Toledo —> Libertad Reflections on Sartre’s Gaze

Okay. So, I started my walk again yesterday, leaving Toledo for Malay, and now from Malay to Union Libertad in Antique. Something that I have been contemplating—or maybe observing, rather—is the idea of the gaze, specifically the gaze of the other. This is, of course, the term Sartre would use, and it’s very true.

It’s an important thing to take note of because it controls so much of your own life. When I am walking, I am constantly under the gaze of others. They can’t help but see me, think about my whiteness, and wonder what I’m doing there and where I’m going. They’re very curious, and because of that, they watch me, trying to see what I’m going to do next.

Genuinely, I don’t mind the gaze of the others that look at me, for the most part, because I know that it’s temporary. I’ll be walking past them. Maybe I’ll have a conversation, and we break that wall of just observing. But even when we’re conversing, there’s still the gaze of the other, of course. And you feel like you need to act in accordance with their view.

In Sartre’s terms, it is alienating and objectifying because you cannot be your true self—how you may want to act. Supposedly, I may want to dance around and sing, but if I know that someone’s there while I’m walking, I won’t do that. And that’s just the truth, because there is some shame, there is some embarrassment. There is a realization that I am caught in another person’s view, and that they’re judging me and thinking something. Most likely, because I have judged others and I have viewed others, they would be thinking, “This guy is nuts.”

A Playful Gaze

So, for the most part, this gaze is trapping, confining, and, to some extent, debilitating. However, while on my walk, I have also experienced gazes that are not like this—ones that allow me to be freer and maybe even access parts of myself that I may not have done otherwise.

For instance, I was walking from Toledo to Malay up this big hill, and there was this sari-sari store on the side. I stopped there for a bit, and the girl saw me. She was just smiling and seemed so shocked that I walked the hill and, I guess, that a white-looking dude was there. I noticed that, and I looked over at her and smiled, and we would look back and forth at each other, sort of.

After a bit of rest, I continued on. Later on, she was in a tricycle, and I could see her in the back of it because it was pretty open. She was grimacing at me with her chin in the pocket between her index and thumb. And I grimaced back at her and shook my head a little, like, “I see you.”

So, we started to communicate in our own language in that way. It was a middle ground, neutrality. Even though I could speak Tagalog and even though I’m sure she could speak English, we were sort of playing with each other. Then later on, a few hundred meters ahead, she was at her school, and she saw me again.

She ran past me, started looking at me with her friends, sort of not. I told her, “Nakita kita” (“I saw you”), and she laughed, a bit shy. And so there was my gaze onto her. But even within this trapping feeling, we were opening new doors with the way in which we were playing. There was a noticing that went on between both of us that felt new and different, and it rejuvenated parts of our souls.

She screamed and laughed as she passed me, and later on, she came back to the school I was passing. She was there with her friends, just smiling at me again. So, there was this back-and-forth noticing that enhanced my experience of being me.

Of course, this happens with different relationships that you might have. It could be with your parents, siblings, or partner. It is about being vulnerable, though, and taking risks.

A Bad Gaze

Another bad example of the gaze—which I won’t go into too much detail about here—was when I was actually stalked today by a man for a good portion of my walk. I felt trapped in his gaze as he walked behind me. When I stopped, he would stop. When I talked to people, he would crouch behind tricycles.

I needed to pee, but I didn’t dare because I didn’t want him to watch me. I didn’t know what would happen if I stopped, and he was right behind me. You feel trapped in this gaze and feel like you need to act in a way that fits their objectification of you. I felt scared and paralyzed, but at the same time, I had to keep going. So, that’s definitely a bad gaze.

Courage and the Gaze

I’ve also been thinking about courage. I’ve always had stage fright as a kid, and I’ve always been shy around girls that I liked. Of course, both of those scenarios are tied to the other’s gaze. You don’t want to do something that will be seen as “not right” by the people watching you.

I think there have been so many opportunities that have passed me by because of my lack of courage. What I realize now is how much courage I lacked as a youth—going into my teens, high school, university, and even now. I realize it’s a skill that needs cultivating.

I remember there was a girl I very much liked in high school. Even though I knew she liked me, I couldn’t bring myself to ask her out, to approach her, and breach that barrier of being in a relationship—of being seen completely. Of course, I’m in a relationship now, and people would say things have worked out. I’m deeply in love with my partner, and it’s not about who I’ve ended up with. It’s about recognizing the lack of courage in your past selves and how it may still be present now.

I’ve disguised my lack of courage as responding ethically to their gaze. There have been many opportunities where I could have gone out with someone who liked me but failed to respond courageously. I’d tell myself it was because I respected who they were. In some ways, I felt like daring to be close to someone I held in such high esteem was a form of disrespect because I felt so little of myself. I’d always think, “They deserve better.”

I’d always think it wouldn’t work out because maybe that person was a year older. I didn’t have the courage to try, to be vulnerable, to work things out with someone else—to enter that playful language, which is scary, daring, and vulnerable but ultimately liberating.

Courage, I believe, is daring to act authentically. It’s about not giving too much credence to the gaze of others—not to be disrespectful to them, but to be respectful of who you are. It’s about being willing to show them your authentic self, which is the ultimate form of respect. It’s the only way true love—between friends, parents, siblings, partners, and even strangers—can be achieved.