This article, On Being a Dark Filipina Traveling the Philippines, I wrote was originally published on Rappler.com on March 7, 2015. It went crazily viral! I was actually crying when I wrote this. The years-long burden attached to one’s skin. “Porener imong uyab no?” (Is your boyfriend a foreigner?) asked the passenger beside me. We were on the old van to Biliran from Ormoc. I knew this question was coming, but I asked nonetheless why she thought so. I have the looks, she supplied – slender, long-haired, dark. Foreigners go for that “exotic” look. I could let it pass if she stopped […]
She sighed. She was crouching on the floor, sifting some leaves with her frail-looking, wrinkled hands. She then slit the middle of one elongated leaf, which looked like pandan, and inserted the base of another. She repeated the process until she made a beautiful mandala of leaves. She pushed the heart of the foliage into the soot-bottomed casserole and then poured rice grains in it. “It is her own way to keep the rice from getting scorched,” Tommy, Whang Od’s frequent visitor, explained. She cut the pinewood into splinters and fed them into the hearth. The fire illuminated her tattooed arms.
“We are all whitewashed,” Shane admitted. Godo dismembered the bihag we bought from the cockpit. He poured water into the basin, rinsed the meat, and poured the water into the sandy ground. The boys stared at the meat in all its grandeur. Or gruesomeness: bones, flesh, blood. While for them—Tupe, Freyal, Godo—it was just the usual bihag they had every Sunday. It was nothing short of ordinary. Poultry, on the other side of the world, is boneless—the boring tenderness of meat, they said. Years ago, someone spitted out the tinolang manok upon feeling the hardness, the finiteness of a […]
It was bright and happy. Painted yellow and orange, the Port of Tubigon building looked fresh and new. Half of the road is finished, while three quarters of the other side are rubble. The island in the middle showcased the beauties of Bohol: a river, a manmade forest, and churches. A tractor was idle next to a poster of the wide-eyed tarsier. Does a real one ever blink?