OUT OF OUR MOUTHS
Most Filipinos are multi-lingual. The first language is of course the one they woke up to, the one spoken at home. Say, if one is born in Leyte, the person's first tongue would be Waray. Then in school we learn English and Pilipino or Tagalog. Since English is more prevalent as the language for formal interactions in offices, business, and yes, even in media and entertainment, the national language is almost an after thought na lang as third language. Unless the person is born in Metro Manila and the Tagalog-speaking provinces nearby. But in Visayas and Mindanao, Waray or Surigaonon (like me), predisposes one to be conversant in Cebuano or Bisaya.
It is unavoidable, and the lament of many linguists, purists and nationalists that the average Filipino is not fluent in any one language at all. Even the well-educated ones have trouble finishing their sentences without inserting an English word here, a Cebuano idiomatic expression there pa gyud. If language is the portrait of a culture what does that paint about us multi-lingual Filipinos then? Probably clueless as to what our neighbors in the next island are up to.
Comparing the different vocabularies makes for an entertaining diversion. You just have to love this rich interplay of local expressions creeping into the mainstream consciousness of everyday language, like promdi and ala ey. It is so charming and makes for interesting conversation.
The Tagalogs are quick to point out to their po and ho as a reflection of Filipino respect for elders and authority.
Mingaw (lonely, longing) is a Bisaya word that has no exact Tagalog equivalent. Almost rhymes with awa-aw for "lonely," "deserted." To say gimingaw ko nimo (I miss you) is to convey that longing which is not quite the same in Tagalog nasasabik akong makita ka muli (I am eager to see you again). Note that the root word sabik (desire) has assumed lusty connotations what with the proliferation of ST (sex trip) movies.
If we are to count the terms of endermeant, the Tagalogs appear to be more poetic and romantic than Bisayas: mahal, sinta, sinisinta, irog, kasintahan, ini-imbot. But of late the self-conscious teenagers, Tagalog or Bisaya, would rather use their own terms: syota, uyab, or the English" crush," girlfriend," boyfriend." In these modern times, Filipinos cringe at expressing themselves in the native language iniibig kita and gihigugma ko ikaw. How antiquated and old-fashioned. Hilas! (another Bisaya word with no Tagalog equivalent, while the closest in English would be "sappy" and "mushy" although these do not convey the goose-bump raising discomfort associated with hilas.) So we'd rather be modern and say "I love you," and sometimes Mahal Kita, or not at all.
But the Bisaya at least have palangga. It is similar to the Italian caro mio or cara mia, and French mon cher(ie). To pangga someone is to pamper and lavish that person with attention, affection, and care. TLC - to treat with tender loving care. A teacher's or boss' palangga or pinangga would be the favorite or pet student and employee. Close but not exactly the same. More like malakas in Tagalog. But again, Cebuanos who have a thing against public display of affection, use palangga and pangga only to call children, or being lazy, would shorten it to Ga.
If anyone were to ask what's the distinction between Cebuano and Bisaya, well, there it is. Cebuanos are lazy that they conjugate and omit syllables from proper Bisaya words, thereby confusing Bisaya-speaking people from other parts of Visayas and Mindanao.
Balay (house) become bay. But we also call a male friend bay. And when my cousin invited me to a disco at bai I thought he was over-dressed to go dancing at somebody's house. Being new in Cebu I didn't know there was a disco joint called Bai after that Cebuano term for a friend, like pare and padre after the Spanish compadre for comrade. But in both Tagalog and Cebuano, kumpare and kumare are reserved for a fellow godparent at a christening or wedding.
But back to the Cebuano's laziness. Babaye (woman) becomes baye and lately, also just pronounced bai. See how confusing that gets?
Oo (yes) becomes simply oh, then for the one who doesn't want to bother opening his mouth, a deep, resonant, oh emanates as ohmmm from the throat or chest. Dili (no) becomes di. For emphasis, when they really mean "no way, no how," they say di lagi. And uncharacteristic of the lazy Cebuano, the speaker would mutter, di kasabut.
This is where it gets to be comical. When the same words mean different, even the opposite, or worse, obscene, from one place to another. The Bisaya sabut (understand) in Hiligaynon or Ilonggo means a pubic hair. When in Manila a confused Bisaya should avoid saying Naglibog ko (I'm confused) to a Tagalog who will take it to mean "I'm horny."
A Cebuano friend shared this story that his Waray wife once prepared a nice dinner for him when they were still engaged. He begged off because he didn't like vegetables. She let him off with a stern warning that shocked him, "When we're married no more iyot-iyot ha!" Iyot in Cebuano means "intercourse," but in Waray it means "prissy" or "picky".
The Bisaya sili (chili) is synonymous to the female organ in Waray. Cebuanos are naturally cautioned against asking for it from waitresses when eating out.
The Bisaya bangga (crash or collision) has a different meaning in Ilonggo (street corner). Imagine my astonishment when while commuting in Bacolod a fellow passenger knocked on the jeepney ceiling and called out to the driver "Bangga lang 'to!"
Dula in Bisaya means "play," but in Ilonggo it means "lost or disappeared." When an Ilonggo friend showed up for an inter-office basketball tournament in Cebu he was asked "Dula ka?" he of course insisted, "Indi ah, present man ko." (Of course not, I'm present).
Karon na is "right now" in Bisaya, but "later" in Ilonggo..
Paa in Bisaya is "thigh," but in Tagalog it refers to the foot or feet.
Langgam in Bisaya is "bird" but in Tagalog it means "ant." A joke explained that when a native pointed out to a bird and cried "langgam" to Magellan or Legazpi, the bird had already taken off and the Spaniards only saw the ants, and this is what they brought with them when they moved to Manila.
What about Surigaonon, my native tongue? Nobody cares much for it. Our housekeeper, Inday, who hails from Negros Occidental has lived in Surigao half her life but refuses to speak the dialect. She says it sounds like a child learning to speak. She's not the only one who thinks that way. Surigaonon is a close cousin of Boholano, with its "j's." Both are offsprings or genetic mutations of Bisaya. The "l" is converted to "y" and the "y" is turned to "j."Thus, balay (house) becomes bayay, wala (nothing) is waya, and ayaw (don't) becomes ajaw, babaye (woman) is babaji.
When people find out that I hail from Surigao they would tease me, "I heard your place does not have a city hall." The puncline is that by inference, it is called city hoy.
A new joke at our expense is that the popular fastfood chain (more popular than McDonalds) Jollibee will never open a franchise in Surigao because people will call it Jayibee.
There are words that are entirely different from Bisaya: a dog is not iro but ido, a cat is not iring but miya.The Bisaya maayo (good) and kaayo (very much) become marajaw karajaw (very good).
There's another native expression that is entirely different from Bisaya: "I don't know." In Cebuano ambot. "I don't know what" is ambot unsa. But in Surigao, ambot is inday, and unsa is uno. As the joke goes, when a Cebuano asked a vendor for the name of the ship leaving for Cebu that day, she shrugged "Inday uno." He spent a long time combing the pier back and forth looking for the ship Inday I.
But look at Tagalog! One anecdote tells of two Filipinos in an elevator in a skyscraper in New York. Asked one to the other, "Bababa ba?" (Going down?) and the other nodded, "Bababa." Hearing them, an American exclaimed, "Well I'll be darned, they communicate in syllables!"
Some might wish if we could only be united by one language we could avoid all this confusion, this divisiveness. That we'd start acting as one country with a better grasp of a common national identity. But think of all that fun we'd be missing.