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Monday, March 26, 2012

Disease as Metaphor: Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo

In the world of literature, diseases are often used to represent dysfunctional societies.

An Internet definition describes disease as "any disturbance or anomaly in the normal functioning of the body that probably has a specific cause and identifiable symptoms. Diseases are one of the factors threatening us from having a properly functional life. Throughout our history, epidemics have caused the extinction of whole populations. Over the last century, man has discovered many microorganisms that cause diseases in humans and animals, and has learned how to protect himself from them, by either prevention or treatment" (Era-net PathoGenoMics, 2007).

If that definition is applied to characterize social malady, it will be:

A social malady is any disturbance or anomaly in the normal functioning of society that probably has a specific cause and identifiable symptoms. Social afflictions are one of the factors threatening us from having a properly functional society. Throughout our history, social injustice, political tyranny and religious abuses have caused the extinction of whole populations. Over the last century, man has discovered various factors, origins and agents that cause society's degeneration and decadence and has learned how to protect himself from them, by either prevention or purgation.

Some works of literature that utilize diseases and epidemics as society's allegorical symbols are Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love In The Time of Cholera (Colombia, 1988); Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's Cancer Ward (Russia, 1967); Albert Camus' The Plague (France, 1947); Thomas Mann's Death In Venice (Germany, 1912) and Magic Mountain (Germany, 1924); Joseph Marie Eugene Sue's The Wandering Jew (France, 1844); Edgar Allan Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death" (United States, 1842); and Giovanni Boccaccio's The Decameron (Italy, 1353).

As shown by the examples, societies and cultures suffer the same ailments across time and space.

Moreover, the choice of a specific malady to represent a schematic idea varies among authors. Some use the prevailing disease of the time when the piece of literature is set. The 1340s bubonic plague or black death was used both as a backdrop and social commentary by Boccaccio in The Decameron and the 1830s cholera epidemic was used in The Wandering Jew, Death in Venice, The Plague, and Love in the Time of Cholera. Others use personal experiences like Solzhenitsyn in Cancer Ward and Edgar Allan Poe and Thomas Mann in "The Masque of the Red Death" and Magic Mountain, respectively. Mann's wife was suffering from lung disease during the time the novel was being written. Likewise, Poe's wife was suffering from tuberculosis (or consumption as it was known at the time) when the former was writing the short story "The Masque of the Red Death."

Noli Me Tangere was published in Berlin in 1887. Through the novel, the stifled cry of the natives found release.

"Noli" is a canvass of the 19th century Philippines during the last years of Spanish colonization. It is peopled with characters whose colorful stories range from painful to mysterious, from romantic to bizarre. As Saramago, in his 1998 Nobel Lecture said, "it was with such men and women risen from the ground, real people first, figures of fiction later."

There are the old women and men who tally divine indulgences for tickets to heaven and numbered stubs to save souls in purgatory. Then there are the men in skirts who make thriving businesses out of Catholicism: selling masses at various lengths and importance, and scapulars and other itemized divines, wooden or otherwise.

A son who lost his father and a mother who lost his sons. Men and women who lost their lives. Some even lost their minds. There are the rich and the educated. It is also where the powerful are the strongest; the poor and marginalized the weakest and the most forgiving. There are foreigners acting like natives and natives wanting only what is foreign.

It is an era where textbook injustice takes form. It is where the voice in the pulpit is also the voice of power; the government only the chamberlain of his master. Where religious infallibility reigns, Manila should have been the seat of Catholicism.

This is the society's canvass in Noli Me Tangere. The picture is wicked, misshapen and offensive. One easily recognizes the anomaly and disturbance in the daily grind of human lives. The specific cause is colonization of this once peaceful, promising, and non-Catholic trade hub in the southeast.

The symptoms glare like the noonday sun. The rich get richer, the poor not only get poorer, some of them die before finding out what is worse than being poor and an indio at the same time. Still, both the rich and the poor; the educated and the unlettered are puppets on a string. One bows one’s head to the tiniest flick of the stick or suffer equality with the dead.

Elias, the foil of the central character Ibarra, traces his accursed fate back to the roots of the latter in a revelation orchestrated so masterfully, untangling layers and loops of gothic sub-plots. The story of Elias puts to shame prime time television.

Having gone through the worst during those bad times: losing the good life he was raised in and discovering his malignant past, Elias seeks vengeance first for himself and while he is at it, perhaps save his country along the way. It is unthinkable to see one’s mother lying and wailing on the ground, wide-eyed on the sky looking at the severed head of one’s brother in a basket hanging on a branch of a tree.

Ibarra, despite his family's good social standing, lost his father to a tyrant in cassock who will eventually be revealed as the real father of his "comfort in the solitude of his soul" and the dream "wrapped in the warm light of early dawn" whom he will lose to a priest whose concupiscent desires break the sweat out of all his pores.

Both Ibarra and Elias find themselves afflicted with cancer that slowly eats away hope and faith. Dignity having been the first to go.

To cure this social cancer, Ibarra advocates education, saying: "I desire this country's good, that is why I am putting up a school. I will seek for that good by means of instruction, by progressive advancement. Without light, there is no way."

Elias, on the other hand, calls for struggle for "without struggle, there is no freedom.” He believes that struggle will awaken freedom that has been sleeping for centuries. "One day lightning struck, and the lightning, in destroying, brought forth life."

Each thinks of the same end, but their means are worlds apart. Further metaphor will render the first preferring to learn to be a doctor to cure and prevent future cancers. Regardless that the wait may kill those already afflicted.

The second wants to cut the part with gangrene and is most cancerous so the disease will not multiply or spread throughout the body. Never mind that the rusty knife may also kill.

Elias, who is Ibarra's constant savior, sacrifices his life for Ibarra in that famous chapter "Pursuit in the Lake." Elias dies "without seeing the dawn break on (his) country" but before drawing the last breath asks those "who are about to see it, greet her" and "not forget those who have fallen during the night."

Both Ibarra and Elias are pushed to the fore of their Messiah-nic impulses. In their sleep and in their hopelessness, they ask: If not now, when. If not I, who? To whom the disease had clung like a parasite to survive, to take the life of the host for its own, who would not have chosen to self-medicate?

One of them dies while the other resurrects. Ibarra returns in the guise of Simoun in El Filibusterismo published in 1891.

As the jeweler Simoun, Ibarra returns to the same islands thirteen years after his escape that lonely, dreadful Christmas Eve when the other messiah died. Thirteen years and before him are the same vultures of vile and greed feeding on a corpse that "let itself be torn to pieces" whose "decay and total disintegration were taking too long." Because the corpse will not turn against its oppressor, Simoun "incited even greater greed, facilitated its satisfaction, and injustices and abuses have multiplied." He "encouraged crime and cruelty to accustom the people to the thought of death, fostered insecurity to drive them to seek the most desperate solutions, crippled businesses so that the country, impoverished and ruined, would no longer have anything to fear." He "whetted appetites for the public funds" and "wounded (the people)in their most sensitive spot" by making "the vulture insult and pollute the very corpse on which it lived." "Extremis malis extrema remedia," that is to say, desperate diseases must have desperate remedies; desperate times call for desperate measures.

Then again, Simoun finds himself another foil in the person of Basilio, the altar boy whom Simoun-then-Ibarra helped to bury the mad woman Sisa, Basilio’s mother. He is the same boy who helped him burn Elias' body on the same hillock where Simoun's ancestors were laid to rest many years before.

Basilio is a phoenix who rises from the ashes of his childhood's misfortune. After burying his mother and failing to find his younger brother who has been accused of stealing from a friar, Basilio leaves his hometown and moves to the city to work for a rich family and then study in his spare time. Basilio lands in the home of Capitan Tiago, the father of Maria Clara, Simoun's former sweetheart.

Basilo performs well as a student of medicine subsequently helping Capitan Tiago cope with his opium addiction. Basilio is on his final year of studies and expecting to graduate with honors, marry his childhood sweetheart Juli, have a happy family life while serving his community by "alleviating the physical ills of his fellow citizens." (44)

However, dreams, even the simple ones, will wither and die in a "field that has been eaten bare, and the locust moves on." (217)

Tragedy comes to Basilio one after the other. His connection to the group of students petitioning for a permit to open an academy to teach Spanish leads to his imprisonment. Among the group of students, he is the one who has suffered the most, not because of the enormity of his guilt, but because of his lack of patronage and strong political influence. Basilio misses his final examinations. His sweetheart Juli dies of a gruesome death after throwing herself out of the window of the parish house the day she takes the courage, having been goaded by a religious elderly neighbor earlier, to seek help on Basilio’s behalf from a friar who has once asked her to make "certain sacrifices."

The phoenix in Basilio fails him this time. Now, he "looked as if he had risen from the dead, horrified by what he had seen on the other side of eternity." (218)
He knocks on Simoun's door and asks for forgiveness for he "had been a bad son and a bad brother who forgot his brother's murder and the tortures his mother suffered…now all he has left is the determination to return evil for evil, crime for crime, violence for violence!" (218)

In a trance, Basilio listens to Simoun's description of his plan to create his own Sodom and Gomorrah. Something snaps and Basilio returns to his senses. He knows "that only God can try such methods, that God can destroy because He can also create, that God has eternity in his hands as a recompense to justify His acts, and man has not."

Thus, for the second time, Simoun's plan fails and curiously so both because of love. Basilio, despite his misgivings, agrees to help Simoun carry out the plan. However, as fate will have it, he sees on the street of Anloague his friend Isagani spying on the wedding feast of the latter's former sweetheart, Paulita. Basilio wastes no time and seizes Isagani by the arm and tells him to get away from the place. He has no choice but to tell him about the bomb planted in the house where the wedding reception is being held, doomed to blow up and be the grave of everyone in it. Isagani whose "generous heart remembered only his love for Paulita" runs into the pavilion and seizes the lamp that contains the dynamite and throws it to the river.

The first failed siege is the day when Maria Clara dies, the same day Simoun plots the revolt. For Simoun wants only to "…rescue her. He had wanted to live only to rescue her. He makes a revolution because only a revolution can open for him the gates of the nunneries!"

In the end, everything is left to God. In the voice of the Filipino priest Father Florentino, the rebellion fails, regardless of its reason, because Simoun "chose a means of which God could not approve." (250) Simoun dies alone save for Father Florentino who prays over Simoun’s dead body: "God have pity on those who led him astray!" Plans of rebellion are thrown into the sea and will emerge only when God wills it. It is at crucial and hopeless times such as this when Filipinos look up, let go and say "God, it is yours now."

In the end, social cancer has become so malignant, only a miracle can heal it.
Much of Rizal's religiosity is put into his works. He dedicated El Filibusterismo to the three Filipino priests Gomez, Burgos and Zamora who were executed on charges of subversion arising from the Cavite uprising in 1872. While it is true that he relentlessly attacks the Catholic church and his most acidic criticisms are aimed towards the Spanish friars, he has also given voice to the humility and piety of some priests in the forms of Father Florentino and the friar-teacher Father Fernandez. It may also be said that the religious leanings of his works, contrary to how they have been perceived over the years, are geared towards the sentiments of the time when most people feared God and believed the after-life despite.

In Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo, Rizal exposes Catholicism in its ugliest form on one hand. Readers encounter priests stealing property, lusting for young ladies, impregnating women, making false witness against innocent people, corrupting government officials, turning religious indulgences into business ventures, etc.

On the other hand, he presents the most honorable and loyal people in the characters of other priests and in the quiet faith of some of the pious men and women. Making it debatable if indeed the medium is the message.

Spain sent Catholicism to conquer this brown nation. The messengers of faith held hostage the faithful with the sweet promises of heaven and the stern warnings of hell. Intelligent and learned individuals will consider this premise too simplistic and suited for the gullible mind. Notwithstanding, Rizal with his exposure too advanced for his time ends his two novels with religious metaphors, consciously or otherwise. The first one concludes with two messiahs but one giving way to the other. The second novel closes with reluctance as the messiah fails to save his rotten sick society, leaves fate to the hands of the Father.

Monday, March 19, 2012

You Need Spoilers to Read Anne Frank

The ending of "The Diary of a Young Girl" by Anne Frank has left me cold: ice water crawling down my spine into all the veins of my being.

It is one of those works that spoilers could benefit a reader. I've known about Anne Frank and a little about her story. Lucky have I always been for having this academic flaw. I don't pay attention to peripherals. I don't put to mind summaries of books I have not read only to mouth them to sound intelligent. It must have been in grade school when I first encountered the name Anne Frank. She was that Jewish girl who wrote in real time a diary telling about her family's experiences in hiding during the second World War when Hitler decreed that all Jews are the world's abomination and they should all perish. Any CNN reporter would have been envious of her manner of reporting.

Obviously, my history teacher read only the summary of the book. I must have encountered the name again in High School and College, but I didn't bother reading the book. I wasn't given enough motivation to do so.

How glad I am that Anne Frank's Diary was not part of my required reading list in school. I was never asked to reduce it to a lousy, childish term paper, or into an atrocious oral report project. Come to think of it, the best books I've read are those I read outside of school. Academic questions, and analytical studies take the fun away from great works of art, any work of art. Endless, scholastic analyses squeeze the juice out of the works, until they are drained into pulps and are forced upon us by teachers to digest.

Anne Frank started her diary a couple of days after her 13th birthday in 1942. Her final entry was dated August 1, 1944.

In the beginning, she spoke about the big world: life and its promises: family, friends, love, books, and dreams. Those which made life life. It was when the noose was still worn loose. Until shortly, the knot was tightened up. Her whole universe was diminished to a backroom of a spice factory; her community cut down immediately to eight people, and five loyal Christian friends from the outside world. Her sky, the size of a peephole through a small window, the rain viewed through a slant between heavy curtains.

Her scaled-down world magnified everything around her thrice over. In her mind's eye, the people in The Secret Annex - as she called their hiding place - turned into giants whose flaws roared at her like monsters, whose ordinary goodness morphed to perfection like angels. Despite all, her world was still a microcosm of the world. Every bit the big world had in terms of human behavior, aspirations, conflicts, they had. Except that theirs appeared to be under a magnifying glass. Everyone's radius overlapped with another's. They were planets in each other's orbits, ready to explode at the smallest contact.

Reading it, I was transported to The Secret Annex. I felt her fear of burglars and bombings and getting caught. I fell in love with Peter as she did. And no matter how much she denied it in every opportunity she had, I don't buy it. Writing it, she was afraid that someone else might read it. In the beginning, she was without care about her feelings and expressions which she entrusted to Kitty - the name of her diary - but when an announcement over a Dutch Radio encouraged the Dutch citizens to keep letters, journals and diaries for publication after the war, she started cleaning up and reviewing old entries.

But she was too real, and her world too small to sanitize reality. She spoke of her hatred toward her mother, her awareness of her sexuality, her disappointment with her father, her inward and outward self. One time she could be hopeful, another time hopeless and desperate.

I was with her eating peas and potatoes only. I was with her eating "hot cereal with strawberries, buttermilk with strawberries, bread with strawberries, strawberries for dessert, strawberries with sugar, strawberries with sand." When they were stripping pods almost around the clock, my ears were also humming the following refrain: "snap the end, strip the pod, pull the string, pod in the pan, snap the end, strip the pod, pull the string, pod in the pan..."

I allowed her to rant about herself, the world, everyone and everything. I gave to her what the world then wouldn't. Freedom. Because I couldn't suspend disbelief, I suspended my opinion. She made me believe in humanity. She who was abandoned by the world, save from it giving slowly stewing hope over BBC Radio about the promise of invasion by the allied forces, and freedom from Hitler's Germany.

She said: "It's difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality. It's a wonder I haven't abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart."

Like an overall, Anne Frank turned herself inside out for all the world to see, "Until I just can't keep it up anymore, because when everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside."

And before I knew it, her last words were, "I keep trying to find a way to become what I'd like to be and what I could be if...if only there were no other people in the world."

Until: "Anne's Diary ENDS here." (Emphasis mine.)

And the Afterword.

Something is wrong here, I told myself.

But the Afterword comes:

"On the morning of August 4, 1944, sometime between ten and ten-thirty, a car pulled up at 263 Prinsengracht...Someone must have tipped them off."

I went back to her last entry, checked the date, and found August 1, 1944. Anne Frank and her family didn't see it coming.

She was facing a crisis in her own little world, only to be devoured by the big, bad world.

All eight residents of The Secret Annex were arrested, including two of their helpers.

Peter, her Peter was forced to join the "death march" from Auchwitz to Austria, and died a few months later.

Anne's mother died in a concentration camp from hunger and exhaustion five months after their capture.

Margot, Anne's sister, died from the typhus epidemic that broke out in the winter of 1944 and 1945. A few days later, Anne died from the same. Anne and her sister "were probably dumped in Bergen-Belsen's mass graves."

Only Otto Frank, their father, survived to tell the tale and share Anne's legacy about a world gone mad, and a few people who remained human and humane despite.

I have always thought that Anne Frank would live to old age with the vibrance of the youth. Reading the diary, I have visualized Anne Frank to be freed and live the dream that the world might redeem itself from the muck it had sunk itself.

I should have read spoilers! They could have saved me from this disappointment.

But would Anne Frank become this big a figure of human spirit if she attained her happy ending?

The Holocaust is one of those bullets in God's checklist when the time comes for all of humanity to face Him in judgment. It will be a big, black mark against us all when He asks, why did you allow that to happen to your fellow human beings?

Thursday, March 15, 2012

E for Everything

The advent of high technology brought about by relentless improvements in Information and Communications Technology (ICT) has brought everything down to e-.

That thing that started it all -- the most popular of all is e-mail. Then came e-commerce. E-learning. E-book. E-bay. E-passport. E-pass. E-ticket.

On the local front, we have e-load that turned into a booming business side by side sari-sari stores.

Then, what do you know! E-burol! Relatives of deceased individuals don't have to be physically present to attend a wake or a funeral, they simply need access to the site that hosts the virtual burol.

Here's another: e-dalaw. Do you have a relative imprisoned in the National Penitentiary in Muntinlupa? No time? Too far? Get a scheduled online video-chat with your relative-inmate from the Bureau of Corrections office, and you will be granted a 10 to 20-minute e-dalaw privileges. Amazing, huh?

Too sick to hear mass? Log on to e-mass!

What will they think of next? E-wedding? Then we will have e-honeymoons. (Hmmm...Isn't this another term Then we may as well have e-babies and e-families living in e-houses, eating e-food, driving e-cars!

Oh, E.T., we miss you!

Monday, March 12, 2012

"Friendly" GMA TV Network

As expected, Chief Justice Corona's media campaign exclusively over GMA TV Network was picked up by other outfits: radio, television and newspapers, including the arch rival ABS CBN's Kapamilya Network and DZMM Radio.

The next day, it was all what the newspapers carried as headlines.

The Philippine Daily Inquirer emblazoned "Corona Counterattacks in GMA TV Network" which said, "A member of the Corona camp said the Chief Justice’s visit to GMA 7 yesterday was a start of his “media hopping” to “friendly” media companies."

The word "friendly" caught me and had me do a double take. So if it were true, I was right in my observations about GMA 7's political leanings.

That same day, I sent a tweet to @gmanews, "The Official Twitter Account of GMA News in the Philippines:"

"@gmanews, what say you about PDI calling you a "friendly" television network to Corona? & I thought I was the only one who noticed."

There was no reply, of course. But I got my reply by way of a letter GMA Network, Inc. sent to PDI Letters Section today billed as "'Friendly' GMA: source grossly misinformed."

The letter sender, Butch S. Raquel, GMA Network, Inc.'s consultant for corporate communications, said GMA requested for an interview with Chief Justice Renato Corona as early as December 2011 when the impeachment against CJ Corona was ratified by the Lower House. That they have "persisted in that request in the weeks that followed in the interest of fairness. Last Wednesday, he finally agreed." The consultant sounded as if they were the only one who thought of asking the Chief Justice for an interview.

Well, it is not their fault if CJ Corona chose GMA Network over the others.

But if you are a regular listener of Mike Enriquez in his morning radio show, er...program, you will know why Corona chose GMA for his "exclusives." Will not dwell on this further. One blog about Mike Enriquez and CJ Corona is enough.

About time GMA Network changed "Kapuso" to "Kaibigan."

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Mike Enriquez: Take This!

I have had enough. I can't help it that my mother listens to Mike Enriquez over DZBB for her early morning news on the radio.

And I can't help getting disgusted over Mr. Enriquez's shameless peddling of Chief Justice Corona and Congressman Gloria Arroyo's defense.

This morning, Enriquez once again, as he always does, tells people how kawawa CJ Corona is for having been the sole target of Malacanang's vengeful schemes. This time through Bangko Sentral's auditing team.

Once again, Enriquez tells his listeners: "If Bangko Sentral can do this to a Chief Justice, it sure can do the same to an ordinary Filipino." This is the argument Enriquez uses every time Corona is caught in a corner for a damning issue. Enriquez has also done the same in defense of Congressman Arroyo. This is sick. How can GMA 7 allow this? And they say what? "Walang kinikilingan. Walang pinoprotektahan. Serbisyong totoo lamang?" You should be ashamed of yourselves!

First and foremost, you don't compare the ordinary Filipino with Chief Justice Corona. For an ordinary Filipino will not be touched by Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas for audit. BSP will not have any reason to do so, for an ordinary Filipino will not amass wealth like CJ Corona over a very short period of time. An ordinary Filipino does not earn P60,000 a month and buy condos in posh districts. An ordinary Filipino is not given airline platinum privileges. An ordinary Filipino does not have the likes of former Supreme Court Associate Justice Serafin Cuevas defending him in court pro bono publico.

So stop the sickening comparison, quit your news anchor job, and get that PR job Chief Justice Corona so badly needs. That is, if you haven't got the job yet. Well, then quit moonlighting, and get off our eardrums!

By the way, you cannot even pronounce "Tucson" correctly. You're from what school again?

NOTE: A day after I posted this blog, Mike Enriquez interviewed Chief Justice Corona exclusively over his morning radio program over DZBB. Seriously.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Heejun, Don't Make It Bad

I'm switching my fan mode back on.

I was coasting through TV channels a few days ago when I stumbled on Fox. So, it is that time of the season again.

And I saw this Korean guy - I don't know. I just know when an East Asian is Korean even before they open their mouth - facing the formidable trio of Steven Tyler, Randy Jackson, and Jennifer Lopez. Then he started singing Michael Bolton's "How Am I Supposed To Live Without You," the song that used to be a sound track of my early twenty's broken heart. That stopped me on my tracks, and channel-flipping spree. No, not the song, but the voice of that Korean guy! My God! Where did that voice come from? You look at this guy and you'd say, "Oh, he kinda look like that Baker King dude from that Korean soap." But not as a singer...until he opens his mouth to sing.

And I forgot all about him with all the lazy things I had to do.

This weekend, he came back for the top 24 and sang "Angels," not exactly spectacularly, but there's something about him that makes me love him. Yeah, that's the word.

Fess up time. Heejun, that's his name, looks and sounds like my boy Seok Hyun, one of the two best male people I've met in my life. (I could have just said "men." What's my problem here?) He's got Seok Hyun's nuances. The way Heejun intersperses American English and Korean dictions is just too painfully familiar. His verbal and facial expressions pull some strings out of my memory bank. Getting corny. Getting there. Nearer. Nearer. STOP!

I couldn't help it. But God bless Youtube! I watched all his previous AI videos and I was just blown away. By his charm, his story, his wit, his honesty, his humor. He is just adorable in a kind of easy, laid back way. The way he bends and bows to the judges and the audience speaks more than cultural behavior. There's the classic sincerity of gratitude, that ennobling feeling of unworthiness. You just want to hug him and have him as your best friend.

Another reason Beatles is timeless and universal. They have predicted the coming of Heejun Han.

Hey Jude

Hey Jude, don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better.

Hey Jude, don't be afraid.
You were made to go out and get her.
The minute you let her under your skin
Then you begin to make it better.

And any time you feel the pain, Hey Jude, refrain
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder.

Hey Jude, don't let me down.
You have found her now go and get her
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.

So let it out and let it in,
Hey Jude, begin.
You're waiting for someone to perform with,
And don't you know that it's just you.
Hey Jude, you'll do;
The movement you need is on your shoulder.