Quiet vlogging/silent documentaries
THERE is hope in vlogging. Generally identified with the intensely personal, intimate to the point of being gross, new kinds of vlogs are multiplying online. These are vlogs that do not make you feel inhuman and do not toy with our humanity as if it is a dispensable asset. These vlogs are not an attempt to challenge you to try out the ridiculous. They also are not made by Filipinos.
I am certain that out there are vlogs that take themselves so seriously and have become bland exercises in cultural analysis, but I have yet to encounter a vlog made in the Philippines which, if not obsessed with the vlogger in love with his own voice, is overly annotated, each scene pushed to be a moment, each second accompanied by smart alecky remarks, every occurence a celebration not of that which is being observed but of the observer who must think he is omnisciently charming.
Is it in our culture to outtalk landscapes or events? Is it natural for us to explain materials to death?
If we say yes to those two questions, then we are up against the splendor of vlogs from other places that are presented with amazing stillness. They come from geographical spots as disparate as Azerbaijan in winter and Vietnam under the rain; they can be postings from cave-like dwellings in Iran to a wellstocked kitchen in Sri Lanka. They share something in common: the lack of a voice commenting after each and every step of the characters onscreen. What we see on screen are labels or captions about the events taking place—the harvesting of berries, the gathering of ingredients for a dessert, the names of the pets.
It is obvious that these vlogs have reached a decision: to let the field speak.
The result is nothing short of a cinematic miracle, as we are brought into that space—a village, a home, a woodland—as quietly as possible. After all, no one is talking, no one is overwhelming us with critical readings, directives or manifestos.
Two of these social-media artifacts came to me through an accident. I was looking at videos of bamboo crafts when I got curious about a woman looking for bamboo shoots. She turns out to be a Vietnamese who introduces herself as coming from a small village. She is shown climbing up a low trail, which leads her to a clump of bamboo. Her name is Ly Thi Ca.
Who is handling the camera, is the question we ask as we follow this young woman searching through thickets of grasses, giant bamboo shoots. But we soon forget the technologies behind this vlog. What grips us is the ease by which this woman navigates the trails. As she reaches a spot, we see her cut off the shoot from the roots. She handles the bolo not as a hobbyist but as a veteran. She gathers more than what she can take in her basket, which she carries on her back. She makes two trips. She is definitely a strong woman. The next vlog shows her preserving the shoots.
Her next vlog is still about bamboo. She gathers bamboo poles and builds a shed, all by herself. Her movement sure makes it appear that what she is doing is easy. One vlog leads to another vlog, each an adventure in skill.
Is she fulfilling a challenge? Is she in any kind of training? Whatever it is, the vlog assumes, given its length, the form of a documentary, and to call her “empowered” patronizes the character/vlogger whose work gets more than a million views each.
The other vlog is from another woman, who calls herself “Traditional Me.” She is from Sri Lanka. This vlogger has a more articulated web site. Scrolling down her vlog, you could find the link to her Facebook account where she introduces herself with these words: “Ayubowan! [a Sri Lankan salutation] I’m Nadee. Please accept my warm and loving welcome for everyone of you who came here to look into my story, and to know about myself. I was born in 1993 and grew up in this amazingly beautiful and picturesque, peaceful village named Dankotuwa in Sri Lanka .... This peaceful and beautiful village life... where I enjoy the most by looking after my grandmother and my younger brother in this nature’s gift of a village!”
What attracted me to Nadee’s vlog is a photo of her under a tree bedecked with huge durian trees. I do not eat durian but her visual presentation, with no annotations except for the labels of ingredients, are so sincere, appealing and original that I searched for more of her vlogs.
We often express our pride about our Philippine culinary heritage but looking at what this vlogger/ cook can concoct makes me think twice about how varied our dishes are.
Nadee uses her surroundings in creating the most exotic I (this time I am correct when I use this as I am an outsider now) culinary inventions—all, as she says, “respecting” the tradition of her country.
The long duration of cooking, the many pots and utensils used, and the surprising thing they can use with leaves of plants that are otherwise ornamental in our own gardens. In one episode, Nadee gathers Mussaenda leaves, which turn out to be from a tropical shrub, a variety of which is also indigenous in the Philippines, the Doña Aurora, noted for its white and green leaves. Nadee picks the white ones, coats them with flour, and makes them into “chips.”
And the drinks they come up with! Green orange with peppercorn, June plum and sugarcane juice with all kinds of spices—cardamom, turmeric, chili, and other ingredients.
Nadee’s vlogs average 3 million views each. I have added myself to the subscribers.
There are more out there on the Internet, vlogs that are quiet, still, silent, wise. Devoid of the noise of commentaries, they do more for their countries’ tourism than all the hoopla of overthinking ads. They are noble representations of their cultures, as well.