your essay.
2. Create a Slide deck presentation, using PowerPoint Presentation, WPS Presentation or
other similar platforms, showing your comparisons in Activity 2, Objective 1 focusing on
the elements and structures of the literary pieces.
Procedure:
1. Create a hyperpoetry with either of the following themes: “Literature in the 21st Century,”
or “Education in the 21st Century.” There are various ways on how we can create
hyperpoetry, some of it include Facebook Notes, PowerPoint Presentation, among many
other. Tutorial on how to create a hyperpoetry could be accessed on this link
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SOy3Tfg0Yg.
2. Among the four literary pieces in this activity, namely: Creative Non-Fiction Essay by
Jhoanna Lynn Cruz, Three Faces, One Intention by Renee Chua, Hyperpoetry by
Gumantason et al., and Sacred Stone by Zorlone, choose one and create a reaction video
about how you feel specifically on its elements and structure. Your reaction video should be
at least 4 to 5 minutes long, using the English language.
Guide Question:
1. What elements of literature are comparable and are different across the four (4) Literary
pieces of the 21st century?
2. How relative are these types of literatures to the youth of the nation?
3. Do you think that literature still plays a vital role for the lives of the students today?
IV: References
The 21st Century Literature “Mobile Phone Text Tula,” accessed May 30, 2020
https://www.facebook.com/The21stLit/posts/mobile-phone-text-tula-a-particular-example-
of-this-poem-is-a-tanaga-a-type-of-f/165393620700763/
Perfecting Your Craft, “What is Flash Fiction?,” accessed May 30, 2020
https://blog.reedsy.com/what-is-flash-fiction/
Jhoanna Lynn Cruz, “Creative Non-Fiction Essay,” accessed May 30, 2020
https://myessaymaster.com/essays/19285-creative-nonfiction-by-jhoanna-lynn/
Renee Chua, “Three Faces, One Intention,” accessed May 30, 2020
https://reneechua.wordpress.com/2016/08/25/hyper-poetry/?
fbclid=IwAR1KWagcAIo_ZkLcVXQEZNII2yfy1xX33CXyj5To74Ef3rx3LfndYJ_GTdg
Writer:
Andrei V. Batalla
Name: __________________________________ Date: ___________________
Grade/Section: ___________________________
I. Directions/Instructions.
Literary adaptation is the adapting of a literary source (e.g. a novel, short story, poem) to
another genre or medium, such as a film, stage play, or video game. It can also involve
adapting the same literary work in the same genre or medium just for different purposes, e.g.
to work with a smaller cast, in a smaller venue (or on the road), or for a different
demographic group (such as adapting a story for children). It also appeals because it
obviously works as a story; it has interesting characters, who say and do interesting things.
This is particularly important when adapting to a dramatic work, e.g. film, stage play,
teleplay, as dramatic writing is some of the most difficult. To get an original story to
function well on all the necessary dimensions—concept, character, story, dialogue, and
action—is an extremely rare event performed by a rare talent (Waterman, 2018).
In this activity, students will be tackling four literary pieces which will be bases for the latter
activities. The literary pieces could be accessed from the website of English Circle. The
literary pieces are as follows: Bad Girl, Juvenile Delinquent, I Killed Her, and A Glass of
Cold Water.
1. "Bad Girl"
2. "Juvenile Delinquent"
Am I a juvenile delinquent? I’m a teenager, I’m young, young at heart in mind. In this
position, I’m carefree, I enjoy doing nothing but to drink the wine of pleasure. I seldom go
to school, nobody cares!. But instead you can see me roaming around. Standing at the
nearby canto (street). Or else standing beside a jukebox stand playing the nerve tickling
bugaloo. Those are the reasons, why people, you branded me delinquent, a juvenile
delinquent.
My parents ignored me, my teachers sneered at me and my friends, they neglected me. One
night I asked my mother to teach me how to appreciate the values in life. Would you care
what she told me? "Stop bothering me! Can’t you see? I had to dress up for my mahjong
session, some other time my child". I turned to my father to console me, but, what a
wonderful thing he told me. "Child, here’s 500 bucks, get it and enjoy yourself, go and ask
your teachers that question".
And in school, I heard nothing but the echoes of the voices of my teachers torturing me with
these words. "Why waste your time in studying, you can’t even divide 100 by 5! Go home
and plant sweet potatoes".
I may have the looks of Audrey Hepburn, the calmly voice of Nathalie Cole. But that’s not
what you can see in me. Here’s a young girl who needs counsel to enlighten her way and
guidance to strenghten her life into contentment.
Honorable judge, friends and teachers…is this the girl whom you commented a juvenile
delinquent?.
My parents ignored me, my teachers sneered at me and my friends, they neglected me. One
night I asked my mother to teach me how to appreciate the values in life. Would you care
what she told me? "Stop bothering me! Can’t you see? I had to dress up for my mahjong
session, some other time my child". I turned to my father to console me, but, what a
wonderful thing he told me. "Child, here’s 500 bucks, get it and enjou yourself, go and ask
your teachers that question".
And in school, I heard nothing but the echoes of the voices of my teachers torturing me with
these words. "Why waste your time in studying, you can’t even divide 100 by 5! Go home
and plant sweet potatoes".
I may have the looks of Audrey Hepburn, the calmly voice of Nathalie Cole. But that’s not
what you can see in me. Here’s a young girl who needs counsel to enlighten her way and
guidance to strenghten her life into contentment.
I killed her because I do love her. These hands, these hands that gave life to many, killed her
because of my love for her.
Ladies and Gentlemen of this honorable court, please listen to me, listen to my story before
you give my verdict. I am Dr. Reyes, a cancer specialist. I was born in a slum district of
Batalon. My father oh! I don't know him for I am a child of faith. My mother brought me up
in such determination and my ambition was to escape the filthy and horrible place of
Batalon. I was nourished with hope that someday I might live a life different from her. My
mother had a burning faith that she turned the nights into days. All her efforts were not in
vain for I pushed through with flying colors. My mother who had given her whole life to me
had tears in her eyes as she pinned the gold medal on my proud chest.
Later on, I was sent as a scholar of the Philippines to the United States of America. I
embraced my mother… tightly as I've reached the plane….."Mother, mother,.." I whispered.
You will always be my best mother in the world.
After four years, I came back with laurels. I became a cancer specialist. I gave my mother
everything but I was too late. I who had used to ease the pain of many, came too late for the
life of my dying mother. I gave the best treatment but the grasp of death was so tight around
her. My God, what is the use of ten years of study if I couldn't even use it at my mother's
pain.
Then one night, I heard a strange cry. I run to her room. "Do you love me, child?"… she
asked, as I embrace her. " Yes, mother….. If only I could get all your pain and agonies…"
" Then….. if you love me, end my sufferings, kill me… Let me die."
"Mother, mother, you must not die….. Don't leave, I love you. It was only a distilled
water…..Mother…… Mother……. MOTHER……"
Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, give me your verdict. Yes, it was only distilled water which
ended the sufferings of my mother.
I remember, somebody says that I look like my mother that I look like my mother. But that
when she was young.
Now, I am much lovelier than she is. I’m a mortal Venus. Oops! What time is it? I must get
ready for the party!
"Child, are you still there? Will you please get me a glass of cold water?"
"Mama, I’m home! It’s very quiet. "Mama, I’m home!" Nobody answers.
Where is she? I look for her in the sala, but she’s not there. Where is she? A-huh! In the
kitchen!
I saw my mama, lying down on the floor, dead. With a glass on her hand. I remember, she
tried to get it.
Oh, God, just for the glass of cold water! Mama! Mama! Oh, Mama!
Procedure:
1. Students will identify and discuss the different literary elements of the four literary pieces
provided above focusing on plot, character, setting and structure.
2. Once the literary elements have been identified and discussed, students will do a
comparative analysis of the elements using hierarchical topical organizer or bubble topical
organizer.
Example:
Guide Questions:
1. How are these literary pieces relevant to one another in terms of their elements?
2. Are these literary pieces real-life and still relatable in your generation today?
Activity 2: Understanding You and Your Literature
Objective: 1. Memorize the given literary pieces for you will be presenting and assessed
later on.
Objective: 2: After memorization, do a preliminary videoshoot of yourself performing your
chosen literary piece.
Objective: 3. Once you are done with your videoshoot, assess your own performance.
Procedure:
1. Students can choose their literary piece for performance. They can choose among Bad
Girl, Juvenile Delinquent, I Killed Her, or A Glass of Cold Water. If the student is male and
chose a piece with a female character, the student then makes the necessary adjustment for
the literary piece.
2. Students can get help from their family members when it comes to the videoshoot. The
videoshoot could be done all throughout with just one take or with multiple shots. There is
no exact time for the output of this activity.
3. Once the student is already done with the videoshoot, he/she will self-assess his/her
performance using the Rubric for Creative Adaptation of a Literary Text
Procedure:
1. Students may share their initial output with their classmates for assessment using
Facebook Messenger, Google Drive, ShareIt, or any other similar digital platforms. The
initial output shall be shared with three (3) classmates for peer-assessment.
2. Once peer-assessed by their classmate, students shall then start doing their final output
which will be their final requirement for this subject at the then end of the first semester.
Sally Waterman, “Re-imagining the Family Album through Literary Adaptation, accessed
May 30, 2020 https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctv1wxt5s.12?
Search=yes&resultItemClick=true&searchText=%22Literary+adaptation%2
English Circle, “Collections of Top Declamation Pieces,” accessed May 30, 2020
http://speechcrafts.blogspot.com/2013/03/bad-girl.html
Writer:
Andrei V. Batalla