living treasures

The story of abaca in Negros Island reaches back beyond living memory. Many believe it predates Spanish colonization, and local communities already wore clothes out of this wild banana species.

When I returned to Dumaguete City and began work as a researcher last year, I sifted through resources and spoke with people who pointed me toward this humble yet remarkable fiber. That search eventually led me to a story I had never heard before: pinakang. 

Pinakang is the laborious art of softening and smoothening abaca weave (sinamay) by soaking it in vats of natural solution, drying, and pounding with heavy wooden mallets. The result is a finer fabric unlike any other. The catch? There is only one person left in the entire region who still does this work masterfully, someone that even weavers and traders from as far as Manila and Cebu seek out.

Her name is Antonia “Minyang” Waro of Brgy. Calayugan in the municipality of Valencia. At 84 years old, with almost no written records about her or pinakang, her fading presence struck me with urgency.

So in the past five days, I set out on a fieldwork to learn about this overlooked heritage. What I found went far deeper—into an industry that has grown increasingly fragile, into environmental concerns that threaten the abaca itself, and into stories of people who still hold the threads of this tradition.

All this led me to the prized laob variety, source of the finest abaca fiber called bitool. To farmers Christopher and Candelario Nuay of Brgy. Malaunay who still practice pag-kige, the manual stripping of fibers. To mamisi-ay or abaca rope-maker Rottie Mendez in Brgy. Jawa, one of the last in her line. To Ricardo “Titing” Bantaya, once a farmer, now a trader of this sought-after fiber. To Lindon Escalante, Valencia’s agriculturist, who faces the challenge of dying abacas. To Nena Locsin of the Philippine Fiber Industry Development Authority, whose work tirelessly protects and sustains what remains of the industry.

From one woman’s memory of pinakang, I discovered countless strands waiting to be woven together. This story will take time to unravel.

[ More photos here ]

just a thought

 The Philippines has endured too much to be told how to protest. You just can’t tell anyone that there is a proper way of rallying after generations of agony and state neglect.

enough is enough

Everyone has the right to protest, especially against the scheming and corrupt, the abuse of power, the thieving of our taxpayer money. The rallies across the country today, including at the boulevard on the corner of Silliman Avenue and Flores Avenue here in Dumaguete, were not meant to divide people, but to unite us in demanding accountability and justice, to put fear back into the hearts of those who still think they can get away with their crimes.

With the Pride Run Club 6200, I joined the anti-corruption rally in Dumaguete City. They had enough members to represent just about every field. Corruption seeps everywhere, may affect politics, education, sports, healthcare, even our culture and the arts. Everything in between. That’s why protest works best when it’s intersectional. And if the mid-2000s taught us anything through Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens, it’s this: we’re all in this together.

Always disappointing that a Disney flick still makes more sense than most of the people who run the country.

Often, we feel limited to offering only thoughts and prayers. My friend and I talked about this earlier this morning. But I cannot discount the efforts of those who protest. This, to me, is still real legitimate action. Without them, many laws would never have been created or amended.

If we hope for massive resistance like in Nepal or Thailand, I think it may be harder in our country because we are so fragmented. That is why political awareness is crucial, especially among the young. This is where empathy, maturity, and clarity in choosing leaders take root.

Yes, survival comes first for many. People are hungry, overworked, underpaid. But history shows change is possible. It already happened before, overhauling a system, ending a dictator’s reign. It can happen again.

May this movement not end in the streets. And send all korap to Mars.

[ More photos here ]

who do you see?

Last August 23, with a free day to spare in Manila, I headed to Altro Mondo Creative Space in Makati for the launch of Felix Mago Miguel’s latest solo exhibit, 𝘈𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘮: 𝘓𝘶𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘏𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨—the newest installment in his ongoing art sets as album series.

I first met Felix, his wife Amel, and one of their five children, Ulap (currently based in Dumaguete), last February in Bohol. They’ve since become very dear to my art-famished heart.

The exhibit presents anthropomorphic portraits of animals lifted from our local idioms, expressions, and cultural distractions—Hayop ka! Baboy! Buwaya. Tuta. Sabong. Regal in bearing, their poses either hint at secrecy or knowingness. Each painting is ornately framed, complete with gilded title plaques as if they belonged in the halls of government.

Art is always political, and works that try to distance themselves from it are, in their own way, even more political. What this exhibit conveys, at least to me, is that the critique does not fall in easy binaries. In fact, standing before each canvas, the questions arise—Is this me? Am I one of them? Do I support these people?

Felix’s art reflects not only the Philippines but the world at large. And with crises worsening on all fronts, from politics to the environment, maybe the only way forward is to confront them head-on, as if there were no other choice.

It was a hard and bitter pill to swallow that night, softened only by the sudden joy of familiar faces and chance encounters—artists Nicole Asares and Sam Penaso, writer Susan Claire Agbayani, photographer Wig Tysmans, bookshop owner Celestino Palma III, and several others. I went home with a heart full and a mind buzzing with questions. The exhibit is open to the public until October 4. 

[ More photos here ]

favorite color

Early this morning, while waiting for my turn to check in, a lady from a couple approached me to ask if I was also heading to Dumaguete and if the airline was accommodating passengers by group. The line seemed to be unraveling in every direction, a bit of a disarray. I said yes, explained that sadly this happens quite often, but assured them that our group number would be called eventually. Turns out, we were all in Group 5.

“I guess we’ll run out of space in the overhead bins,” the guy said.

“We’ll find out soon,” I replied with a laugh.

A few minutes later, the lady turned to me again, smiling: “It’s your favorite color noh?”

“Oh, this? Burnt orange? One of my few favorites!” I said. “I just like earth tones.”

“Yes! I noticed your phone, your jacket. It’s my favorite color, too!”

“Your pants were the same color years ago,” the guy teased, referring to what she was wearing that morning.

“Worn too many times? Must be your favorite pants, too!” I joked back.

And they introduced themselves—Steven and Winnell. They would be heading to Dauin to explore diving spots, planning nothing but diving, eating, resting, and diving again. Naturally, they asked for recommendations on food and places to visit. 

Since they were particularly interested in the environment, of course I told them they should start at National Museum of the Philippines - Dumaguete where they could see the natural history of Negros Island, the burial jars of Bacong, and the region’s architectural heritage. They loved the idea.

“We’ll look for you!” they said.

Okay then. Hope to see you soon, Steven and Winnell. The museum’s open every day.