{"id":6257,"date":"2023-04-11T18:36:19","date_gmt":"2023-04-11T10:36:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/rasmitmug.com\/main\/?page_id=6257"},"modified":"2023-04-16T14:15:28","modified_gmt":"2023-04-16T06:15:28","slug":"public-special-prize","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/rasmitmug.com\/main\/public-special-prize\/","title":{"rendered":"PUBLIC SPECIAL PRIZE"},"content":{"rendered":"

Endangered heart of the indigenous crafts <\/strong><\/p>\n

By Omira Abdulbasit<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Across the rattled battlefield, is a tale of sweet history. Photographed by a vintage camera is a flame of wrecked belief in modern globalization. Shattered in the floor are memories of the old-world arts and customs. Is this really an educational advancement or ignorance to the tradition? Can\u2019t these be accepted as non-dichotomous ideas? Or it shall perish like a core memory of our narrative?<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 It was dark, and gloomy. As I walked to the corridor with a little dim from my candle, the swift wave of the swirling diverse but beautiful lines of okir engraved in the turugan fascinated my eyes. On top of the wall was a sword called Kris with a patterned blade that portrays the life of the Meranaws in connection with water. In charm, I almost got tripped over the treasure box made of Narra with pure shell all over, I exclaimed \u201cEnchanting Baor\u201d. I know where I am. I\u2019m in the heartland of the Arts and Crafts.<\/p>\n

A door in front still stood open. I peeked and startled as a blacksmith started telling a story.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u201cThroughout history, Tugaya became common as the \u201cIndustrial Capital of Lanao del Sur\u201d and distinguished as \u201cHome for Culture and Heritage\u201d. It\u2019s people has regarded as symbolic artisans of Meranaw arts and crafts of various pursuits. Our penchant from architecture to decoration, goldsmithing, music and performance are artistically spelled out as if they live to be creative and unique all their lives. Amongst our flame of fame, is the making of \u201cgalang\u201d, a creative handicraft tray usually made of nearly gold mineral used in Pagana Meranaw to decorate the food served to the visitors. The making of this fine craft has been handed over from our ancestors for centuries. The usual design is a manually molded shape that represents the symbolic art of Lanao, the okir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 From then he stopped, and his wide pleasant smile was changed into a weak beam, brushing his soiled hand in his wet eyes. \u201cThese things shall grow not old, oh child! We may become weary as we age, but remember and embrace your identity. You shall uphold and maintain your inherited treasure. Do not be blind nor be ignorant. You shall be fair and just in your philosophy, for you live in the generation I fear. Be wise.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 With a questioning eye, I blurted \u201cWhy?\u201d. He then sang a lullaby, as if he was not disturbed by the murmur in the noise of battle. \u201cI fear the repulsion of preserving the Meranaw culture by breaking off the memory and identity of our passionate work. In this generation, the threat of terminating the existing native heritage is swirling. There is an intense competition between globalization and cultural heritage. This sprouted as it<\/p>\n

started from the pressure of the society to be educated, yet, neglecting the hidden gem of their identity, the knowledge and skills inherited from their forebears.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 He ended it by a aphorism that goes, \u201cApiapun matingki na dipuman kalawan a bantogan o Tugaya, apiapun marupung na dipuman ka ombawan a bangsa o Tugaya ka ruza o maorintang na sugud o pipharasan, ini pangombao niyan a papandayan ko okir na lomalangkap e bantog ka mana galang gomilang a kapuka kilangian ko miaka mbala-bala, ka badi langkap ko Ranao a ronon so kapumanis na ronon so parasayan a ibabantog ko Ranao.\u201d,<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Then a loud buzz alarmed. I was dreaming of the past I never had, and a future I shall fear. Just like the old blacksmith, trembling and threatened. I looked at my clock, 5 o\u2019clock in the morning. Time for duty, time for work.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 But still my dream bothered me. I\u2019m stable and educated, professional and respected. But do I still know my origin? There was something about his iconic proverb that caused me both fear and happiness. The visit to my dreams made me shiver of fear and yearn home. The reason is clear, just like the blacksmith, I\u2019m afraid to lose my identity, I\u2019m afraid to lose my pride. My culture and tradition are in the verge of dying, its in the verge of extinction. I\u2019m afraid to lose the endangered treasure inherited from my ancestry. I\u2019m afraid to wake up once again bearing only my name, but not my identity and crown. This picture shall never fade, it shall never perish. From its existence in this world, down to my core memory.\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Endangered heart of the indigenous crafts By Omira Abdulbasit \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Across the rattled battlefield, is a tale of sweet history. Photographed by a vintage camera is a flame of wrecked belief in modern globalization. Shattered in the floor are memories of the old-world arts and customs. Is this really an educational…<\/p>\n

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