Mismo, atbp.

Mismo. Now na! Tsup mwah! Wasak! Kayah?

Over the past year or so, these have been among the more prominent words/phrases that continued to gain street currency. Read also: cellphone patois.

Mismo means That’s right, Exactly, That’s exactly it, You got it, You said it, I second the motion.

Now na! continues to be popularized by the nationally influential tandem of Boy Abunda and Kris Aquino via their high-rating SNN or Showbiz News Ngayon TV show. Often, too, Kris tries to revive “shout out” but overdoes it, using that not-so-fresh idiom to exhaustion.

Now na is so very now; it has a sense of urgency that’s practically a call to arms, as in “Let’s address climate change now na!” Or: “Let’s change this government now na!” 

Tsup mwah! has become a textese staple, usually operating individually, as separate words. One receives a tsup! and responds with a mwah! Both are often used as fraternal endearments, something like a verbal beso-beso. However, one might also express ardor in a faux-subtle manner by using either word, as a fishing gambit or direct come-on. Soon the incorrigibly flirtatious were doubling up with tsup-mwah! 

Maybe we should insert mwahaha! at this point. Dating back to about a couple of decades ago when cartoonist and comic-strip genius Nonoy Marcelo used it as his patented guffaw, it has since seen adoption as an e-mail and/or cp ejaculation to acknowledge or suggest humor. There has also been the variable if infrequent adaptation into bwahaha! Recently we received a rather inspired, extended portmanteau version: tsupmwahaha!

Wasak has been in use for sometime now among young rockers, beerhouse denizens, chonx cultists, poets and writers in their 20s and 30s. Oh, maybe at least for the last three years. It’s another of those seasonal, all-encompassing terms, signifying nearly grudging admiration for outrageous or outlandish conduct — inclusive of conceptual ideas or cutting-edge achievements.

The term kayah I choose to spell with an “h” to distinguish it from “kaya” meaning “can do” — by suggesting a glottal stop without having to use diacritical marks.

Here is yet another instance that points to the continuing problem of orthography for Filipino. Why, our writers in the native language are still divided on the use of “kaniyang” as against “kanyang” — with those who favor the latter arguing that only Bulakenyos pronounce it as the former, with three syllables, and thus spell it that way.

Certain words, including names, such as Jawo (for Jaworski) instantly command the correct pronunciation even without the guidepost of an accent mark. But that’s only when the term does not or cannot stand for anything else.

On the other hand, “tayo” as generally spelled means both “us” and “stand” — depending on the context of particular usage. Since we still don’t have the encoding system, whether with an antique typewriter or a computer keyboard, that would apply the distinction with a diacritical mark — or if the software system is in place at all, most of us wouldn’t know how to use it — then it would be easier just to use an “h” to signify that glottal stop. 

In any case, kayah is a rather curious case. Not only does it beg for that aspirated “ah” with a rise in inflection, as if in a questioning manner; the word has also evolved into entirely fresh usage. 

I first noticed it being employed by bar girls, who pepper their dialogue with kayah as a form of rhetorical stress. And in a way it’s joined “naman” as a particularly Pinoy term that does not translate into anything on its own, but serves as a be-all and end-all feature of the vernacular, as a stressing extender.

“Siya kayah!” “Nagpunta kayah ako.” “Hindi kayah!”

All are expressed in a nearly plaintive manner, with an upswing, or accent on the second “siLAbol” as the old joke goes. In all the instances provided above, the term evidently serves as a fresh way of emphasizing an utterance. The way “indeed” becomes “Bitaw” in the Visayan South (distinct from the Tagalog biTAW that means “let go”) — although both end on a down note.  

From adolescence, my sons used to use “weh” a lot, as another “meaningless” term simply meant to convey a sneering, half-defiant admission. Or as a dismissive utterance.

Much later I was to learn that “meh” is a term used simply to complete a conversation in a more obtuse way than “whatevah.” And that youthful characters in the South Park TV series provided the provenance.  

Weh! Meh! We have become our own little if ever-expanding world of men who not only stare at goats, but simulate their speech.

Wasak! Kayah!? Now na! Mismo!!! Salamuchas to all! Tsupmwahaha!