Not every Filipino movie can carve its niche into a watcher’s mind---movies have yet to whet the crowd’s attention in order to win a Famas. Ironically enough, one movie has managed not only to have local critics fawn over it, but have international critics turn their heads as well.

            Bayani---a full-length feature made by independent filmmaker Raymond Red--- was a highly visual chronicle of the rise and fall of revolutionary hero Andres Bonifacio. Played by Julio Diaz, Bonifacio was depicted as a determined leader who founded the KKK (Kataastaasang Kagalanggalangang Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan) in pursuit of the country’s freedom, but who was later slain by the very group he has formed.

            Narrated from the point of view of an ordinary Katipunero, the story gave a down-to-earth impression to the audience. But like most of Red’s works, the film was not so much about the spoken word than it was with its imagery. Noted for its heavy stylistics and painstaking attention to filmic detail, the movie also tackled the events surrounding the Philippine struggle against Spanish colonialism.

            Being Red’s brainchild, the film was his personal and visual impression of history, where history was made up of bits and pieces of icons and ideas. For Red, making and watching the film was like plunging himself into the Filipino psyche. Since I was looking for a quick way to earn extra points for Kasaysayan1, I jumped at the chance of watching it.

            The film started out as a docudrama, showing the death of the three priests known collectively as Gomburza. Reviewing our history, it was this event that triggered people like national hero Jose Rizal to demand for reform. But because the film was to revolve around Bonifacio, scenes shifted from Rizal’s writing life to Bonifacio’s making of the KKK. After the makings of the famous group came, of course, the war. I was pleased to find out that Red creatively injected his own fiction as to how Bonifacio must’ve slept and dreamt during the peak of the bloodshed.

            As the movie progressed, I sometimes found myself recounting history—for a few times, missing a hero’s name or guessing an event portrayed on a scene. It was as if I didn’t know my own history. I tried to chalk it off at first, but when Emilio Aguinaldo entered the movie, I admit, I finally got confused.

            I asked my friends if they knew what really happened, but I just found myself sandwiched between two people who, like me, either don’t know why Andres Bonifacio died or just forgot who General Mariano was. I have always thought Emilio Aguinaldo ordered the murder of Bonifacio, but from what I have seen in the movie, something has gone terribly wrong with my knowledge of history.

            I confess, my knowledge of Philippine history is rusted and my appreciation for it is even more pitiful. I know more about glam girl Paris Hilton than Ina ng Katipunan Melchora Aquino. Grades and extra points aside, I don’t think a lot of students would opt to watch a movie about Philippine history when SM cinemas are ready and available for all the fans of Brad Pitt and Jennifer Garner.

            Every now and then, I would hear somebody from the back ask who Antonio Luna was and whether or not he was portrayed in the movie. I would hear fellow students babble inane answers, uncertain if they were correct. So when director Raymond Red said, “I hope you’d stay throughout the film. It’s only eighty three minutes,” it sounded to me as if he was asking a favor, when knowing one’s history should have been a favor enough for us.

            On my seat, I tried to rack up reasons why we forgot our history. Was it because we weren’t educated? We study in UP, surely we are educated more than enough. Was it because we easily got confused with what was fact and what was fiction in the film? We were aware of it the whole time. Was it because we were ashamed of our past? I’d like to believe that we are not that shallow.

            I left the place feeling awful at myself. The movie was splendid but I was unworthy of watching it. Call me an ingrate, call me a hypocrite Filipina, call me whatever you want, but if an iskolar ng bayan like me can be apathetic to the blood that had been shed for our freedom, how much more can the rest of our Westernized nation?

            In this place and age where everybody has the same myopic Manila mindset, taking a peak at Philippines’s diverse culture is a sure breather. But doing this needs not all that exhausting island hopping and expensive travel tours. Because to see just how rich our culture is, one needs only to look at the people around him; and to feel how it is to be Pinoy, one only has to enjoy their company.

            And this is just what we did during Kalayaan Residence Hall’s annual Pasalubong Festival held last January 5. Pasalubong, a word which refers to a gift coming from the place where the giver has just been, was surely apt in depicting the event.

            Residents arriving from their own provinces brought tons of food and decors, actively taking part in the activity. I, for one, had three luggages, one of which was full of malongs and inuls, T’nalak purses and B’laan beads, and lots and lots of dried fruits. Since it was just a little after the Christmas break, everyone rushed to set up the booths, plan the presentations and cook one’s region’s delicacies.

            By Wednesday morning, the basketball court was so full of exhibits and so adorned with multicolored sarongs and pabitins that it morphed into a little cultural haven. The activity didn’t start until four in the afternoon, but everyone was excited and perhaps, also a bit jittery. Even our dorm manager, Ms. Alma Tirona was already up and about the court checking and double-checking everything.

            As the clock struck four, everyone got ready and got themselves armed from the swarm of Korean international students with their colorful regional costumes. It was not long that the court was filled with people, and the event started.

            During the presentations, songs sang in their native languages, Spanish dances from the North, and neo-ethnic, often Muslim-inspired dances from the South were common. Other presentations were re-enactments of the local festivals like that of the Aswang Festival from Capiz and the Fiesta ng Senior Santo Niño from Cebu. Some regions had their presentations narrated while others were purely musical.

            The event, however, did not stop there. After the presentations, everybody went around the court and into the different booths and exhibits of each region. Foods were served, and my mouth almost watered to discover the taste of new foods. I got to eat the sweet pili nuts of Region V, the sumptuous pastels of Region 10, the durian (although this fruit is also abundant in my region) of Region 11, and of course, the dudol (a Muslim delicacy) from my very own Region 12.

            But the Pasalubong Festival can never be called such, without—well—the pasalubongs. So as I munch my way into my otaps, I was busy giving out brochures, postcards and beaded B’laan bracelets. It was a bit chaotic, but we had fun.

            The two-hour activity compressed cultural shows, talent events and food and trade fairs all into one. It was done to showcase the uniqueness of all the geographical regions of the country, highlighting our country’s diverse cultural splendor.

            The activity was not as tiring as island hopping and you know what? I had fun while learning. I got to eat free food, get free stuffs and rediscover my country through the efforts of my co-residents.

            Personally, the event allowed me to speak straight Hiligaynon, my native tongue, and a little bit of Bisaya without the language barriers brought by being in a largely Tagalog-speaking university.

            Collectively, it allowed a kaleidoscope of cultures to shine, revived a rich spirit of diversity and provided a venue for oneness. With the Pasalubnong Festival, we discovered that the country has witnessed more history than we thought. And with history comes the interweaving of lives. So perhaps it was not just about culture. It was a sharing of lives.