THE GREATEST MAGICIANS have something to learn from Mr. Mistoffelees’ Conjuring Turn – PRESTO! Like a shooting star, you blaze no more, but your light lingers. Forever our Dong Shancai, rest now and revel into the great endless garden above.
Time has been called a number of names. Some would argue how “he is a thief,” suggesting a masculine demeanor coveting what appears to be moments. Time, as others would perceive, is said to be a teacher capable of granting wisdom and understanding along the way. Occasionally time waits for no one, and frequently time heals all wounds.
Through a series of quandaries, the only thing definite in characterizing time is its state of being an enigma—a profoundly complex being that could only bring about more perplexities in the hopes of ambitiously trying to uncover an objectified understanding. Although complicated, when time makes a move, it omits a huge impact transcending beyond the personal and into the wider culture. Coincidentally similar to that of a falling meteor (garden).
“Ultimately, the common dispute lies on the lack of a unifying factor that clearly defines and identifies a genuine Juan and Juana. Though movements of unity and banners of mobilizations have occurred, they have, more often than not, carried names unfamiliar to the native tongue.”
Truly a curious being, time has a bizarre way of single-handedly forging a generation. Setting the stage of a lifetime, it introduced the story of a strong-willed girl entangled in the lives of four wealthy, arrogant young men challenging their power while navigating love, rivalry, and personal growth. Making a move, the story took a huge turn in drawing out a new wave of entertainment—one that sparked a lasting love for Asian dramas. Moreover, to some, the story played a pivotal role in molding the culture we know today.
The passing of Barbie Hsu, renowned for her role as the iconic Dong Shancai, was another example of time’s prestige and mysterious unpredictability. While it clearly came as a surprise to have heard of the actress’ sudden demise, the traction and impact it brought to the Filipino people was rather profound, resonating even with the non-enthusiasts. Frequent on Facebook, TikTok, and other social media platforms are posts connecting Barbie’s passing to the end of a childhood story. Helpless in their grief, people mourned, the entire nation mourned—an outpouring of emotion that is rare, and sometimes noticeably absent, especially when the subject is Filipino.
Often when talking of Filipino nationalism, we focus on the challenge of how it manifests. Some scholars argue that the pre-Hispanic period, devoid of any colonial interference, was something truly Filipino. Others would contend that Filipino nationalism cannot be as enriching as the presence of our colonial roots. Ultimately, the common dispute lies on the lack of a unifying factor that clearly defines and identifies a genuine Juan and Juana. Though movements of unity and banners of mobilizations have occurred, they have, more often than not, carried names unfamiliar to the native tongue. With full respect, names like “Dong Shancai” ring louder than the soul of the motherland, leaving us to ask: Where does the true Juan stand in the clamor of borrowed voices?
Even in her passing, Barbie’s image as the Meteor Garden heroine lingers like an unshaken dream, etched in the hearts of many. Even now, at the mere glimmer of the meteor necklace or the first notes of its trademark song, Ni Yao De Ai, a tide of nostalgia arises, binding strangers in a shared reverie. And yet, when the time comes when the youth could only remember the face of Barbie Hsu, when their lips effortlessly cling to the verses of Qing Fei De Yi but falter at their own motherland’s song, it is rather telling of what sort of nation we belong to—a land adrift swayed by borrowed tales, stirred not by history nor homeland, but by the sweet illusion of an enemies-to-lovers fate.
Ni Yao De Ai, which translates to “The Love You Want” in English, became an iconic song that captured the hearts of Filipinos, drawing them even closer to the beloved series. But is this truly the kind of love we have longed for? Is it really in our best interest to be popularly defined as a generation awkwardly born from the influences of something that isn’t truly ours? If such were so, then Filipinos are nothing more than shadows of a different light—never truly ours, never truly home.
Oh! Well, I never! Was there ever a cat so clever as magical Mr. Mistoffelees?
Email me at thebedan_editorinchief@sanbeda.edu.ph