Positively Filipino | Online Magazine for Filipinos in the Diaspora – The Magazine

Hard Hats: Filipino Civil Engineers in the Middle East

Michael G. Lucero — Wed, 13 May 2026 16:38:58 +0000

Engr. Michael Lucero and Lifting Supervisor Neil Braga overseeing vibro compaction works in critical areas, part of a Value Engineering strategy combining dynamic and vibro compaction methods to optimize performance, safety, and cost.

Before sunrise, when the desert air is still mercifully cool, Filipino civil engineers across the Middle East begin their day the same way—reviewing drawings, invoices, budgets, and schedules over strong coffee, checking messages from home, and preparing to step onto sites that will soon be alive with noise and motion. Under the hard hat is not just a professional title, but a quiet identity shaped by long hours, multinational teams, and the constant balance between ambition and sacrifice. From highways carved out of sand to towers rising against the horizon, Filipino engineers help build the modern Middle East, carrying with them not only technical skill, but the unseen weight of family left thousands of miles away.

Why the Middle East?

For many Filipino civil engineers, the Middle East was never the original dream—it became the destination because it was possible. “Originally, my dream country to live and work in was Australia because I have relatives there and quality of life is good. I decided to work in the Middle East because the application process is straightforward, deployment is quick and the earning potential is higher.” — Christopher Fermo, Senior QS Engineer. While opportunities in Western countries often came with long credentialing processes, licensing barriers, and years of local experience, the Middle East offered something more immediate: access. Applications moved faster, interviews were practical rather than bureaucratic, and skills mattered more than polished resumes.

The region’s relentless pace of development created openings that few other places could match. Roads, airports, railways, towers, and entire cities rose from the desert, demanding engineers in numbers rarely seen elsewhere. For Filipino professionals—known for adaptability and hands-on competence—this meant steady demand across infrastructure, commercial, and industrial projects. “I decided to work in the Middle East because my salary in the Philippines wasn’t enough to meet my family’s monthly needs and prepare for my children’s future. Working abroad allows me to provide better financial stability and secure my family’s future.” — Ross Fernandez, Site Engineer.

Experience, while important, was not always a gatekeeper. Many companies learned early on that Filipino engineers grew quickly on the job. Those who arrived with limited experience were often given responsibilities that accelerated their learning, guided by senior Filipinos who had already earned the trust of employers. Over time, this created a quiet pipeline: one generation opening doors for the next.

What began as opportunity gradually became reputation. “What surprised me most about working in the Middle East was how diverse the workplace is and how people from different cultures work together professionally and respectfully.” — Christopher Fermo, Senior QS Engineer. Filipino civil engineers were seen as dependable, collaborative, and willing to learn—traits valued in multinational project teams working under tight deadlines. In an industry where performance spoke louder than pedigree, the Middle East became not just a place to work, but a place where careers could take shape.

The Filipino Engineer at Work

On site, the Filipino engineer often operates at the intersection of planning and reality—translating drawings into action while navigating constraints that shift by the hour. “A typical day on site starts with reviewing the work schedule and priorities for the day, followed by a toolbox meeting with the team to discuss safety and planned activities. Inspect ongoing works to ensure they follow the approved drawings, specifications, and quality standards. I coordinate with subcontractors, supervisors, and suppliers to resolve technical issues, monitor progress, and make sure targets are met. I also prepare site reports, update documentation.” — Ross Fernandez, Site Engineer.

Whether coordinating with foremen, responding to unexpected site conditions, or balancing safety, cost, and schedule, their role is rarely confined to a single job description. It is in this daily negotiation between design and execution that many Filipino engineers quietly prove their value—steady, solutions-oriented, and dependable under pressure. “To succeed as a QS Engineer in large-scale infrastructure projects, it takes strong technical knowledge, attention to detail, and a solid understanding of contracts, cost control, and project documentation. It is also important to have good communication and coordination skills, as these projects involve multiple stakeholders, tight schedules, and diverse teams. Adaptability, integrity, and the ability to work under pressure are key to delivering accurate cost management and supporting project success.” — Christopher Fermo, Senior QS Engineer.

Beyond the Hard Hat

Engr. Michael Lucero observes the actual piling operations for cost adjustments.

Work in the Middle East is demanding, but it is often the hours after work that test Filipino engineers the most. When the site quiets down and the helmet is set aside, many return not to family or familiar voices, but to a small room far from home. It is in that silence—after long days of calculations, coordination, and decision-making—that loneliness tends to surface.

For some, it arrives as a question quietly asked at night: Was this the right decision? Especially for those who had careers back home, the distance can feel heavier when weighed against what was left behind. Professional progress comes at the cost of presence—of being there when life happens. “One of the hardest challenges I faced was managing homesickness and boredom while adjusting to the cultural differences of the host country during my early years in the Middle East. This experience pushed me to grow personally and professionally. During my toughest years abroad, what kept me going was my determination to grow stronger both personally and professionally. Being far from home pushed me to become more resilient, disciplined, and self-reliant. Professionally, the challenges motivated me to improve my skills, stay competitive, and prove my value in a demanding work environment. Personally, my family, my goals, and my belief in hard work gave me the strength to keep moving forward.” — Christopher Fermo, Senior QS Engineer.

Yet for many OFWs, that same distance becomes a space for reflection and faith. Far from familiar routines and comfort zones, engineers find time they never had before—time to listen, to reflect, and to reconnect with God. Invitations to attend worship services or small Bible studies, often from fellow Filipinos, become lifelines. What begins as companionship grows into fellowship, offering not just comfort, but meaning. In shared prayers and quiet conversations, loneliness is eased, and faith deepened.

There are other moments of comfort, quieter but equally powerful. Salary day brings relief and purpose—the chance to send support back home, to help families meet daily needs and slowly build shared dreams. Each remittance is more than money; it is reassurance, responsibility, and love expressed across distance.

Still, sacrifice remains the constant undercurrent. Parents worry daily about their children abroad—if they are safe, healthy, and eating well. Spouses left behind carry the weight of raising children alone, shaping values, managing households, and holding families together while partners work thousands of miles away. Love endures, but it is tested by absence.

What cuts deepest are the moments missed: birthdays celebrated through screens, graduations watched in pixels, Christmases spent on video calls instead of around the table, New Year’s counted down in a different time zone, anniversaries marked by messages instead of embraces. Technology makes connection possible, but it cannot replace presence. There is a quiet ache—difficult to explain, impossible to ignore—that comes from knowing you are providing for your family while being physically absent from their lives.

For some, that absence eventually leads to a different kind of adjustment—coming home. Former OFW engineer Francis A. Saltivan describes reintegration as “a mix of both.” Professionally, he adjusted quickly because the technical skills gained abroad remained useful. Personally, adapting to a slower pace and different work culture took time—but being closer to family and applying his experience back home made the transition worthwhile.

“What is rarely talked about is the personal sacrifice of being away from family and missing important moments. These challenges teach resilience, discipline, and responsibility, and motivate me to work harder to provide a better future for my family while representing Filipino engineers with pride.” — Ross Fernandez, Site Engineer.

This is the part of the engineer’s life that does not appear on resumes or project reports. Beyond the hard hat, Filipino civil engineers carry longing alongside responsibility, faith alongside doubt, and love measured not by proximity, but by sacrifice.

Identity and Respect

Engr. Von Villar with fellow QS Engineers during a workday at the office.

In multinational construction sites across the Middle East, trust is rarely given outright—it is earned, often quietly, over time. For Filipino civil engineers, credibility is built not through titles or bravado, but through consistency. Many arrive knowing that they do not have all the answers, and instead of hiding gaps in experience, they ask questions. They watch, learn, and request examples. What they lack in familiarity, they make up for with humility and effort.

Attention to detail is one of the traits colleagues quickly notice. Drawings are checked carefully, instructions followed precisely, and responsibilities carried through to completion. Filipino engineers are often willing to take on additional work, cover for absent teammates, or step into unfamiliar tasks without complaint. In environments where teams are composed of many nationalities and communication is imperfect, this adaptability matters. Being able to understand colleagues who struggle with language—and meet them halfway—becomes an unspoken strength. “Filipino engineers usually excel on site in adaptability, teamwork, and work ethic. We are known for being hardworking, reliable, and willing to take on responsibility even in challenging conditions.” — Ross Fernandez, Site Engineer.

Over time, this reliability shapes reputation. Filipino engineers are known as professionals who do what is good for the project and the company, even when no one is watching. Trust grows not from single moments, but from repeated proof: deadlines met, problems solved, and work delivered with care.

Yet respect is not always immediate. At the start of many careers, Filipino engineers face subtle stereotyping. They may be viewed primarily as technical support rather than decision-makers—valued as “good workers,” but not always seen as leaders. Promotions, when they come, are sometimes quiet; responsibilities increase faster than recognition. Authority is earned gradually, often long before it is formally acknowledged.

Sheila Ann Paragas-Noveloso, a QS Engineer with fifteen years of experience in Qatar, shared that earlier in her career, clients sometimes preferred dealing with male colleagues during meetings. Over time, however, consistent preparation, professionalism, and confidence helped shift those perceptions—reflecting a gradual move toward merit-based recognition in the workplace.

Most Filipino engineers accept this reality without protest, choosing patience over confrontation. Respect, they know, comes with time and performance. In an industry where results matter more than words, many learn to lead through action—earning influence before titles, and recognition through outcomes rather than applause.

“I earned respect by consistently delivering quality work and demonstrating reliability and professionalism. As I gained experience, I became more confident in my work and professional judgment, which allowed me to communicate more clearly and assert myself when needed.” — Sheila Ann Paragas-Noveloso, QS Engineer.

This balance—between capability and perception, between contribution and visibility—becomes part of the Filipino engineer’s professional identity in the Middle East. It is not an easy path, but it is one navigated with resilience, integrity, and the quiet confidence that respect, once earned, lasts.

Looking Forward

For young Filipino engineers considering the Middle East, it is important to understand that technical competence alone is not always enough. Skill opens doors, but how you carry yourself determines how far you go. Learn to communicate with clarity. Document your work. Protect your professionalism. Respect local cultures and workplace hierarchies, but never shrink yourself to fit unfair expectations. Confidence, consistency, and integrity dismantle prejudice more effectively than confrontation ever could.

“Despite having almost ten years of experience in the Philippines, I realized that when you work abroad, you often start from zero again. You have to learn new standards, adapt quickly, and prove yourself all over—but that process shapes you.” — Von Villar, Civil Engineer one-year OFW.

The landscape, however, is changing. More Filipino engineers are moving into supervisory and leadership roles, earning trust through performance and reshaping perceptions one project at a time. Each successful project, each promotion earned through merit, weakens outdated stereotypes and opens doors for those who follow. Progress may be slow, but it is real—and it is cumulative.

“My first ‘I belong here’ moment came when I realized I could adapt to a new environment, work with people from different nationalities, and handle responsibilities that once felt overwhelming. That’s when confidence slowly replaced doubt.” — Von Villar, Civil Engineer, one-year OFW.

What today’s engineers endure and overcome becomes tomorrow’s standard. By mentoring younger colleagues, sharing hard-earned lessons, and refusing to normalize subtle discrimination, Filipino engineers build a legacy that goes beyond individual success. The true impact lies not in titles or recognition, but in making the path clearer and fairer for the next generation.

In the Middle East, Filipino engineers are not just building roads, towers, and industrial plants. They are building credibility, representation, and quiet resistance against bias. Every carefully checked drawing, every solved site problem, every calm decision under pressure adds another brick to that unseen structure.

Sari’s feature films, documentaries, hybrids, experimental works, and video art are being screened in a multisite retrospective which started in March and continues until May.

Even now, working here, I feel the distance from home, the discomfort, and the loneliness all too well. Yet, if I were starting out again, I would still choose this path. The hardship is hardest at the beginning, but with time, it strengthens you. Loneliness can be managed, even conquered, and families are only a video call away, present in daily life despite the miles.
Life outside work also finds its rhythm. Cities offer communities—sports groups, faith fellowships, shared hobbies, and familiar places that bring comfort. From badminton courts and basketball leagues to chess clubs, camping trips, and weekend meals at Filipino restaurants, small routines restore a sense of home. For those assigned near urban centers, even bringing family to live in the Middle East becomes possible, turning a temporary posting into a shared chapter of life.
And none of this stands alone. Today’s opportunities were shaped by those who came before—the skilled workers, foremen, and engineers of the 1970s and 1980s who laid the foundation of trust Filipino professionals now build upon. Their discipline and workmanship continue to echo across job sites, shaping how Filipino engineers are seen and valued.
Long after the concrete has cured and the steel has weathered, what remains is not just infrastructure, but the mark left by engineers who stood firm, worked honestly, and proved their worth without asking permission.

Acknowledgments

Engr. Christopher Fermo, Senior QS Engineer, with 17 years of experience in the Middle East, who has handled mega-projects in roads and infrastructure.

Engr. Ross Fernandez, Site Engineer, whose experience reflects daily site pressures and coordination with multinational teams.

Engr. Sheila Ann Paragas-Noveloso, QS Engineer, providing insight on gender dynamics in Middle East construction companies.

Engr. Francis A. Saltivan, Former OFW Engineer who returned to the Philippines, offering perspective on skills transfer and reintegration.

Engr. Von Villar, Civil Engineer with one year of experience as an OFW, sharing experiences of culture shock and expectations versus reality.

Their decades of professional experience, reflections, and personal stories provided invaluable perspective on credibility, leadership, and the long-term evolution of trust earned by Filipino engineers in the region.

Michael G. Lucero is a Filipino civil engineer from Palawan who has been working as an OFW in the Middle East since 2006 and is currently based in Dubai, UAE. He writes narrative stories and blogs on Filipino life abroad, craftsmanship, and the quiet intersections of engineering, music, and everyday survival far from home, including guitar-related writing at jmjguitars.com.

More from Michael G. Lucero

Overseas Filipino Achievers, Part 4

Mona Lisa Yuchengco — Wed, 13 May 2026 16:38:49 +0000

In keeping with Positively Filipino’s goal of celebrating the 13-million-strong (and counting) Filipino diaspora, we are launching a new series titled Overseas Filipino Achievers. The series recognizes outstanding Filipinos making their mark in various countries around the world. It builds on our popular and long-running feature, “FilAms Among the Remarkable and Famous.”
But we need your help. If you know Filipinos outside the Philippines and the United States who are doing exceptional work in their adopted countries, please send their names, supporting documents or links, and photos to pfpublisher@yahoo.com.
UNITED KINGDOM
Maila Reeves, Wellness Consultant

Maila Reeves (Source: LinkedIn)

Reeves is a British Filipina strategist and founder of The Infinity Code, focused on longevity, modern luxury, and intelligent living. With a foundation in law and international business, she helps high performing individuals and brands design systems that support long term health, clarity, and impact. Her work reframes luxury as precision, sustainability, and strategic self-mastery. Transitioning from a career as a barrister, she is now a dedicated businesswoman, investor, and advisor focused on cutting-edge consumer health tech. In addition, Reeves is the co-founder of Bio Atelier, a luxury brand of science-led longevity supplements. The brand launched with a debut range of clean, clinically supported NAD⁺ formulations, solidifying her role as an innovator in the consumer wellness space.
Emmily Magtalas Rhodes, Author

Emmily Magtalas Rhodes (Photo courtesy of Emmily Magtalas Rhodes)

Born in Manila, Rhodes worked as a staff writer for Filipinas Magazine, a Filipino American publication in the San Francisco Bay Area before moving to Edinburgh, Scotland after she got married. She is currently living in an English spa town with her husband and two boys. In 2020, she published What It Means to be Malaya, inspired by “the dwende, a creature in Philippine mythology. She explains: “Myth and folk horror fascinate me. Growing up, I heard various stories about these mythical beings, as well as people’s differing reactions to them. Some believed in them implicitly, while others were dismissive of their literal existence. I wanted to explore the reasons for this belief or non-belief.” Her advice to writers working on their first story: “Read a lot and write a lot. It’s when you’re doing the work that the magic happens.”
COLOMBIA
Manuel Teodoro Bermudez, Journalist

Manuel Teodoro (Source: Alchetron)

Born in 1960 in New Orleans to a Filipino and a Colombian mother, Teodoro majored in journalism from the University of Miami and started his career in 1984 as an editorial assistant for CBS News. Later he moved to Univision as a reporter and producer and became their correspondent in the Philippines. While there, he also anchored the evening news program "Newswatch" of the RPN television network.
He later became the Hispanic New York based-correspondent for CNN. In 1994, he went to Colombia as correspondent for CNN and presenter of Noticiero CM&. Two years later he moved to Caracol TV, where he directed and hosted the 60 Minutes-like Séptimo día ("Seventh Day") newsmagazine, which, despite its success, was canceled in 2000 because of the large number of lawsuits against the show. In 2007, Teodoro moved back to Caracol TV to direct and co-host, with Silvia Corzo, a new season of Séptimo día, which premiered 10 June 2007.
He was also a correspondent for Spanish media giant Univision and NBC in Los Angeles. He has a total of 14 awards, including two Emmys. Teodoro is also a partner in a communications company that specializes in crisis management, spokesperson training, digital reputation management, and crafting effective corporate presentations.
ITALY
Megan Chloe Quiambao, Child Model

Megan Chloe Quiambao (Source: Janelle So/Youtube)

In 2022, at six years old, Quiambao was already the face of kids’ fashion in billboards around the world, modeling for famous brands like Gucci and Burberry. Born and raised in Milan to Filipino parents Augil, a tattoo artist, and Loevelyn, an entrepreneur, Quiambao loved to pose for pictures. She was discovered by a Milan-based photographer who was looking for an Asian-looking kid to model for a project. Leovelyn says Megan has expressive eyes. “Until now, I still couldn’t believe how she did all of those things. When she is in front of the camera, she becomes this different kid, playful, comfortable, and happy. It is weird to say this, but she looks like she belongs there.” Quiambao started receiving offers for a Filipino TV series and a show on Italian TV. But Augil and Leovelyn says Megan’s formal education is their first priority.
Zargon, Hip-hop Artist

Zargon (Source: Youtube)

Zargon, a Filipino underground hip-hop artist based in Milan, is known for his gritty, immigrant-experience-driven rap and tracks like Tsongke Everyday and Pinoy Gangsta Rap Is Back. He bridges Filipino hip-hop with European underground scenes, and recently toured the Philippines. He emigrated to Milan as a teenager, initially facing language barriers before establishing himself in the underground scene. Known as a Pinoy Gangsta rapper, his content often focuses on life struggles, loyalty, and street narratives. He has released several official music videos, including Loyalty and Tsongke Everyday, which has garnered millions of views on YouTube. He is active on platforms like YouTube Music and Shazam.
SWITZERLAND
Sebastian Esai Eco Eviota, Swiss Guard

Sebastian Esai Eco Eviota (Source: Teri Bautista/Facebook)

In January 2022 Eviota, or Baste as he is known, received a letter informing him that he was formally admitted to the Pontifical Swiss Guard of the Vatican. Born in Davao City to a father from Surigao City and a mother from Agusan del Sur, Eviota moved to Switzerland in 2009 together with his sister on a family reunification visa. He became an active member of the Youths for Christ in Europe. After he finished two-year basic training and served in the 13th Infantry Battalion, Eviota became a second lieutenant in the Swiss Army. He is the second Filipino to be included in the Swiss Guard but the first member of full Filipino origin.
Donna Avellana Kunzler, Author

Donna Avellana Kunzler (Source: EMEA Recruitment)

Kunzler, born and raised in Cavite, Philippines, lives in Zurich with her husband and a daughter. She is currently the Head of Procurement Process Excellence & Digital Transformation for ABB’s Robotics and Discrete Automation business, a board member of neurotechnology company Limbic Life, for the non-profit Breaking Silence Movement, and is the Swiss Country Editor for Roots & Wings magazine. She self-published her book, The Overseas Fabulous Pinay: a modern Filipina’s handbook on how to thrive abroad to realize her advocacies on women empowerment, education, and foreign workers’ welfare. It has won the Best Independent Book Award (BIBA) 2021 for Nonfiction –Living Abroad, Gold Award in Literary Titan Book Awards 2021, Gold Award in the Nonfiction Book Awards 2020, and was a finalist in the Travel and Guidebooks category in Global Books Awards 2022 and Best Book Design category in the International Book Awards 2020.
Joanna Arca-Wennstroem, Community Leader

Joanna Wennstroem (Source: Facebook)

Wennstroem is a prominent member of the Filipino community in Switzerland and is recognized for her leadership and work with the Philippine Embassy, often referred to with the cheer “Go, Gabriela Joanna Go.” She is a founding member and Advisory Board Member of ENFID-Switzerland (European Network of Filipino Diaspora). She is sometimes called a “modern Gabriela Silang in the context of her leadership.”
SWEDEN
Jenny Syquia-Skarne, Model Actress and Fashion Designer

Jenny Syquia-Skarne (Source: The Southern Project/Facebook)

After a whirlwind courtship, Syquia married actor Gabby Concepcion in Las Vegas. They had a daughter, Clole, who became a TV host and performer in the Philippines in addition to winning the Miss Earth Sweden title in 2016. Their marriage was annulled in 1996. Syquia married Filip Skarne in1997 and had another daughter Flippa Babes. She began her career in fashion in New York where she worked as a fashion assistant at Vogue, assisting senior editors and gaining early industry experience that later informed her work in fashion, media, and design. In 1994 Syquia founded and became the editor-in-chief of Bride Philippines magazine. Syquia began her movie career in 1996. She signed an eight-picture contract with Viva Entertainment. Along with half-sister Christine, Syquia founded the handbag and accessories line Charm & Luck in 2004. They received $9 million in funding from Capstone Trade in 2006. Celebrities such as Lindsay Lohan, Jessica Simpson, and Paris Hilton were customers. In 2007, the firm was nominated for Best Accessories company at the Dallas Fashion Awards. By 2008, their "kitschy, fun styles" were carried in more than 1,700 stores in 25 countries, including Dillards, Nordstrom, Bloomingdale’s, and Lord & Taylor. After the birth of her second daughter, Syquia decided to become a full-time mother.
In December 2025, Syquia appeared on the digital cover of Tatler Philippines and was featured in an in-depth cover story in the print edition, which highlighted her international career and life in Stockholm.
Source: Google and Wikipedia

Santa Monica’s Uncrowned King of Real Estate

Anthony Maddela — Wed, 13 May 2026 16:38:21 +0000

Gary Limjap in his office at Coldwell Banker in Santa Monica.

The real estate industry offers an infinite variety of metrics for ranking agents. Anyone can claim to be No. 1 in the industry, but almost nobody does. The good ones let the locals sing their praises. House hunters can discover the agent who works best with people like themselves by asking around at a neighborhood coffeehouse, grocery store they’re likely to frequent, jogger and walker crossings, and anywhere else that might announce the informal mark of excellence: this town’s “King of Real Estate. In Santa Monica, California, the name that makes the rounds among condo dwellers and single family homeowners is Gary Limjap, whose real estate practice is located on Montana Avenue. He ranks in the Top 1 Percent of Coldwell Banker realtors, based on statistics he didn’t invent.
Coffee, Clothes, and Construction
I learned of Limjap through St. Monica’s Church in Santa Monica, where he’s a principal sponsor of the Simbang Gabi Christmas dinner. Manila is the city of his birth and where he received diplomas from St. Lorenzo High run by the Salesian Brothers of Don Bosco and De La Salle University, run by Christian Brothers. Gratitude spurs his unexpurgated plugs for Catholic education. Limjap immigrated to Los Angeles in 1976 and is 69 years old but could pass for a man under 50, which he credits to his Filipino genes. Genetics might be a factor along with being a philanthropist, childless bachelor, traveler, and lover of his work.

Gary Limjap (Standing, second from right) at Don Bosco San Lorenzo High in the Philippines.

As in all notable biographies that open in Hollywood and vicinity, Limjap started as a waiter in a coffee shop, which is the modern equivalent of Lana Turner’s malt shop. What would have been his second day amidst baristas became his first day with May Company, the onetime department store chain. Three months later, he was a store manager. From there, he went into Purchasing before leaving retail to work in sales for a construction company. Those jobs were compressed into six years leading up to his move to real estate in 1985.
Try Real Estate, Young Man
“I remember my dad said, ‘You should go into real estate,’” he says of a family influence that was reinforced by friends. “Filipino friends in Glendale nudged me into the business.” In real estate he had the potential to become his own boss.

Gary Limjap with Filipino friends Sonny, Dindo, and Laly.

Limjap offers a vague recollection of his first sale. “I can’t remember everything,” he says, “but it must have been a small house in East L.A. At that time, I worked at a clothing company, and I think it was one of the seamstresses that wanted me to sell her property.”
Real estate in Los Angeles wasn’t quite the Wild West in the Eighties and Nineties, but there were inconveniences that baby boomers recapitulate like they were the modern equivalent of pistol duels. “Today, we go to the internet, but back then,” he recalls with suffering fondness, “we had to go to books. There was no such thing as cellphones. We conducted business in phonebooths.”
When our interview turned to his public image, the self-effacing real estate magnate responds, “No, I would not consider myself the King of Real Estate. I always want to be in sync with the goals of my clients.” Royalty seldom mingles with commoners/consumers.
Through the years, many clients have enlisted him for multiple properties. He cites one who used him in 12 deals. On his secret to success, he elaborates, “You don’t concentrate on the money you can make. You concentrate more on the transaction at hand and just making sure that your clients are satisfied.”
As he inventories lessons learned from 46 years in real estate, he says, “For many people, success is a dollar figure. You can make as much money as you want in this business, but if you’re not in tune with the true meaning of the business, you might not last that long. For me, success is every transaction that I close with a happy buyer and seller.”

The St. Monica's Church Simbang Gabi celebration with Mass celebrant, Bishop Matthew Elshoff, OFM.

You Don’t Need Always Get What You Want
Limjap’s clients often greet him with a wish list but will adapt for the right house. “When you’re looking for a property, you cannot get 100 percent of what you’re looking for.” He explains, “The way I look at it is that if 75 percent of it meets your needs, that might be it.”
He advises clients who are new to Los Angeles to get to know a neighborhood before committing. “Rent [a house] in a neighborhood that you’re interested in. Learn more about it.”
Limjap’s style doesn’t follow the playbook of real estate agencies depicted on reality TV. “I don’t have an entourage. I surround myself with the best people. I have a partner (Sara Elsayed) I’m mentoring who helps me out. I have a marketing guy that handles social media. A transaction coordinator and an assistant who make sure that I have the proper paperwork. They allow me to do what I do best, which is connect with people and help them reach their goals.”
The good news is, according to Realtor.com, home prices in West Los Angeles trended down by 10 percent in 2025. That is, they fell to a median of $1,225,000. Business website Kiplinger lists home prices in Los Angeles as the eighth highest in the U.S. Even with the burden of pricey residences, Metro L.A. is home to the largest Filipino community in America. Limjap’s door is open to Fil-Ams who are ready to plant roots in his town.
Consider This Before You Spend Your Children’s Inheritance
Limjap disagrees with the standard advice that all clients should spend the maximum amounts their budgets can handle because costlier homes appreciate faster than more economical ones. While this assumption isn’t unfounded, the endless hardship of an astronomical mortgage will torment a debt-averse soul more than it will a profligate libertine.
“You should ask yourself what you’re going to be comfortable affording,” says the prudent realtor. “Rather than pushing yourself, you should plan before you buy. Don’t just jump in, because the process has a lot of idiosyncrasies that are easy to miss.”
He advises, “Before you buy, a financial adviser can help you find a way to save more money or pay off debts and improve your credit score.” While he specializes in upscale markets, he’ll sit down with Fil-Ams in any financial stratum to find a place they’ll be happy to inhabit. Lucky ones might discover that a Santa Monica or West L.A. address is realistic without a $1.7 billion Powerball jackpot.
Thankful to Be a Filipino
He works smartly and humbly. “I’m thankful to God,” he says. “It’s a blessing that I’ve been in this business for over 40 years.”
Limjap acknowledges his Filipino heritage as a guiding light throughout his career. He speaks of certain attitudes that differentiated him from other agents. “I have instincts and values that are familiar to Filipinos.”

Gary Limjap in younger days with his overseas family at church in the Philippines.

“In the Philippines,” he continues, “we respect our elders. So, it was a culture shock when I started out. I was knocking on doors and seeing a lot of elderly people who were living by themselves. They told me I don’t have my son or daughter visiting me. That could never have happened in the Philippines.”
It might be a culture shock if the young agent, who was going door to door in 1985, woke up in 2026. “I’ve always been optimistic,” he says before stating a belief that still animates U.S. immigrants. “I still believe that good will always overcome evil, and I still believe this is a land of opportunity.”
Every night the news astonishes jaded pessimists, but he insists, “This is not going to last.” He compares current conditions to economic patterns that are consistent with classic real estate charts. “It’s all cyclical. This is still a country where your dreams can come true if you put in the hours and devotion.”

Through the years, many clients have enlisted him for multiple properties. He cites one who used him in 12 deals.

Limjap described a common mistake among homebuyers. “I’ve had people who kept waiting for interest rates to drop. If they had bought 15 years ago, they would have already made a lot of monies.” He emphasizes, “Real estate is very cyclical. It’s going to go up and it’s going to go down. But if you look at the statistics through the years as in the 1920s, ’30s, ’40s, et cetera, the latest cycle is always higher than the last cycle. It’s always going to go up in the long run.”
The irreproachable voice of Google artificial intelligence states, “The ultimate responsibility of a real estate agent is to act as a fiduciary, which legally and ethically mandates they prioritize their client’s best interests above all others, including their own.”
The obvious goal of making a sale is supplanted by the intangible goal of making a client happy. Limjap prospers by fulfilling every kind of dream. It’s wrong to assume that he was born for the trade. Doubts proliferated from an unnerving first day in the field. Here’s what happened in his own words:

The First Day I Traded My Dignity for a Listing
My first day as a real estate agent didn't involve a sleek suit or a luxury car. It began with my boss pointing to the door and telling me, “You aren’t making money sitting here looking pretty. Go find some doors and hit them until they open.” The expression ‘wet behind the ears’ is an understatement; I was practically underwater. Armed with nothing but a cheap clipboard and blind optimism, I set out to harass the neighborhood. Here I revisit scenes from my first day of humiliation:
Neighborhood Alarm
At the third house, a woman didn’t even let me finish my "Have You Thought About Selling?” script. She opened the door, glanced at the nervous sweat on my forehead, and screamed like I was the murderer in a slasher flick. She started dialing 911 before I could hand her my business card. I haven't sprinted that fast since high school P.E.
The Full Disclosure Listing
I knocked on another door, and a muffled voice replied, “One minute!” I straightened my tie, thinking, ‘This is it. My first lead.’ The door swung open, and there she was: wearing nothing but a very small, very damp towel. I’m not sure what she was expecting to find on her porch, but it clearly wasn't a stuttering 22-year-old rookie asking if she’d considered a market analysis.
My Reality Check
Looking back, I assert that my manager was “building my confidence” and “preparing me for the unpredictable nature of the market.” But frankly, my manager probably just wanted me out of the office so he could eat his lunch in peace without me asking him where the staples are kept. He didn’t build my confidence; he built my cardio.

Anthony Maddela is a staff correspondent who doesn’t just write about subjects; he interviews them.

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Sari Dalena: A Film Guerrera

Alma Cruz Miclat — Wed, 13 May 2026 16:37:54 +0000

Sari with Storyboards by Danny Dalena

With more than 30 years of practice as an independent filmmaker, Sari Raissa Lluch Dalena came to a realization that “women give birth to revolutions but are often forgotten by history.” She adds, “It’s time for a rebirth, to reclaim women’s rightful place in history and cinema!”
That challenge gave birth to Cinemartyrs, a full-length feature film that won the Best Director for Sari and the Special Jury Award at the 2025 Cinemalaya Independent Film Festival. The film, which explores historical trauma and guerrilla filmmaking in Mindanao, was 25 years in the making and traces its source back to her first feature-length documentary in 2001, Memories of a Forgotten War.

Sari with sons Kino and Paris with the Cinemalaya trophy

A Family of Cinephiles
As a child, Sari, whose parents are celebrated and consummate artists, recalls that one of her family’s favorite pastimes was watching movies. They include a lot of classic films, from the German expressionist Cabinet of Dr. Caligari at the Goethe-Institut along Aurora Blvd, to the Japanese samurai films of Akira Kurosawa in a Japanese film festival. Her father also rented VHS and Betamax tapes so they could watch Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, films by Vittorio De Sica and Alfred Hitchcock in their sala in Kamuning, Quezon City.
Sari was 13 years old when she watched her father, the realist-impressionist artist Danilo Dalena, paint on a large canvas an image of devotees praying inside their hometown church in Pakil, Laguna. She relates, “Smack dab at the center of the frame was a dog wantonly splayed on the church aisle. I asked, out of curiosity, why he painted a dog inside the church.” Her irreverent father replied, “Anak, ang aso na ‘yan, ako ‘yan! (Child, that dog, it’s me!)”
She found the reply absurd and it made her giggle. But it left a deep impression on her. The Asong Simbahan painting was part of the Dalena patriarch’s Pakil series depicting colorful scenes from the Turumba fiesta, the moro-moro during Lenten season, and the askals/aspins (street dogs) lolling around the church when the town plaza became too hot during summer.
Mowelfund Scholar
Almost 10 years later, Sari became a film scholar at the 16mm Experimental Film Workshop at Mowelfund Film Institute (MFI) with Raymond Red and Louie Quirino as mentors. She pitched the story, Asong Simbahan, to the MFI Director Nick Deocampo as follows: “My film tells the story of a young woman who goes inside an old church filled with dogs to confess. Dreamlike and lyrical images will be used to portray the young girl’s disturbed emotions and thoughts of sexual awakening and repentance.” It was chosen as one of the five short films to be produced in the workshop.

Sari with a Bolex camera and “Asong Simbahan”

Deocampo paired her up with Robert Quebral as cinematographer. Later on, Neil Daza came on board as additional cinematographer along with Jojo Gonzales and Dennis Empalmado as sound recordists. The workshop also provided basic production equipment such as Bolex, Arriflex, or Éclair ACL 16mm cameras, a few rolls of KODAK 16mm film stock, Nagra audio recorder, and post-production support such as discounted lab processing, developing, printing and access to Cinemonta 6-plate editing flatbed at the Philippine Information Agency (PIA). Mowelfund’s Ricky Orellana helped in finishing the film.
Asong Simbahan was shot on location in Pakil. Sari’s father Danny agreed to play the part of the painter and he even drew beautiful storyboards to help visualize the film. For the role of the protagonist, she enlisted her sister Kiri, who was just 18 years old at the time, and a Human Ecology student at UP Los Baños. Her other sister, Aba, a painter and sculptor, took care of the costumes and production needs while mother Julie Lluch, who rose to become a respected terracotta sculptor, helped with logistics. Sari says, “We rounded up the town lolas, mostly close relatives, as suggested by my beautiful grandmother Lola Loleng. The frisky dogs of Pakil came with their owners. Then, we ran to the lake to catch the last rays of sunset, the fading magic hour, where we had Kiri walk on water.”
“At the 1994 Gawad CCP para sa Alternatibong Pelikula at Video Awarding ceremony,” Sari recalls, “poet Maningning Miclat graced the event and read her beautiful poem, Ginugunita Kita. In my very first short film, Sari Saring Pinay for Sari Sari Store in 1992, Maningning was game to play the role of The Artist. Meanwhile, Raymond Red announced after a long deliberation with jury members that they were awarding Asong Simbahan 1st Prize in the Experimental (Film) Category.”
After Asong Simbahan, Sari Dalena was drawn to the impact of the cataclysmic 1991 Mt. Pinatubo volcanic eruption. She developed a story on prophetic visions based on the Old Testament that had parallels to events in the country. It related the devastation inflicted on a nation gone astray with the volcanic eruption that buried Central Luzon and drove the Americans out of Subic Bay Naval Base.
The film titled Puting Paalam/ White Funeral has a story line that goes: The bride, played by Myra Beltran, an independent contemporary dancer and choreographer, roams aimlessly in the desert. Later on, she turns away from God and becomes a harlot. Says Sari: “The bride represents the Philippines and because of her harlotry, people became sick. Murder and thievery prevailed. Lahar floods came soon after. Villages were buried and people were displaced. The bride repented her sins, healing the land. It was a resurrection of the people and a return to their ancestral land.”
From Mowelfund to NYU
Sari’s initial success brought her to New York University where she took up her Master in Fine Arts or MFA in Filmmaking. The rigorous graduate film program at NYU allowed her to collaborate with film and art students on various projects, mostly short features or documentary films, culminating in a graduate thesis film with no less than the multi-awarded American filmmaker and actor Spike Lee as her thesis adviser. The latter showed interest in Philippine history and liked the themes of immigration and diaspora tackled by Sari’s thesis film.

Sari and Spike Lee at New York University

The film, Rigodon was co-written and co-directed by her husband, Keith Sicat. It follows the lives of three Filipino immigrants in the age of racial profiling and government crackdowns after the September 11th attacks in New York City. Amado (played by actor Arthur Acuña) is a boxer too old to continue his profession in his native land. He goes to the United States only to meet the harsh conditions every migrant face as they dream of the families they leave behind. Salome (played by actress Chin-Chin Gutierrez) is the dreaming war-bride who has been married to an American for 10 years, but whose visions still haunt her as she pursues her “American” dream. And Dante (played by actor Joel Torre) is the rebel-poet who has been helping his fellow immigrants for over a decade but who himself needs help now.
Rigodon, according to the young, intense director, is the metaphor used in this film for the various colonial “partnerships” the Philippines endured. It is as well the dance of political spheres of influence, social groups, and the millions of individual Filipinos who have migrated to far-away lands for a new life that seems to go around in a spiral.
In a dissertation interview, Sari likened the filmmaking process of Rigodon to child birth due to the exacting demands required of her as a filmmaker. She was thankful to the Bayanihan-level of assistance accorded her and Sicat by the Filipino community in New York, as well as the institutional support of NYU and its artists’ collective. The Filipino community helped scout for locations for the film as well as tap contacts in the creative industries who could assist in the pre-production phase.
Rigodon took two years to complete, including the pre- and post-production. The cast portraying the three main characters involved a series of networks that required familial as well as institutional connections. Philippine-based actor Joel Torre flew straight from the airport to the film set in New York City to begin his role as Dante, while renowned theater stalwarts Arthur Acuña, Ching Valdes-Aran, and Banaue Miclat’s performances merged seamlessly to create unforgettable images. Banaue also sang Lucio San Pedro’s and Levi Celerio’s Sa Ugoy ng Duyan in the film.
A Retrospective

Sari Dalena Retrospective

“I had been thinking about a Sari Dalena retrospective for some time, but seeing Cinemartyrs gave the idea its urgency,” says Patrick F. Campos, film scholar, University of the Philippines Associate Professor and Director of UP Film Institute (UPFI).
He curated Counter-Archives of a Film Guerrera: A Retrospective of Sari Dalena’s Cinema, which brings together “so many strands of Sari Dalena’s work: her formal rigor, her political commitments, her personal and family history, and her place in a longer lineage of unsung women filmmakers.”
Campos continues: “It reminded me that many younger viewers do not realize how long she has been working or how prolific she is, partly because she has remained independent in the sense of refusing to bend her practice for wider approval. Very few women have sustained that kind of body of work across both alternative and mainstream contexts. It felt like the right time to look at her work as a whole and to celebrate it.”
Sari’s feature films, documentaries, hybrids, experimental works, and video art are being screened in a multisite retrospective which started in March and continues until May. Following screenings with exhibit, masterclasses and talkbacks were held at the UPFI in Diliman as well as at Mowelfund Center in QC, and UP Mindanao and The Green House Cinema, both in Davao City, plus a few more stops.
This author had an opportunity to watch Sari’s Retrospective of short films at Dengcar Theater of Mowelfund Center on April 15 and 22. The first set of shorts includes Bullet Days, Kamikaze (Divine Wind), Asong Simbahan, Mumunting Krus and Puting Paalam.
The short films, all in B&W, are artistically and technically crafted. The last three films are Sari’s personal favorites, as she says, “Those were pure, magical times, to create the very first short films undertaken in collaboration with my family.” She intuits that it was also about testing film conventions in terms of form and subject matter. It also coincides with a period of spiritual awakening for her, this “filming Godscapes – a young woman walking on water, children playing a game of rituals with dead animals and flowers, a final bridal march into a new heaven and earth taking place in the harsh landscape of lahar.” Sari emphatically says she loves the freedom of making experimental films, as it taught her to be bold and to listen to her duende, that powerful art force in Federico Garcia Lorca’s aesthetic theory and writings.

Sari's Retrospective at Mowelfund Poster

Pinay Power in Philippine Cinema
Women figure in the filmography of Sari Dalena. Jamming on an Old Saya is Sari’s documentary on multi-awarded author Gilda Cordero-Fernando’s celebrated fashion theater show 30 years ago. The idea of putting up such a show, wrote Gilda in Philippine Daily Inquirer on June 7, 2015, began with a pile of old saya (skirts with blouse) in her 1930s childhood she rediscovered in the old steamer trunk left over from her antique shop days. She said, “In 1978 they were selling for P12, P24 or P32. Few customers were interested in old clothes they wouldn’t know what to do with, and fearful of their dead owners haunting them.”
With haute couture designer Steve de Leon, production designer Salvador “Badong” Bernal, Tessie Macasaet, Gigi Escalante, and installation artist Ann Wizer, Gilda engaged Wanda Louwallein, and for over-all theater direction, CCP’s then resident director, Nonon Padilla to produce a spectacle which was not only a fashion show, but also a cultural Pinoy gem–very Gilda Cordero Fernando. It was a jam of a production that also birthed a coffee table book of the same title published by Anvil’s Karina Bolasco.
Other films Sari directed and produced are Guerrera/Warrior Women (2012), a haunting short documentary on the lives of activists Judy Taguiwalo, Mila Aguilar, Aida CF Santos, and Hilda Narciso during the early days of student activism and Martial Law; Ka Oryang, Cinema One Originals for which she won four awards: Best Director, Best Picture, Best Music, and Best Cinematography; and Ang Kababaihan ng Malolos.
In the essay, Pinay Power in Philippine Cinema published in 2018, Sari wrote about her observations on the work and contribution of women in Philippine cinema. She shared, “Women clearly dominate the realm of documentaries. That year I had the opportunity to be part of the Daang Dokyu curatorial team, a festival run and organized by the leading documentary filmmakers in the country, all of whom are women. I asked some of them why female filmmakers feel more at home with documentaries than with fiction films, and they cited creative autonomy and flexibility in shooting schedules. More emphatically they said that women innately possess patience and compassion — nurturing traits that are essential to building genuine connections with subjects in the non-fiction filmmaking world.”

Sari’s feature films, documentaries, hybrids, experimental works, and video art are being screened in a multisite retrospective which started in March and continues until May.

That was just the more positive angle, she adds. “In truth, many women face misogyny in the narrative film space. This is why, even if females outnumber males in film school, many women don’t make it to the director’s chair, even if that is where they dream to be. Too many traumatic experiences become the barrier. This is also why I was compelled to make Cinemartyrs – it is a way to put a face on the misogynistic attitudes from crewmembers all the way up to the cultural gatekeepers. The lines uttered in those scenes in the film all came from real life.”
For most of Sari’s films, history and literature are her primary focus. “I am constantly asking questions, looking for ways I can help shed light for younger generations of Filipinos and their sense of identity. To make sure this type of documentary is also dynamic, I play with form, add personal touches, and merge the subjective with the objective. I often find small, personal histories more interesting than broad-stroke chronicles.”
That a Retrospective on a relatively young filmmaker, and a woman at that, was organized in about six months, with the last three being the most intense, according to curator Patrick Campos, is a feat in itself. He was able to foreground the themes the filmmaker has pursued over the years, especially her connections to Mindanao. “So we worked with curators, educators, and filmmakers in different spaces there. It felt especially fitting that the retrospective opened on March 6, the 120th anniversary of the Bud Dajo massacre, which figures in two of her films, including Cinemartyrs, and on the weekend of International Women’s Day." Indeed, Sari has earned her rightful place in the history of Philippine cinema, in the history of Philippine women filmmakers.

Sari with curator Patrick Campos and UPFI professors

As in her earlier films which were supported by her parents and two sisters, Sari Raissa Lluch Dalena revels in the continued family support in her amazing film journey as she concludes, “Most importantly having a fabulous feminist filmmaker husband (Keith Sicat) who is a big dreamer like me and supportive sons (Kino and Paris) who enjoy hanging around my set makes this process magical. I cannot ask for anything more.”

The Sicat Family in Rotterdam Film Festival

Alma Cruz Miclat is a freelance writer and author of books: Soul Searchers and Dreamers: Artists’ Profiles and Soul Searchers and Dreamers, Volume II, and co-author with Mario I. Miclat, Maningning Miclat and Banaue Miclat of Beyond the Great Wall: A Family Journal, a National Book Awardee for biography/autobiography in 2007.

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Mama’s Last Lesson

Nanette Carreon-Ruhter — Wed, 06 May 2026 15:36:13 +0000

The author and her mother, Rosario Valdes Lamug, in Manila (Photo courtesy of Nanette Carreon-Ruhter)

In 1988, doctors found a suspicious cyst in my thyroid. Mama prayed that if it was cancer, God would give it to her instead.
Four years later, her prayer was answered in a way that shook me. She was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer and given three months to live, and my thyroid cyst never troubled me again.
I flew home from Taipei, where I was teaching. By then, her cancer had metastasized, leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. A spinal operation was meant to stop the paralysis from reaching her heart.
The hospital room smelled faintly of disinfectant and lavender lotion. Her hands were thinner than I remembered, her fingers tracing the rosary she kept close even in sleep. I had taught poetry for years, but nothing in words prepared me for the sight of my mother—still beautiful, still proud—battling her own body with grace. Before the surgery, she called me to her bedside and dictated her own obituary in Spanish, an article for The Manila Bulletin. Even in the face of death, her mind was lucid, disciplined, and she was still the teacher.
When my eldest son, Pep, her first grandchild, flew home from Madrid during his junior year, she came alive again. Her eyes lit up as they spoke in rapid Spanish, reminiscing about her years in Madrid and her dear friend, Mariconchi, her landlady and Pep’s. For those moments, she seemed to forget the pain, the paralysis, even the tubes that tethered her to the world. She was once more the elegant professor, the woman in command of her language and her memories.
When we brought her home, we hired a nurse to help take care of her. I slept beside her each night, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, wondering what filled her mind during those long, silent hours. The tracheostomy had taken her voice, so our conversations were made of glances, of half-smiles, of tears that neither of us wiped away. Sometimes I would lie awake beside her, imagining the words trapped in her throat…the things she wanted to say but no longer could. I wished I could borrow her silence, learn its strength, its quiet surrender.
I had written her a long letter about my unhappiness and my decision to get a divorce, one that she read but never answered. I knew she was angry, though she never said it outright. It wasn’t Filipino custom to confront complicated or emotional issues. So, details were left unsaid, and silence did the speaking for us.

The author and her mother in Hong Kong in the mid-1980s (Photo courtesy of Nanette Carreon-Ruhter)

The irony was surprising. Years earlier, she had wanted to leave her marriage for the same reasons I wanted to end mine. When she couldn’t, she urged me to ask my father to leave for America, to separate quietly, without scandal. Yet now, she wanted me to stay. Not because she did not believe in my pain, but because she could not bear to see me repeat hers.
For years, I mistook that silence for pride. “What would people say?”—that refrain haunted me. She had spent her life preserving our family’s good name, receiving the Isabella la Católica medal personally from King Juan Carlos of Spain for her efforts in preserving Spanish language and culture in Philippine universities. Reputation was her armor; integrity, her creed. I, her stubborn daughter, wanted none of it.
When her time was near, my Tita Vicentica begged me to tell Mama I would patch up my marriage, to give her peace in her last moments, but I couldn’t. The words caught in my throat. I could not send her off with a lie.
So, when she slipped into a coma, I leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Ma, I love you. Do not worry about Cholo and Butch.” And then, more quietly, the only truth I could give her:
“I promise you, I will be happy.”
I like to think she heard me.
And from where she is now, she knows—
I have kept that promise.

The author with her brothers, Pocholo and Butch, and mother in Hong Kong in the early 1980s (Photo courtesy of Nanette Carreon-Ruhter)

Epilogue
In time, I came to understand what she had meant by strength. It wasn’t the silence I had once resented, but the courage to live with love that costs you something: to choose grace even when words fail.
My mother never said, “I love you,” in the way I had longed to hear it. Her love was in her worrying—her need to protect us from disappointment, her wish that our lives be easier than hers had been, her insistence that we behave with grace so others would look up to us. It was in the way she flaunted my achievements to her friends, as if each one proved that she had done something right. That was her language of love: quiet, guarded, yet constant.
I inherited many things from her: her discipline, her resilience, her faith; but what endures most is her belief that God listens, that love, especially the one between a mother and her daughter—despite its silences, its imperfections, redeems us in the end.

When her time was near, my Tita Vicentica begged me to tell Mama I would patch up my marriage, to give her peace in her last moments, but I couldn’t

Every time I stand before my students, teaching language and literature, I remember her: the woman who gave her voice to words, and, when she lost it, taught me how to listen for the ones left unspoken.
“My Mother in the Mirror”
At seventy-seven,
I meet my mother in the mirror,
not only in the gentle slope of my nose
or the familiar curve of my smile,
but in the way certain words escape my lips…
as if they had been resting on her tongue,
waiting for mine to speak them.
“Hay moros en la costa …” she would caution,
eyes narrowing with playful warning
whenever truths needed shelter.
“Amigo de su gusto,”
she’d say with that knowing lift of an eyebrow,
a whisper of wit and wisdom intertwined.
When I hear myself say them now,
I feel her beside me again.

I understand her more now,
the fierce, protective love
that hovered like a shawl
she could not help but wrap around me.
My sons tease me for this instinct,
and I smile, remembering…
There was a time I wished Mama
would loosen her embrace
and let me take the reins of my own life.
Only motherhood teaches
how tightly love can hold
even when the heart longs for release.
I followed her into the classroom,
she into chalk-dusted rooms
and I into bright, board-marked mornings,
both of us surrounded by the scent of books
and the hum of young minds opening.
She mothered her students,
I learned to mother mine.
They called me Mommy C, Mama R,
as if her tenderness flowed through my veins
and reached them through my hands.
Mama showed me how a home could exhale warmth,
how a dining table dressed with flowers and linen
could turn a simple meal into memory.
She taught me that “thank you” was a prayer,
and hospitality a blessing offered with grace.
Elegance, she showed me,
needed no grandeur
only thoughtfulness, care, and heart.
Wednesdays carried the scent of candles and hymns.
Baclaran was her sanctuary,
a weekly pilgrimage of folded hands
and whispered petitions
to Our Mother of Perpetual Help.
Now I find myself doing the same,
asking the Blessed Mother
to cradle my sons and grandchildren
in the same mantle of protection
Mama once wrapped around us.
There are moments I still speak to her,
in the hush before morning breaks
or in the soft dim of night.
I tell her of the ordinary and the sacred,
of gratitude that overflows beyond words.
I ask her to keep watch,
over my boys, over their children,
over the corners of my heart
still learning how to forgive.
Some memories sting.
I once wrote her a long letter
about my marriage,
the deep wound of deception,
the unraveling that followed,
and my decision to walk away.
Even from an ocean away,
I felt her heartbreak tremble across the waters.
She had prayed I would never walk
the path she once walked.
I was her “perfect daughter,”
and in that moment, her dreams for me trembled.
But time, like the tide, reveals what must surface…
shells once buried rising
to be claimed by light.
Through mercy, her love found its way back to me,
through grace, I found my way back to her.
For she dwells not only in my reflection,
but in my habits,
my prayers,
my ways of loving as a mother
and now as a grandmother.
She echoes in my grand daughters’ laughter
and in the tenderness
I offer those entrusted to me.
My mother lives here,
in the quiet rooms of my heart
and in the generations unfolding beyond me.
And when I see her in the mirror,
I no longer turn away.
I smile
and whisper,
“Gracias, Mamá.”
Todavía estás por aquí.
The author is deeply grateful to Dexjordi Lyle Sison for his thoughtful help with the photos.

Nanette Carreon‑Ruhter stands as a Honolulu‑based writer shaped by years in international classrooms and a deep devotion to Filipino stories. She previously taught at Hong Kong International School, Taipei American School, and Singapore American School, and has guided creative writing workshops for Filipino immigrants throughout Hawaii. Her essays explore family, identity, and the ways memory becomes a home that travels across generations. She is finishing her memoir, Before Time Slips Away, written for her seven grandchildren. When she’s not writing, she’s on the pickleball court, in the kitchen, traveling with family, keeping close ties with friends and former students around the world, and enjoying life with her husband, Jim.

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The Eye Doctor, the Nurse, and the Fine Print of Aging

Alex S. Fabros, Jr. — Wed, 06 May 2026 15:35:53 +0000

Alex S. Fabros, Jr. today (Photo courtesy of Alex S. Fabros, Jr.)

I went up to Palo Alto yesterday to see my eye surgeon—the kind of visit where you already know two things going in:
You’re not escaping without a needle.
It’s going somewhere far too close to your eyeball for comfort.
Now, I’ve reached that stage in life where medical appointments feel less like checkups and more like scheduled negotiations with fate. Still, I walked in like a professional—calm, composed, pretending I hadn’t spent the last 24 hours mentally rehearsing how not to flinch.
The surgeon had a new nurse assisting her. Young—about twenty-five. Sharp, efficient, and with that calm confidence that says, I do this all day, you’ll survive. She was Asian, polite, and had that reassuring tone people in medicine develop, like they’re speaking to both you and your anxiety at the same time.
We exchanged a few words before the procedure—small talk, the kind that exists purely to distract you from the fact that someone is about to put a needle in your eye.
And somewhere in that quiet space before the lights dimmed and the chair leaned back, a thought came to me—one that doesn’t leave you as you get older:
Inwardly, I was still a young man.
That part doesn’t age. It doesn’t slow down. It doesn’t update its calendar.
Outwardly, though—that’s another story. The years write themselves across your face, your hands, your gait. The world sees the version of you that time has edited, even while inside, you’re still running the original draft.
Then came the moment.
You sit back. You stare at the light. You try not to think about anything. You fail.
The shot happens.
There’s no elegant way to describe it. It’s quick, precise, and deeply personal—like your eyeball just signed a contract it didn’t read.
Afterward, as I’m blinking my way back into the visible world, the nurse checks in on me.
“You did great,” she says.
That’s when the post-procedure bravado kicks in—the kind that only appears after the danger has passed.
I looked at her and, half-joking, said:
“You know… if I were a few years younger, I’d probably be asking you out right now.”
And I meant it—not just as a joke, but as a quiet acknowledgment of that younger man still standing somewhere inside me, hands in his pockets, ready to take a chance.

Young Alex (Photo courtesy of Alex S. Fabros, Jr.)

Without missing a beat, she smiles and says,
“My mother would like that.”
Now that stopped me.
Would her mother like that?
I paused, looked at her, and said,
“She would?”
And with perfect composure—clinical, even—she replies:
“Yes. You could help change my diapers.”
Now, I’ve been in a lot of situations in my life—military, academia, labor camps, you name it—but I can tell you this with absolute certainty:
Nothing prepares you for being simultaneously flirted with and reassigned to eldercare in the same sentence.
I sat there, one eye still dilated, trying to process what had just happened.
Was I just complimented? Recruited? Promoted? Demoted?
Somewhere between dignity and dependency, I had crossed a line—and I wasn’t entirely sure which direction.
The surgeon, who had clearly heard this exchange, kept working as if nothing had happened. Years of training, I suppose. Surgeons don’t react. They observe. Quietly. Probably file it away under “patient coping mechanisms—unusual but harmless.”
And then, as I stood to leave, the nurse gently put her arms around me—close, steady, the way a couple might stand for a moment if the world had slowed down just for them.
But this wasn’t that.
She was helping an old veteran regain his balance, guiding him carefully and respectfully toward his power wheelchair.

Nothing prepares you for being simultaneously flirted with and reassigned to eldercare in the same sentence.

And in that quiet, unmistakable way, it told me everything I needed to know.
There was a time when I could jump with bravado, oxygen rushing, six miles high.
A time when I could run a marathon to prove I could.
A time when driving a Porsche at Laguna Seca felt less like risk and more like rhythm.
Those days didn’t ask permission. They just happened.
Now, I moved carefully. Deliberately. Assisted.
I had aged.
And somewhere along the line, I realized something else—I would miss it.
Not just the speed or the strength, but the illusion that time might be negotiated with.
There’s probably a researcher somewhere working on a little pill—something to stretch the years, maybe even promise immortality.
I won’t see it.
And that’s alright.
Because what remains isn’t the body that carried me through those years, but the words I leave behind.
The stories.
The memories.
The pieces of a life are set down carefully so they don’t disappear.
That’s what lasts.
That’s what I’m working on now.
I walked out of that office seeing a little less clearly—but understanding a whole lot more.
Aging, it turns out, isn’t just about vision loss.
It’s about knowing that inside, you’re still that same young man—
and accepting that what endures is not how fast you ran,
But what you chose to remember,
and what you chose to share.

Alex S. Fabros, Jr. is a retired Philippine American Military History professor.

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You Can Go Home Again–the Blairs Did

Meyen Quigley — Wed, 06 May 2026 15:35:37 +0000

A family affair: Les and Grace Blair with son Kline (front), Angus (back), Angus's wife Lezamie (back), and grandchildren Elizabeth (4) and Catherine (2) (Photo courtesy of the Blair family)

"You can’t go home again,” American novelist Thomas Wolfe famously wrote. Not to your family, your childhood, places that you knew. Turns out you can–just ask Grace Poli Blair and her husband, Leslie, or Les for short.
Grace, a native of Iloilo, was one of a group of nurses who went to Libya in 1984, hired through the newly-formed Philippine Overseas Employment Administration. In Libya she met Les, a Scotsman who was working in the oil and gas industry. Sparks flew, and they married in 1988.
Les’ work took them to Vietnam after Libya, then India, Nigeria, Dubai, and Kurdistan, then back to Nigeria. Grace worked as an on-call nurse escort for Asia Emergency Assistance and the Orderly Departure Program of the U.S. government, accompanying Vietnamese refugees being resettled in the United States.
They could have chosen to stay permanently in any number of places, especially in Nigeria where Les had founded his own oil exploration company and floated it on the London Stock Exchange, but Grace always knew that one day, she would come home again. She was so sure of this, and over decades of expatriate living she never relinquished her Filipino nationality and passport.
“I never had any doubt that I would come home,” says Grace, as we sit chatting on the balcony of her home in Guimaras, a sprawling two-level house painted Mediterranean blue and white that can accommodate two families. “When I agreed to marry Les I told him that all I really wanted was a house in the Philippines that I could go back home to. And now we have this home, and it is where members of my family who live abroad also come home to.”
Les did not protest. A tall and affable man with a long track record of running companies and setting up operations, he indulged Grace’s wish and, on retirement, approached the return to the Philippines like the seasoned manager that he is. The result was not just a home for Grace but a dynamic business venture that has contributed significantly to the local economy of the province.
The Blairs’ first house was nothing more than a hut, built when they first acquired 12 hectares of land in Guimaras, an island that was then part of Iloilo Province, with little infrastructure to speak of and few concrete roads. They would visit twice a year from wherever they were based overseas. A brother-in-law, Nonong Tenerife, managed the property in their absence. The opportunity then came up in the next few years to purchase adjoining pieces of land. Having no business plan or specific goals for the property and trusting only their instincts, Grace and Les took the plunge, acquiring a total of 34 hectares of what was then idle land.
It would not be idle for long. Working by themselves, helped by workers from the community, they planted a total of 1,200 mango trees over a six-year period, starting in 1992. This was the quiet and unremarkable beginning of Kokomojo Mango Farm, its name derived from the Blairs’ son’s first words as a child.

Entrance to Kokomojo Mango Farm

When they started, they had no idea where that slow, steady planting of trees would take them. Then came retirement for Grace, and then COVID. Stricken while working in Nigeria, a gravely ill Les came back to the Philippines and was nursed back to health by Grace. With a new lease on life came new dreams and plans.
Today, the trees stand tall and proud, their branches heavy with fruit. Paper bags protect each fruit from pests and ensure even ripening and a smooth skin. They are the backbone of a business enterprise that has grown to include mango-based products and a restaurant with a menu that showcases the golden fruit that is the pride of Guimaras and is the source of livelihood for many on the island.

The sweetest mango in the world

Kokomojo plans to process about 100 tons of mangoes each season, selling locally and in Manila where the mangoes sell for a premium price. Demand for Kokomojo products is such that the Blairs have tapped other local farmers and act as a consolidator for other growers. The farm is one of only three mango processors in the region approved by the Philippine Food and Drug Administration. The others are McNester Food Products and Guimaras Wonder Farm. Kokomojo was also the first farm in Guimaras to receive the Philippine Good Agricultural Practices certification from the Department of Agriculture, testifying to good practices in food safety, environmental management, worker welfare and produce quality.

In the Kokomojo processing plant

About 30 workers make the farm and restaurant run. Some have been there since the farm first started, and now their children have joined them. Grace and Les themselves are now assisted by their children. Son Angus is training to take over the business, and son Kline has started a beekeeping operation that has a lot of potential.
In 2024, the Blairs opened the restaurant on the property that they named “Uma,” the Ilonggo term for “farm.” The restaurant serves mango-based specialties, including a smooth and naturally sweet mango shake, mango salsa pizzas, mango chicken pasta and the classic ibus (a sticky rice cake) with mango. A mango coffee is even available, with a shot of espresso poured over a mango and milk mixture served over ice! “Uma” is the cousin of “Troi Oi,” a Vietnamese restaurant Grace opened in Iloilo City in 2016, inspired by the years they spent in Vietnam.

Kokomojo Farm products

A short walk up the hill from the restaurant is a building that houses the mango processing plant, also begun in 2024. In spotlessly clean rooms are sorting tables, sanitizing tanks, heavy machinery for drying and packaging, and other equipment needed for processing packaged dried mango, mango puree and a mango jam, samples of which are generously offered to the visitor. The plant will soon also be producing individually quick frozen (IQF) mango to be sold in chunks in 500 gram pouches. The Blairs encourage tours of their farm and facilities so the public are better educated in various aspects of mango growing and production. They plan to start exporting their Guimaras processed products this year too.

Mango Coffee

Did Les and Grace study mango production? Les laughingly says: “Yes from YouTube.” More seriously, he says he has had a lot of help from the companies who have supplied the plant equipment. Apart from that, it seems the enterprise has grown and thrived simply because of the couple’s drive, hard work, and faith that everything will work out!

“When I agreed to marry Les I told him that all I really wanted was a house in the Philippines that I could go back home to.

Recently, Grace hosted the 50th reunion of her nursing class of 1976 of the Central Philippine University. Around a hundred class members and their spouses came to enjoy the food offerings at Uma and toured the facilities of Kokomojo. Seeing Grace and Les’s setup, several who are now based in the U.S. wistfully expressed that perhaps they too, may think of coming back to Iloilo to live. If two expatriates who spent decades working and living abroad are able to come back home and not just make do in retirement, but also have resounding success, then perhaps they too, can come home again!
Kokomojo Farm and Uma Restaurant are in Sitio Mangkalawag, Barangay Millan, Sibunag, Guimaras. Visitors from Iloilo City may take a fibre boat from Parola to Jordan, or take the Roro from Lapuz Wharf if traveling by car. Kokomojo Farm is 20-25 minutes from Jordan wharf on good roads. Les Blair may be reached at kokomojomango@gmail.com.

Meyen Quigley is a writer based in Victoria, British Columbia. Originally from Iloilo, she lived and worked in Sudan, Pakistan, Turkey, and New York before settling down in Canada with her husband Kevin and children Gabriel and Megan.

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Southern Encounters: A ‘Mindanawon’ Identity

Patricio Abinales — Wed, 06 May 2026 15:35:21 +0000

Mindanao (Source: Google Maps)

Infrastructure and identity will win Sara Duterte the 2028 presidency. That is, if she does not get impeached. Much of the road from Cotabato to General Santos City, then to Davao, is now a four-lane highway, making the movement of people and goods much faster and smoother. I asked tricycle and taxi drivers, fellow bus passengers, stall owners, academics, and even politicos about this and how this modernized thoroughfare would affect national politics, and their unanimous answer was – “Inday Sara will win.”

Maharlika Highway connecting Cotabato and General Santos. (Photos by Patricio Abinales)

Davao City Diversion Road (Photos by Patricio Abinales)

This groundswell of support is rooted in a different vibe that animates politics on the ground, one that is antipodal to what happens, or what is shown to be happening in the capital. In Manila, there is optimism that political reforms are just around the corner. In General Santos, however, everyone looks forward to the Ateneo-educated grandchild to cement the family legacy, build more roads, and repair bridges.
In the capital, changing minds is paramount; locally, it is telling people that the progeny has the talent and goodness of the aging patron. Meanwhile, in the auditoriums of academe, the halls of Congress, and TV talk shows, conversations about a working democracy are performative and fictional; at the town plaza or the barangay hall, the natter is about food and money.
Infrastructure has likewise changed the landscape in which people traveling “engage” with each other. The small stalls where passengers of jeep, habal-habals, even “provincial” buses demand to stop to eat the local bibingka, buy a kilo of the kape barako or muscovado sugar, and drink coconut water have disappeared. In their stead are a parade of advertisement boards luring the same passengers to the malls at each city endpoint. And just to make sure they do, the malls add perks like free cars and even free trips to holy places! There is every reason for the malls and businesses to put up their ads on the streets.

Roadside billboard advertising the Hajj (Photos by Patricio Abinales)

But that is not all. The self-advertising tarpaulins that were once only found in Marawi in the 1990s now compete with the corporate billboards in southern Mindanao, suggesting a newfound self-confidence replacing the old ethno-social insecurities arising from living in the frontier, being Moro, and promdi (hayseed). Here is an advert for the daughter who passed the medical board exam; a tarp announces that a son has passed the bar. Even a bachelor’s degree in nursing merits a roadside canvas. The reason behind this social upgrading is straightforward. OFW remittances, especially, have given families that extra income to spend on promoting their social advancement.

A Cotabato State University tarpaulin (Source: Google Photos)

Sara’s appeal comes from this economic instrumentalism. Her promise to defend the “progress” she and her father brought to the south makes it more powerful. They say BBM falsely claimed this “progress,” which will end if his successor wins in 2028. “Ato ni si Inday,” they say. All allegations against her are schemes really aimed at “us.”
The “us” here is not anymore ethno-linguistic nor religious–the usual bases of distinctions and, often, violent differences.
It is not about being Tausug or Magindanaoan, Ilonggo or Hiligaynon, B’laan or Manobo, Cebuano, or a Boholano. In an island with a large part belonging to the informal sector (more than 80 percent in the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region, BARMM), the overlap between the illicit and the licit makes bosom buddies out of corporate executives, distributors of smuggled goods, coordinators of food stalls and ukay-ukay, and managers of local cooperatives.
The “us” here is about being “Mindanawon,” of a people of an island that has always been getting short shrift by the Lords of the Imperial Capital. This sense of being aggrieved is wide-ranging: from protests about Mindanao not getting its proper share of national revenues, to the nasty, irresponsible asides about the island’s purported sub-Saharan backwardness by nattering nabobs like Richard Heyderian.
I never sensed this unanimity before, when I was a graduate student doing fieldwork. I began to have an inkling of it when friends like Mindanews founder Carol Arguillas and the Jesuit exile Fr. Albert Alejo began using it regularly. The moment when I knew “Mindanawon” had achieved gravitas was when Resil Mojares casually asked, “What is the origin of the word Mindanawon?” My national artist friend and fellow Bisaya had noticed that it now has substance, given the sheer number of people referring to them as people of the island.
The further confirmation came in a workshop discussing how to add Mindanao’s stories to national history, expressing their commitment to express with “one voice” the diverse histories of the Moro groups, the indigenous communities, and the settler areas. There were debates over context, identities, and concepts, but the group, led by senior scholars Magindanao Datu Michael Mastura and Iligaynon Rudy Rodil, and rising academic stars like Patricia Dacudao (Ateneo de Manila but from Davao) and Giovanni Caballero (Mindanao State University-Iligan Institute of Technology), were unanimous that Mindanao’s peoples be treated as one.
Which brings me to the opposition chatter in the imperial capital. There is something Quixotic and faintly amusing in the social media posts of the opposition (complete with selfies!), the supposedly "sophisticated" anti-dynasty spiel of academics in campus auditoriums, and the sound bites of pundits in their ill-fitting suits. These manifestations stem from the belief that a TV interview or an academic explanation – filled with graphs and dull concepts - will suffice to sway people to their cause. Do they truly think that denouncing political clans from the comfort of the capital will make people in Toril, Pigkawayan, Midsayap, or Tagum turn against those in power?

The “us” here is about being “Mindanawon,” of a people of an island that has always been getting short shrift by the Lords of the Imperial Capital

The only opposition politicians who understood that “all (Philippine) politics is local” and that the important battles are won in the towns and provincial cities are Mayors Leni Robredo and Vico Sotto. Both know that making effective social policy and holding power involve a ground-level, long-term war of positions. This means seeing through the completion of infrastructure projects, which, in Leni’s case, includes a mutual accommodation arrangement with her erstwhile opponent Ferdinand II. It necessitates face-to-face engagement with constituents, which, in turn, demands an in-depth familiarity with local slang and variations of the city lingo— something Kiko, Risa, Leila, and Bam-Bam are ill-equipped for. They can shake people’s hands, but they can’t talk to them about their daily lives in their argot. Don’t even bother to ask about the pundits and the political scientists.
In the middle of this growing pride over island identity is Sara Duterte. People here say she is not the daughter of the bel esprit tumid Rodrigo Duterte, but the vorpal yet humble offspring of decent Elizabeth Zimmerman. Manila will have a serious problem if her opponents cannot bring down Sara Duterte. For if she wins in 2028, there will surely be political retribution from someone whose kids are named Shark, Stingray, and Stonefish.

Patricio N. Abinales recently visited Cotabato, General Santos and Davao, his first since 2008. A professor emeritus at the Department of Asian Studies, University of Hawai'i-Manoa, he now lives in Quezon City.

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Hands That Healed the World: First Filipina Nurses In Europe

Alex S. Fabros, Jr. — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 16:33:11 +0000

A colored photo of Filipino nurses in 1910 (Source: Facebook)

They left Manila with a prayer, not a passport. Their uniforms were stitched in convent workshops where the hum of sewing machines mingled with Ave Marias. Their suitcases smelled faintly of camphor and coconut oil. When they boarded the steamer at the pier, the morning air was thick with coal smoke and the scent of the bay—salt and tar and possibility. These were not the wealthy daughters of the city but teachers’ pupils, sisters, orphans, and women who had learned the value of service in the wards of the Philippine General Hospital. The world had caught fire in 1914, and from London to Lyon, men were dying faster than anyone could tend to them. So, they went—not as tourists or missionaries, but as nurses, brown women bound for a continent that had never seen their kind at a bedside before.
From Convent to Clinic
In the first years of the American occupation, medicine became a new language of order and progress. The Bureau of Health wanted a “modern colony,” and hospitals became the classrooms of empire. In Iloilo, the Protestant missionaries opened their mission hospital in 1906. In Manila, the Philippine General Hospital rose from reclaimed marshland, whitewashed and orderly as any in Boston or New York. Inside its wards, Filipina students practiced sterilizing instruments and taking temperatures in English, repeating phrases from Florence Nightingale’s Notes on Nursing.
But behind the American veneer stood an older lineage. The Daughters of Charity and the Sisters of St. Paul de Chartres had been teaching Filipino women how to nurse long before the Americans arrived. Their convents were schools of discipline as much as compassion—clean sheets, measured steps, soft voices. The nuns had learned their craft in Paris and Lyon, and their Manila pupils would one day return those lessons to their source.
By 1910, the Philippines could already boast of trained women who could dress a wound, set a fracture, or comfort a fevered soldier. Their hands were steady and sure, their speech gentle but firm. When word came that France needed help, the sisters called upon their Manila alumnae to volunteer. It was an act of obedience, yes—but also of pride. The French motherhouses wanted proof that their colonial daughters had become equals in the work of mercy.
Crossing the Oceans of Empire
The first group sailed in December 1914 aboard the SS Empress of Russia. The ship’s black funnel trailed smoke over the China Sea as it moved from Manila to Hong Kong, then on to Saigon, Singapore, Suez, and the long curve of the Mediterranean. On deck the nurses prayed the rosary together, the beads clicking softly in rhythm with the engines. The sea was a living presence—a thing both vast and intimate. In their letters home, they wrote that they felt they were sailing not toward war but toward history.
Marseilles was gray and cold when they arrived. The harbor cranes groaned, and the air smelled of iron and fish. French officers met them at the pier, uncertain how to greet these dark-skinned women in immaculate white. “Les infirmières des Philippines,” one said, trying the words aloud. They were assigned to hospitals in Lyon, Bordeaux, and Marseille, where the wounded arrived daily by train. Their English made them valuable to American Red Cross units, and their discipline impressed even the most skeptical matron.
“Europe is cold and wounded,” one nurse wrote in her diary, “and it looks to us brown women for warmth.” In the early mornings they carried buckets of boiled water down endless corridors. The floors were slick with blood and disinfectant. Men cried out in a dozen languages. The nurses worked in silence, their faces veiled against the stench of gas gangrene.
By 1916, more volunteers arrived through Indochina, traveling on French mail steamers via Saigon. They were met with curiosity rather than hostility. A French doctor in Tours described them as calm, efficient, and full of courage. To him, they were exotic angels; to the nurses themselves, they were simply doing their duty.
In the Wards of War

Members of the first class to graduate from the government training school. (Source: Gutenberg.org)

The war stripped away illusions. In the hospitals near the front—at Verdun, Soissons, and Amiens—the nurses found themselves face to face with the machinery of modern death. Trenches vomited up men whose faces were erased by shrapnel, whose lungs hissed from gas burns. Yet the nurses did not flinch. They wrapped the wounded in clean linen and whispered prayers in Tagalog, English, and French.
At the Hôpital de la Sainte Famille in Lyon, Dr. Émile Jacquier wrote of two Filipina nurses “whose calm hands steadied the dying.” In Rouen, Sister Beatriz de la Paz, once a novice in Manila, learned to dress the wounds of Senegalese riflemen, their dark skin blistered by frost. She sang to them in a soft voice, hymns that crossed language and race.
Twelve-hour shifts became fourteen. Supplies ran low. They sterilized scalpels in soup pots, tore curtains for bandages, and mixed antiseptic from vinegar and salt when carbolic acid was gone. One nurse wrote home, “We have learned to make do with little, as at home during floods. But here, it is not water that drowns the world, it is sorrow.”
They slept in drafty quarters, their breath visible in the winter air. Some fell ill with influenza; others lost their hair from exhaustion and cold. Still they worked. “They nursed as if each man were their brother,” said one Red Cross matron, herself hardened by years at the front.
For many of the soldiers, these women from the islands were their last memory of gentleness. “They smiled like home,” wrote a French private who survived Verdun. “We did not know where the Philippines were, but we thanked God for them.”
Between Faith and Modernity
The Filipina nurse was a bridge between worlds. She carried a rosary in one hand and a thermometer in the other. Her faith was Catholic, her training American, her orders French. Empire had divided the globe into colors and classes, but in the hospitals there were only the living and the dying.
The Daughters of Charity in Paris called them “les anges de l’Orient,” angels from the East. Their gentleness became a legend whispered in the wards. Yet, the American colonial authorities in Manila saw a different symbol. Their service was cited as proof of a “civilizing mission fulfilled”—a phrase that made the nurses uneasy even as it praised them.
They had seen too much to believe in empires. “I serve God by serving pain,” wrote Sister Encarnación de la Cruz, who later stayed in Paris as a hospital matron. “No empire owns compassion.” She kept her crucifix on the nightstand and a picture of Manila in her locker.
When the American Expeditionary Forces arrived in 1917, some of the nurses translated for wounded Filipinos who had enlisted as laborers and sailors under U.S. command. The soldiers called them Ate—elder sister. For a moment, the war brought the colony and the colonizers together in the shared fatigue of tending the broken.
The nurses’ letters reveal not self-pity but quiet dignity. “We are brown, and we mend the white,” one wrote. “When they thank us, we smile. When they forget, we pray for them still.”
Homecomings and Legacies
When the Armistice was signed in November 1918, the bells of Lyon rang all day. The nurses walked to the cathedral, their shoes worn thin. They prayed for the dead, then packed their trunks. Some boarded ships for home, others remained to help rebuild. The voyage back to Manila was long and slow, through a world still gasping from war.
They disembarked into tropical sunlight and a new sense of purpose. Europe had changed them. They had learned to speak French, to manage wards, to perform emergency surgery. They brought back habits that would remake Philippine nursing—sterile technique, record-keeping, and the respect for nurses as professionals, not servants.
Among them was Anastacia Giron, who would found the Philippine Nurses Association in 1922 and fight for licensure laws that elevated nursing to a national profession. Her colleagues spread across the islands, teaching in Iloilo, Cebu, and Davao. In every clinic where they worked, echoes of Lyon and Rouen lingered: the way a wound was cleaned, the tone of command, the pride in a crisp uniform.
A few remained in Europe. Parish records in Toulon list Ester Santos, Filipina nurse, married to a French naval surgeon. She ran a small clinic by the docks, treating fishermen and their families. On her gravestone are four simple words: Elle soigna le monde—She cared for the world.
The war had taken her youth but left her faith intact. When she died in 1936, her French neighbors said the church smelled faintly of gardenia, a scent that reminded them of the islands she once called home.
Remembering the Pioneers
For decades, their story was forgotten. The history books that praised the pensionados and the Filipino scouts ignored the women who carried gauze and mercy through Europe’s ruins. Theirs was not a martial glory but a moral one, and that was harder to record.
In the postwar years, the Philippines looked west again—not to France, but to America. Thousands of nurses followed new paths across the Pacific, filling hospital corridors from Honolulu to Chicago. They became part of the nation’s most enduring export of care. Yet behind that story stands the image of those first women in 1914, standing at the rail of a ship, their faces turned toward the setting sun over the Suez.

A photograph preserved in Geneva shows six Filipina nurses standing before canvas tents near Verdun in 1916.

It took nearly a century for historians to find them again. When their names were finally pieced together from Red Cross rosters, convent letters, and family memories—Beatriz, Encarnación, Anastacia, Ester—they returned to the nation’s historical consciousness not as footnotes but as pioneers.
A photograph preserved in Geneva shows six Filipina nurses standing before canvas tents near Verdun in 1916. Their caps are slightly askew, their hands clasped at their aprons. Behind them, the horizon is a smear of smoke. They do not smile. They look straight at the lens as if to say, Remember us.
They remind us that compassion, like war, is global. The same ships that carried armies across the world also carried women who fought without guns. Their battlefield was the human body, and their victory was every heartbeat restored.
In their calm eyes and scarred hands, the Philippines entered the world stage not as a colony or victim but as a healer. And somewhere in the chill air of Lyon or the silence of a French ward long since demolished, one can still imagine the echo of their voices, soft and sure:
“Courage, mon frère. The fever will pass.”
Previously posted in the author's Facebook page.

Alex S. Fabros, Jr. is a retired Philippine American Military History professor.

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FilAms Among The Remarkable And Famous, Part 77

Mona Lisa Yuchengco — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 16:32:48 +0000

Filipinos have been in the United States since the 16th century, yet many of their stories remain untold. For the past years, Positively Filipino has been running a series on notable Filipino Americans who have made their marks in this country. There are hundreds, or maybe even thousands more, that need to be added to this story, and we need your help. If you know of a Filipino American who deserves to be included in this line-up, please send us their names and any supporting documents you may have to pfpublisher@yahoo.com. For now, we are including only those who are currently active and visible in the media and the community, regardless of their religious, sexual or political orientation. Thank you.
Zinzi Evans Coogler, Film Producer

“Sinners” producers Ryan and Zinzi Evans Coogler with journalist Ruben V. Nepales at the Warner Bros. pre-Oscars party (Photo courtesy of Ruben V. Nepales)

Filipino American Zinzi Evans Coogler is a film producer best known for her professional collaborations with her husband, Ryan Coogler. She was an executive producer on the historical drama Judas and the Black Messiah (2021) and the sports drama Creed III (2023). She also served as a lead producer for the first time on the horror film Sinners (2025), for which she won the Golden Globe Award for Cinematic and Box Office Achievement and earned an Academy Award nomination for Best Picture.
Born in Oakland, California to an African-American father with Mississippi Delta Chinese ancestry and a Filipina mother, she was raised in the San Francisco Bay Area with her six siblings: five sisters and a brother. She was a three-time track and field captain at San Lorenzo High School, and graduated as an award-winning scholar athlete. She then studied communicative sciences and deaf studies at California State University, Fresno, where she was an outstanding cross country runner.
Evans first met Ryan Coogler while she was in high school; she became more interested in moviegoing while dating him. In an email sent to Marie Claire, Ryan Coogler noted her skills in breaking down films, telling them "I was in awe of her capacity for understanding the story and communicating ways it could improve since then." She later married Coogler in 2016, with whom she has three children.
Amielynn Abellera, Actor

Amielynn Abellera (Source: Facebook)

Abellera was born and raised in Stockton, California. She earned her Bachelor of Science degree in Psychobiology from Santa Clara University, followed by her Master of Fine Arts degree in Acting from the University of Southern California. She currently is in the award-winning medical drama, The Pitt, where she plays a Muslim nurse, Perlah Alawi. To prepare for her role, Abellera reached out to the Filipino American Muslims in her community to learn as much as possible. In an interview with ebbymagazine.com, she said, “I was excited to hear their stories, experiences, and guidance to my myriad questions. Most importantly, I needed to understand how Perlah’s faith influenced or impacted her work as a nurse and healthcare provider. I’m still learning every day and ultimately feel honored for the opportunity to play Perlah.” The Pitt won the award for Outstanding Performance by an Ensemble in a Drama Series at the 32nd Annual Actor Awards in March 2026.
Abellera’s father is a doctor, her mother is a nurse, and she has pharmacists, dentists and physical therapists in her family. She said, she observed first-hand “the strength, commitment and resilience necessary to work in healthcare.” She was set to attend medical school but decided to follow her passion for acting instead. She started performing at theaters before she landed screen roles. In addition to The Pitt, she has starred in The Cleaning Lady and Bosch Legacy. She and partner Anastasia Coon share a five-year old daughter, Sampaguita.
Patrick Gabon, Chef of Naides

Chef Patrick Gabon (right) with partner Celine Wuu (Photo courtesy of Marilen Bernardo)

Open just a few months, Naides is getting Michelin star buzz with its creative and modern yet clearly tied to traditional Filipino cuisine. Chef and co-owner Patrick Gabon, who was born and raised in the Philippines, has worked in a variety of restaurants. His resume includes stints at Alexander's Steakhouse, Sons & Daughters, and the Alpine Nordic-influenced Restaurant Milka in Slovenia.
At Naides, camera phones are out in full force at every table, as diners try to capture the magic of each dish. A reviewer said that “the experience at Restaurant Naides is exceptional.” Both the front-of-house team, led by Gabon's partner and co-owner, Celine Wuu, and the chefs present 11 to 13 courses ($205/person), sharing the inspiration or story behind each. Currently, many of the dishes use wild ingredients that Gabon and Wuu foraged near Lake Tahoe and preserved in various ways. Their thoughtful approach extends to the choice of various ceramic pieces created by artisans and even the menu, which is printed on paper made locally and collaboratively, using pineapple leaves discarded by the kitchen.
“The meal starts with three dishes inspired by Filipino street food, such as a reimagined delicate lumpia, okoy fritter made with shredded vegetables and topped with prawn tartare, pickled wild roses, and fresh oxalis. The star, though, is the teetering puto, a tower of a fluffy rice cake topped with pork rillette, lardo, and fresh herbs. Each dish is balanced and made with finesse, shining a new light on classic Filipino flavors. Gabon's refined take on traditional dishes kinilaw, bagoong, and sinigang made with abalone follow the street snacks……And then comes what may just set a new standard for bread service: an ethereal brioche-like pandesal served warm, with a trio of toppings including chicken sisig, chicken liver pâté, and atchara pickles. Combining them as you wish is one of the most pleasurable moments in a series of dishes that each surprise and delight in a different way……Desserts are just as exquisite as the savory courses, and include a tart made with polvorón shortbread, sweet potato, and a blanket of finely-grated, rare pili nuts from the Philippines, as well as a whimsical pairing of warm fermented rice milk and luscious rice ice cream.” (excerpted from 7x7)
Dr. Mena Ramos, Physician

Dr. Mena Ramos (Source: LinkedIn)

Ramos is the co-founder and co-CEO of Global Ultrasound Institute (GUSI). As a physician, entrepreneur, health and medtech consultant, she specializes in healthcare innovation that bridges entrenched silos through meaningful workflow re-engineering with high tech/high touch digital tools to save time, lives, and cost. Dr. Ramos is a strong advocate for POCUS adoption across the continuum of care with a particular emphasis in primary care and global health. She co-wrote the original POCUS guidelines for the American Association of Family Practice (AAFP), published on POCUS in the Journal of Family Practice, the textbook Ultrasound for Primary Care, the CAFP journal, and was founding secretary of the AAFP POCUS Member Interest Group. She has led POCUS workshops at national conferences including AIUM, AAFP, ACP, STFM, FMEC and WCUME.
Dr. Ramos has served on the boards of several nonprofit organizations including Cuba Caribe (a performing arts, music and dance company), Women in Medicine (an advocacy group for sexual minority identifying women and gender expansive physicians) and chairs the POCUS Certification Academy Engagement Committee. Dr. Ramos graduated from medical school at the Latin American School of Medicine in Havana, Cuba, family medicine residency at the Contra Costa Family Medicine Residency, and global health fellowship at UCSF – Contra Costa.
Angelo Lopez, Cartoonist

Angelo Lopez (Source: LinkedIn)

As a child, Lopez would draw on any scrap of paper he could get hold of. At San Jose State University, he became more exposed to the works of the fine artists and illustrators and muralists like Peter De Seve, Thomas Hart Benton and Diego Rivera. From April 2008 to May 2011, Lopez’s cartoons appeared in the Tri-City Voice, a weekly newspaper that covers the Fremont, Hayward, Milpitas, Newark, Sunol and Union City areas in California. Since December 2011, he has been the political cartoonist for the Philippines Today, a Filipino American newspaper based in the San Francisco Bay Area. These political cartoons qualified him to join the Association of American Editorial Cartoonists. Lopez won the 2013 and 2015 Sigma Delta Chi Awards for Editorial Cartoons for newspapers with a circulation under 100,000, and the 2016 RFK Book and Journalism Award for Editorial Cartoons. He has contributed editorial cartoons for the European site, The Cartoon Movement, as well as Pitik Bulag, a Filipino political cartoonist group that is part of Rappler's Lighthouse Community of Action.
Leo Alquiros, Restaurant Chain Owner and Chef

Leo Alquiros (Source: Tropical Hut Philippine Cuisine)

Born in Mauban, Quezon, Alquiros cultivated his skills by cooking and selling food on Lucena City streets. In the beginning of the 1990s he found his way to the U.S. His career started in the corporate food research sector before diving into opening a local restaurant chain, Tropical Hut, where he operates as the head chef. He opened his first restaurant, Tropical Hut, in Old Bridge, New Jersey in 1999 where people can eat lunch or dinner, order catering or shop at the mini food section. Ice cream, sauces, chips, cookies, and other Filipino based products were available for purchase.
His fifth location in Maywood, NJ was a former Subway sandwich shop, proving his resourcefulness with space. He participated in missions to deliver food, healthcare and education to low income communities in the Philippines, Sri Lanka and India. "You feel you are giving back and you are doing something that is pleasing to the one above who is the source of all the countless blessings I and my family have received." In 2024 he won the New Jersey Business Immigration Coalition’s Caspar Wistar Award to recognize his economic contributions to the community as a restaurateur. Proceeds of his earnings go to support Bukas Loob Sa Diyos (BLD) and Gawad Kalinga (GK). The two organizations work together with the goal of eliminating poverty, providing homes and medical care.
Ged Merino, Artist

Ged Merino (Source: Facebook)

Merino is a Filipino American mixed-media artist based in New York. He has held solo exhibitions at The Drawing Room Gallery in Makati, The Cultural Center of the Philippines and other international exhibitions and workshops. He was part of the Southeast Asia Platform at Art Stage Singapore in January 2015, and in 2019 was selected for the exhibition “The Hybridity and Dynamism of the Contemporary Art of the Philippines” in Seoul, Korea where he also gave a widely praised workshop as part of the exhibition.
Merino co-founded Bliss on Bliss Art Projects New York in 2011 — which recently opened a space in Bogota, Colombia — with his wife Carolina Morales. The cross-cultural, artist-run space provides a platform for experimentation and presentation of new works for contemporary artists, writers, filmmakers and performers.
Ian Rivamonte, Judge

Judge Ian Rivamonte (Source: FBANC)

Rivamonte is a Superior Court Judge for Monterey County, California. Prior to his appointment to the Superior Court, Rivamonte worked as an associate attorney at Kazan, McClain, Satterley & Greenwood APC. Among his achievements was winning a $26 million jury verdict for a Filipina American client who sustained fatal injuries from exposure to talc powder. He is involved with the Filipino Bar Association of Northern California (FBANC), the Alameda County Bar Association, the Earl Warren American Inn of Court, the National Lawyers Guild, the Santa Clara County Trial Lawyers Association, and the National Asian Pacific American Bar Association. In 2011, Rivamonte founded and served as an inaugural member of the Diversity Committee of the Alameda Contra Costa Trial Lawyers Association, where he is still a board member. He earned his undergraduate degree from the University of California, San Diego and a Juris Doctor from the University of San Francisco School of Law.
Jayson Cortez, Fashion Publicist

Jayson Cortez (Source: LinkedIn)

Cortez is the founder and creative director of & Public Relations, a Los Angeles-based fashion PR agency. Born and raised in Pampanga, Philippines, Cortez was able to carve out a space in Hollywood by championing emerging designers and bringing their work to global visibility through strategic celebrity placements. His firm has the ability to connect both brands and talent to the right cultural moment.
Cortez studied Computer Science at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines, and at 22, he moved to Dubai where he tried his hand in advertising, marketing, photography, content creation. In 2022, he moved to Los Angeles where he took a position at a fashion agency where he learned the ropes until he could branch out on his own. “I’ve been very intentional about the brands we bring in—I want each designer to have their own lane, their own vibe, without overlapping or competing with each other. Keeping the agency boutique is important for that reason,” he says in an interview with uptownman.co.
Randal and Malou Kamradt, Writer/Directors/Filmmakers

Malou and Randal Kamradt (Source: FilmFreeway)

Maria “Malou” Kamradt is a teacher, choreographer, and filmmaker born and raised in the Philippines. She is an award-winner producer from her second feature film “The Monsters Without” a selection of the prestigious Fantaspoa Film Festival in Brazil, Macabro Film Festival in Mexico City, Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival, and many more. Malou is also known for her writing and directing for Danse Macabre and The Mumu. Aside from filmmaking, Malou is a mother of two and a teacher of Migrant K-12 and Adult Education students in Ventura County.
Randal Kamradt is a Filipino American writer/director of award-winning films and plays seen at festivals worldwide. His films range from genre creature-features to historical drama, with a consistent focus on dynamic visuals and socially relevant themes. He wrote and directed Faraway (2014) and The Monsters Without (2021) which premiered at the Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival, played in festivals around the world. His short film No Dogs (2021) won Best Short Film at the Chelsea Film Festival. He is also Associate Producer and VFX supervisor on Tribecca Film Festival 2023 selections Asog and Smoking Tigers.
Source: Google and Wikipedia

Federico Dominguez, Painter of Folklore

Rey E. de la Cruz — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 16:32:39 +0000

Federico Dominguez (Photo by Jes Aznar)

Each one of us is a storyteller, from our everyday conversations to the stories that we recount or imagine. Federico Dominguez is a one-of-a-kind storyteller because he tells them through his paintings. He intricately weaves stories, often using folklore and incorporating multiple levels. As such, each of his paintings is a unique and intriguing work of art.
He is a proud member of the Mandaya, an Indigenous group predominantly found in Davao Oriental. His cultural identity is frequently reflected in his paintings, serving as a meaningful way for him to express himself and showcase the richness of Mandaya culture to the world.
Growing up in Davao City, he fondly remembers spending time near the mouth of the Davao River with his friends. They would eagerly await strong waves that would carry them to the David Gulf, where they would enjoy swimming. Then, they would go to a small island in the Davao River. “We would catch tuway, a shellfish, using thin sticks of a walis tingting (a traditional broom made from the midribs of palm leaves, usually coconut leaves) to take out the meat,” he remembers. “Also, we would climb coconut trees to get butong (nuts).”
He states that his love for the visual arts deepened by sharing experiences with his best friend, Benjie, at the Davao Central Elementary School. In addition to drawing together, they would make toy cars out of sardine cans. After school, they would pass by a movie house, where a famous visual artist, Adlao, would make posters on a permanent canvas. As he sketched, Dominguez and Benjie would follow him, creating their artwork with pencils, crayons, and paper. They went their separate ways when they attended different high schools. Years later, Dominguez spotted him performing with a band at a nightclub. Afterwards, he heard that Benjie moved to America.
While working part-time at an art shop in Davao City that mass-produced paintings, he began learning to work with oil paints, brushes, and canvas. “I achieved discipline and learned from the tips given by senior visual artists in the shop,” he tells me. He eventually studied architecture and fine arts at the University of Mindanao (Davao City) and the University of the Philippines (Quezon City), respectively.
Dominguez’s paintings stand out because of their brilliant colors, which seem to radiate from within. At first glance, they also appear crowded. But upon closer inspection, a story unfolds for analysis and enjoyment. The myriad details and narrative depth grow on you.
In Ing Lam-aw ni Manaog (2016), he explores a Mandaya folklore: When it is a full moon, seven sisters descend from the upper world to take a walk, play, or swim in a pond, where Magbabaya (Great Spirit) inhabits. There is a hunter who eventually kidnaps one of the sisters and makes her his wife. Two sisters are in a pond, and three sisters are flying. But that is only a total of five sisters. Where are the other two sisters? Dominguez explains that they are the two emblems above the three flying sisters. While physical manifestations are expected in the real world, in the spiritual realm, they can be represented symbolically.

Ing Lam-aw ni Manaog (The Avatar's Pond) by Federico Dominguez, 2016, acrylic on canvas, 60" x 42.5" (Photo by Federico Dominguez)

Dominguez’s paintings stand out because of their brilliant colors, which seem to radiate from within.

Domiguez depicts the battle between good and evil in Magwayen (2015), where he explores the theme of the environment through Magwayen, a sea deity from Visayan folklore. Magwayen is depicted as both benevolent and angry, punishing those who harm the environment while guiding souls in the afterlife. Shells and a turtle symbolize the sea world, whereas totems denote her venerated status. A snake coiled around her arm suggests that she can be fierce. In the bottom corner, a storyteller shares her tale with a group, showing that she is part of an oral tradition. Overall, the painting provides a comprehensive portrayal of Magwayen’s many-sided character.

Magwayen by Federico Dominguez, 2015, acrylic on canvas, 56” x 36”. (Photo by FeDerico Dominguez)

My long friendship with my Finnish pen pal, Satu, is commemorated by Dominguez in Storytelling: Sami (Finland) and Mandaya (Philippines) (2022). Like the Mandaya of the Philippines, the Sami are an Indigenous group in Northern Europe, including Finland. The painting showcases the rich storytelling traditions of both cultures, including their differences in climate, traditional houses, and attire. The reindeer and carabao, significant to Sami and Mandaya cultures, respectively, are also featured.

Storytelling: Sami (Finland) and Mandaya (Philippines) by Federico Dominguez, 2022, acrylic on canvas, 20" x 15". (Finnish American Heritage Center) (Photo by Federico Dominguez)

Federico Dominguez conceptually employs folklore to make some larger intellectual and spiritual points, rather than merely for visual appeal. Nonetheless, his paintings are a feast for the eyes, sweeping viewers away with their intense colors, complex storytelling compositions, and explosive energy that have never been seen before.
The author extends gratitude to Annabelle C. Jayco for her interview support and Dexjordi Lyle Sison for his assistance with the photos.

Rey E. de la Cruz, Ed.D., writes for Positively Filipino from Chicagoland, carrying with him both his immersion in the arts and a steady longing for his hometown of Ballesteros, Cagayan—celebrated as the “Gakka Capital of the World.” He reshaped the very idea of film education in the Philippines, becoming the first recorded film student at the University of the Philippines and later the pioneer who brought film into the high‑school classroom at San Beda. As an educator, he introduced the ancient Philippine board game sungka into classroom practice, turning cultural memory into pedagogy. UMPIL, the Philippines’ largest organization of writers, honored him with the Gawad Balagtas for Drama in Filipino “for his pioneering creative spirit that imagined and expanded what can be possible for today’s modern theater.” His plays—dream‑driven, daring, and theatrically audacious—continue to resonate. He defined Theater Without Apology as a writing ethic that rejects softness, insists on precision, and confronts truth without blinking.

More articles from Rey E. de la Cruz

Tribute to a Master Gardener

Georgina Reyes Encanto — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 16:32:28 +0000

Alberto “Bitoy” Camaro

Alberto Camero, fondly known as “Bitoy” by La Vista residents, passed away on Christmas Eve, December 24, 2025. He had been the gardener of La Vista, a gated village along Katipunan in Quezon City, for 21 years.
Bitoy did not have any formal training in gardening. Before working in La Vista, he was a salesman for a biscuit factory on Araneta Avenue. His job, which lasted for 27 years, involved physically arranging displays and keeping inventory of biscuits in different malls. His job ended when the factory closed down. He had a hard time looking for work in Manila and considered going back to Cebu, his province. But his only brother, Danilo, who was the driver of Nick Villasenor, a longtime La Vista resident who later became the President of the La Vista Homeowners’ Association, encouraged him to apply as a maintenance worker for the gated community in 2003. After he was hired, he and his family moved to Kaingin 1 in Pansol, adjacent to La Vista.
While he had no experience as a gardener, Bitoy rapidly honed his skills on the job and gradually came to love it, especially when his clients in the village praised his work. He was an engaging storyteller who took pride in his creations and liked to narrate his day-to-day experiences with his family or point to his specific contributions—for example, the gazebo, the walking path in Bagobo Woods, and the Grotto at the end of the path along Mangyan Road, which he helped beautify with plants. He spent most of his time in this park.

The grotto at the end of Bagobo Woods, which Bitoy helped landscape.

His hard work made La Vista’s parks and gardens clean, resplendent, and well-maintained in an understated way.
I got to know Bitoy well when I was a member of the La Vista Board from 2013–2025. I walked regularly between 7 and 8 a.m., and my route would end on Ifugao Street, where I would spot him working diligently on the plants and making sure the parks remained clean and well-tended. He was always cheerful and delighted in telling me what specific tasks he was currently busy with. I would sometimes ask him for the names of certain plants that I saw in Bagobo Woods, and he would say, “‘Ay sorry po Ma’am, hindi ko po alam ang mga pangalan nila (I don’t know their names)!”
Gazebo Whisperer
There was a deteriorating gazebo in Bagobo Woods, which turned off residents. Before the pandemic, I reported the existence of this decrepit gazebo to the La Vista Board, which then assigned me to renovate it. I asked the then-Village Manager Laura Mirabueno and Bitoy to upgrade the gazebo by installing lights and electric fans, adding benches made from the trunks of village mahogany trees, and installing tiny steps as well as a solid concrete path so that residents and people with disabilities could easily access it.

The gazebo that Bitoy landscaped.

We also decided to collect leaves from the plants in Bagobo Woods. The leaves would then be placed face-down on the wet cement as the concrete steps leading to the gazebo were being laid. This way, the leaves’ distinctive patterns would be imprinted on the steps, memorializing the plants in Bagobo Woods even if we did not know their names.
Another major challenge was addressing the mosquito infestation around the gazebo. The nearby creeks were breeding grounds. On special occasions, the La Vista Office would arrange for Bagobo Woods to be fumigated with a chemical insecticide on the day of an event. To adopt a more organic approach, members of the Environment Committee unanimously suggested adopting natural alternatives, such as growing mosquito-repelling plants like citronella, lavender, or lantana, a small colorful flower.
Once, we ordered citronella plants from farmers in Bicol and told them to deliver the plants during office hours to the La Vista Administration Office, but they were delivered in the wee hours of the morning to the Mangyan Road entrance. A security guard transferred the citronellas to a security post in Bagobo Woods, leaving them on the sidewalk. Unfortunately, the garbage collectors were making their rounds, and one of them thought the sacks with the plants were meant to be thrown away, so he scooped them up and dumped them in one of their trucks. I was so upset and frustrated, and Laura thought it would be impossible to retrieve the plants, as they would have been dumped along with all the other garbage, including pig’s slop, in the garbage trucks.
To my surprise, the next morning, when I passed by the gazebo, I saw bundles of the citronella plants neatly piled on the sidewalk. Bitoy had somehow appealed to the driver of the garbage truck and retrieved them. He painstakingly cleaned and later planted them around the gazebo, making it a more conducive venue for small parties or gatherings of residents.
Free Vegetables
Bitoy also took the initiative to plant native vegetables like malunggay, alugbati, Tagalog pechay, and spinach near the barracks and generously gave bunches of vegetables to residents passing by. He could make female residents feel like brides, carrying lush bunches of Tagalog pechay or spinach as they walked.

Andi, the author’s granddaughter, holding a bouquet of lush pechay Tagalog given by Bitoy.

He created a nursery to nurture various plant shoots in small plastic containers until they were ready to be planted. Many residents liked his cheerfulness, generosity, humility, and sense of humor. A good number of them availed of Bitoy’s expertise by asking him to work for them on his free days and consulting him on how they could improve their own gardens.
A Leader
La Vista resident Ping de Jesus, former Secretary of Transportation and Communication, Executive Director of the Northern Luzon Expressway (NLEX), and current President of the Clark Development Corporation, was among those who regularly availed of Bitoy’s services and even invited him to visit his farm in Pampanga. He lavishly praised Bitoy, saying that in any group of workers, there is one who always emerges as a leader—one who sets the standards not only for skills but also for dedication and passion, thus raising the bar for the group’s work performance. In La Vista, Bitoy was that leader. La Vista’s gardens were well-maintained and resplendent. He was passionate, energetic, and always ready to teach other workers his skills. He was the perfect gardener for La Vista.

“Bitoy, parang Diyos ka kasi kahit iyong patay ay nabubuhay mo pa (Bitoy, you’re like God because you can raise the dead)!” I told him several times.

The plants were regularly watered, pruned, and grouped with others to blend well with the environment and make them visually attractive. Cuttings of the plants would be transferred to pots to multiply or be planted in the soil. Bushes were trimmed and located along the Bagobo Woods path, with white benches installed at intervals for village walkers or joggers to sit on. His familiarity with different foliage and flowers enabled him to plant them in exactly the right places and add color to enhance the environment.
Jano Eustaquio, CEO of Linnea Furniture and Realty Development Corporation, was another resident who worked closely with Bitoy. Jano’s sister Nina was once a member of the LV Board who headed the Environment Committee. She meticulously trained La Vista’s maintenance men and even attended to their personal appearance. Jano, a passionate gardener himself, enjoyed working with Bitoy. “Bitoy was outstanding, exceptional in his work. Even his work ethic was exceptional.” He and Bitoy “traded” with each other. He gave Bitoy some plants like the bromeliad hibiscus imperial and exquisite-looking pots for the bigger ornamental plants. He and Bitoy kept in touch by chatting at Jano’s home or in Bagobo Woods and occasionally texted each other.
“Great achievements are usually done in silence,” says Annie Guerrero, the multi-awarded Environment Guru of La Vista who was the Chair of the Environment Committee during the presidency of Atty. Mervyn G. Encanto. Annie has lived in La Vista for 54 years. In 2007, La Vista was conferred the Garbology Award, the gold medal for solid waste management.

Bitoy with indoor plants he rearranged in minutes. Left to right: Bitoy and an unidentified companion.

Quiet Demeanor
Her fondest memory of Bitoy during her term was “his quiet demeanor.” She fondly recalls Bitoy being assigned to the Ecology Center in Bagobo Woods, doing menial jobs, which he performed in extraordinary ways, such as daily checking that all the tools were returned and kept in the barracks as if he personally owned them.
“His capacity to do his job well is perhaps what gives his life its deepest meaning,” she adds.
Many of the materials Bitoy used for the garden came from the debris of remodeled village houses. Bitoy said that sometimes the plants he found among the debris were wilting or practically dying, but with his care and instinctive touch, he would regenerate them in no time.
“Bitoy, parang Diyos ka kasi kahit iyong patay ay nabubuhay mo pa (Bitoy, you’re like God because you can raise the dead)!” I told him several times.
He may not have had the benefit of formal training. He did not take courses in Landscape Design or Landscape Management. La Vista did not have to outsource its landscaping by contracting a high-end landscape architect. But through Bitoy’s 21 years of passionate service and sheer love for La Vista, he left as his legacy the lush and beautiful gardens of this village.

Georgina Reyes Encanto is a former dean of the UP College of Mass Communications.

[Partner] Remembrances along the River

Jon Melegrito — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 04:39:08 +0000

Jane Santaw (left), Jhett Arzadon Epp and Shirley Domenech of Alexandria, Virginia, take a breather by the Potomac River. (Photo by Alexander Epp)

On a day when passing the time away meant enjoying a spring breeze and a clear, blue sky in the lush hills of Northern Virginia, Fort Hunt Park offered respite from current news of mass shootings and threats of war.
But on April 18, it is remembrances of a distant war that brought a community together. Each year, the Bataan Memorial Death March draws hundreds of families and friends, young and old alike, to share a common cause: to honor the service and sacrifice of Filipino World War II Veterans. More than 10,000 died in that march, and thousands more in prison camps.
On it’s 6th year, the BMDM on the Potomac has become a cherished community tradition, a ritual with its own rhythms: somber reminiscences stirred by leafy trees and fresh waters, lively conversations among slow walkers, gasps for breath among the runners and more connections made across the table over home-cooked meals.
Alone, but mostly in groups, this year’s participants completed one, four or ten miles. But how far or how long doesn’t really matter. It’s the sharing along the way of untold stories of fierce battles waged in Bataan and Corregidor, of unimaginable valor and admirable duty to country, of unsung heroes fighting under the American flag and paying the ultimate price, but betrayed soon after by the very country that put them in harm’s way – these, they will long remember.
Embracing a legacy
Marching for the first time was Rain Lim, granddaughter of Vicente Lim, a World War II hero. “Upholding our forebears’ legacy is a mission we embrace with deep pride,” she said. “As a guardian of my family’s century-long history of service, we honor the fallen by continuing the mission. From the Root to the Fruit, the lineage remains unbroken.” Brigadier General Vicente Lim led the 41st Division in defense of Bataan, refusing to surrender during the Japanese occupation, a defiance that ultimately led to his execution and beheading.
“He gave everything so that we could stand free today,” Rain added. “Remember Bataan. Never Forget. They marched so we could stand. They walked through the darkness so that we could walk in the light of freedom.”

Rain Lim and Rodney Salinas hit the 10-mile trail along the Potomac River.

Harry Gordon Paragas, a member of the Filipino Young Professionals, said his walk that day was “roughly a tenth of the distance that 80,000 Filipino and American POWs marched in the Bataan Death March. But by this small march, we hope to honor and commemorate their sacrifice, and to keep remembering so that nothing as grave may ever happen again.”

Jhett Arzadon Epp (left) with son Alexander, dad Johnny and nieces Jane and Shirley are congratulated at the finish line by Gen. Taguba (center).

To Ninety-year-old Johnny Arzadon, the walk along the scenic Potomac River brought memories of friends in the community who always find ways to come together for a common cause. His daughter, Jhett Epp and her two sons Jonathan and Alexander, daughters-in-law Cathy and Exie, and granddaughters Jane and Shirley were among the marchers. “I never want to miss this event, to honor those who endured the unimaginable during the Bataan Death March – heroes whose courage, sacrifice and resilience will never be forgotten,” Jhett said. “It was especially meaningful to share this moment with my family. And Dad, true to his spirit, insisted on walking and completed four miles. A quiet strength that reminds us exactly why we walk.”
Dedicating his run to his great grandfather who served as a scout during World War II, John Victoria, president of ACE NextGen DC, said “it was powerful to volunteer and witness people of all ages in the community come together to honor their sacrifice and keep their memory alive.” Added Jean-Luc Baldoza, a business owner and founder of Lux: “This annual event reminds us of history through running, jogging or walking for miles – efforts that are nothing compared to what was endured by those who came before us. I’m honored to be with different people moving for one purpose – that we should all learn from it.” The same sentiment was shared by Sky Angelic Navarro of FYP DC, who vows to “continue the legacy of resilience left by those who came before me.”
No one left behind

Catalina, daughter of Mike Reyes (left) gives Filipino Veteran Rey Cabacar the traditional “Mano Po” after receiving her award medal.

The presence of 98-year-old U.S. Navy veteran Remigio Cabacar added special significance to Saturday’s ceremonies. Along with contemporaries Leonardo Dayot Devera and Pete Sarmiento of the Veterans of Foreign Wars, Mr. Cabacar did the honor of presenting the award medals to the more than 120 participants. “Aguray-ak,” he said in Ilokano, choosing to wait patiently at the finish line to shake their hands, rather than go home and rest.
“We were deeply blessed by the presence of a living testament to this history,” Rain Lim noted. “Their mission does more than preserve the past, it keeps our Filipino-American community bonded and strong. The fire of service continues to burn!”
As it has done every year, the Philippine Embassy was represented by Deputy Chief of Mission Bong Carino, Naval Attache Captain James Lugtu, Labor Attache Saul de Vries and their families.
‘A powerful reminder’

Always ready to serve are officers and members of PNAMDC, from left, Carol Manalay Robles, Mizpah Amados, Amabelle Estreba, Edna Guerrero, Nina Reynoso Ray, Aida Imperio, Achilles Amados, Joy Arellano, Lenny Icayan. Not in picture: Zonna Alvarez, Sheena Bonifacio.

Carol Manilay-Robles, former president of the Philippine Nurses Association of Metropolitan DC (PNAMDC), hails the annual event as “a powerful reminder of why we serve. As nurses, we are proud to lead with compassion, presence, and purpose. We are always grateful to be part of a community that shows up and serves.” PNAMDC volunteers have selflessly served as First Aid providers every year since BMDM started, posting themselves at nurse stations along the march route.
Also assisting FilVetREP, the lead organizer, are the Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) Post 5471 led by Ike Puzon and VFW Auxiliary headed by Lera Rickling; the Filipino Young Professionals, Philippine Chamber of Commerce President Michael San Juan and Ron Sagudan of the Veterans Administration’s Center for Minority Veterans. Donors and sponsors include Katie Perera of the Navy Federal Credit Union and Cristina Sison of Sison Homes and Associates.
Among the volunteers who helped with the day’s program and logistics are Matthew Aninzo, Bing Branigin, Ceres Busa, Sonny Busa, Stephanie Hendrick, Jeraldyne Herrera, Lida Peterson, Christina Marie Rodriguez, Rodney Salinas and John Victoria.
BMDM 2026 opened with a send-off ceremony, and ended with a Filipino buffet provided by Merlyn Eda of North Star.
The sun was still up as participants departed Fort Hunt Park. FilVetREP Chairman Maj. Gen. Antonio Taguba (Ret) made sure everyone was accounted for, that no one was left behind. “We will be back each year to honor the battling bastards of Bataan,” he said. “Because we all give a damn!”
- Jon Melegrito
Save the date: BMDM 2027, April 17,2027
Ft. Hunt Park, Alexandria, VA.
PHOTOS by Bing Branigin, Carol Manalay Robles, Richard Villa Mercado and Christina Marie Rodriguez.

Former NaFFAA Executive Director Kelly Ilagan, her husband and two sons receive a warm send off from Filipino Veteran Rey Cabacar, Pete Sarmiento and Leonardo Dayot Devera.

Naval Attache Captain James Lugtu and his family wave to other participants as they prepare to walk.

PNAMDC volunteers and FilVetREP organizers beam with joy at another successful BMDM.

Participating again this year is the father and son team of Austin and Joseph Conaty, with PNAMDC’s Joy Arellano.

FilVetREP Director Sonny Busa introduces West Pointer Renzo Almodovar and Daniel Francis Sales of the Coast Guard Academy. Both cadets said they will be back next year.

VFW Post 5471, from left: Keith Brightwell, Diann Puzon, Yollie Collins, Ike Puzon, John and Lera Rickling.

Harry Gordon Paragas of FYP (right) meets Gen. Taguba and Mr. Cabacar for the first time.

Team Antonio A. Nieva — from left, Adrian, Kevin, Ella, Veronica Nieva (daughter of Antonio Nieva, a Bataan Death March survivor) and Andrea – at the finish line. They have been dedicated veteran BMDM marchers and FilVetREP donors for many years.

Eric Lachica (left), John Victoria and her friend receive their medals after completing the 10-mile run.

Gathered at Fort Hunt Park, more than 120 participants in BMDM 2026 get set to run or walk along the scenic Potomac River.

Isa Briones, the Cool, Competent Filipina Doctor on ‘The Pitt’

Anthony Maddela — Wed, 22 Apr 2026 15:17:32 +0000

Isa Briones as Dr. Trinity Santos in “The Pitt” (Photo by Warrick Page/HBO Max)

One standard question I ask performers is: How is being Filipino an advantage in your profession?
I might as well be asking a basketball player: How does having two arms help you with your free throws? Logic won’t deter this intrepid reporter from using the art of inquiry to expand his library of hackneyed observations like: “Filipinos have a strong work ethic.” I might even get an unoriginal quote that doesn’t address my question: “We come from tightknit families.”
I go on asking the same question because that elusive insight occasionally materializes: “Filipinos are emotional people. When you experience an emotion so deeply, you must express it. If you feel something so extreme, you share it with the world through art.”
That most thoughtful response comes from Isa (pronounced ee-sa) Briones, 27. Filipinos don’t always wear their hearts on their sleeves—their emotions run deep, often beyond easy expression or cliché. When she plays Dr. Trinity Santos on The Pitt (streaming on HBO Max), Briones taps into a reservoir of heavy emotions that Filipinos are known to display in their everyday lives.
Briones was born in London and is the daughter of Jon Jon Briones, originally from Quezon City. He built a distinguished career in musical theatre that includes the role of Hermes alongside Isa, who was Eurydice in Hadestown on Broadway. While playing The Engineer in London’s West End revival of Miss Saigon, Jon Jon met wife Megan Briones née Johnson, whose lineage is Swedish and Irish. The perfect match was made official in 1996. She works as a talent manager and leader of a singing group. Their other child, Teo Briones, is the only son though not the only actor in the family.
Talent Never Goes Out of Style
The movie industry adage, ‘It’s not what you know, but who you know,’ doesn’t apply to actors with musical theater connections. A film and television career became a possibility via a geographical route when Briones, then age 7, and her family moved to Los Angeles. Her parents never planned it that way.

Isa Briones and Noah Wyle (Photo by Warrick Page/HBO Max)

Speaking of her parents, Briones explains, “They moved to LA because they were theater actors, but they decided, ‘Maybe we can try auditioning for film and TV and see how it goes.’”
Children are impressionable, and Briones had this trait in common with other second graders. “When we moved to LA, I asked, ‘So when am I going to start auditioning?’”
“They thought about the worries of all creatives with kids. Oh no! You’re dooming them to a life in show business.”
Mom and Dad would not let prevailing assumptions, however proven, become additional obstacles their fledglings would have to overcome. “They were scared for me and my brother. They worried. ‘Oh God, how is this going to go?’ But they were also very proud of us. They acknowledged, ‘At least you guys are good at what you do; it would have been really bad if you weren’t.’”
Like Father, Like Daughter
“With my dad and I, thank God, we had each other to lean on,” remembers Briones of the period when she and her father were pursuing starring roles in television. “We booked our first regular roles in series within a few months of each other.”
Briones joined the cast of Star Trek: Picard on Paramount+ and her father worked on Ryan Murphy’s Ratched on Netflix. “We got to experience doing a TV show and being Number 2 on the call sheet at the same time even though we were obviously at different stages of our lives,” she says of their standing as seconds to the lead characters in television episodes.
Hollywood to Broadway and Back
After Star Trek: Picard concluded in 2023, Briones went back to the familiar territory of musical theatre but at the highest level as the star of Hadestown on Broadway. In auditions, her Filipina ancestry didn’t initially give her an edge despite the unfading reputation of Filipina Eva Noblezada-Carney, who originated the role of Eurydice on Broadway. Nor was the stereotype that all Filipinos can sing a deciding factor.

Alexandra Metz and Isa Briones (Photo by Warrick Page/HBO Max)

“I don’t necessarily look Filipina at first glance,” she references the effect of her biracial identity whenever she auditions. The Retina display of my iPad captures her lively hazel eyes, light skin worthy of a K-pop contract, and dark hair that flows without frizz. “But when people find out that I am Filipino, they say, ‘Well, of course, she can sing.’”
She was performing in Hadestown six days a week while still anticipating her next gig. “I was making self-tapes for auditions during the day while I was doing eight shows a week.” She pauses a beat before continuing, “Then this audition came in, and I remember thinking ‘This is crazy. No one is going to believe me as a doctor.’ I almost didn’t audition but thank God I did.”
“Then I had my Zoom callback, and I left from Broadway straight to the airport to the studio building.”
Briones had to change minds and plans to become Dr. Trinity Santos on The Pitt. It’s unusual for medical scripts outside of Manila to feature Filipina doctors. Television shows attempt to mirror real hospital settings by assigning Filipinas to nurse roles. The two other Fil-Ams in The Pitt, Amielynn Abellera and Kristen Villanueva, play nurse characters Perlah Alawi and Princess Dela Cruz, respectively. Her bonds with “Titas” Amielynn and Kristen go beyond their Filipino culture.
“They’re both theater actors like me,” Isa notes. “I think you’ll find most of the actors on our show had done theater. It’s so special to be part of a very theatrical show.” She alludes to a secret ingredient behind a high level of competence within The Pitt cast that’s seldom encountered in other productions that grind social media influencers into television celebrities.
“The role wasn’t meant to be Filipino,” Briones returns to the beginning of her most public role. “They were looking for an Asian woman, no specific [nationality]. When they cast me for the part of Dr. Trinity Shah, I asked, ‘Hey, can you change the last name to reflect my background?’ And they were supportive.”
Showrunner R. Scott Gemmill and the rest of the creative team welcomed her input. “I gave them a list of names that felt right to me, and they decided Santos works.”
(Coincidentally, the maiden name of my maternal grandmother was Venturosa Santos.)
The show’s authenticity doesn’t end with a Filipino surname. “It’s important to everyone to express the full spectrum of who Filipinos are.”
In two seasons of The Pitt, each of 15 episodes represents one hour of a long shift in the Emergency Department of the fictional Pittsburgh Trauma Center. Last year, the plot revolved around victims of a mass shooting at a music festival. Season 2 brought medical staff up close and personal with patients who are under arrest, dying from cancer, foul smelling and homeless, showing early signs of schizophrenia, and suffering an assortment of injuries from losses of inhibitions that Independence Day can inspire.
On top of all that, the electronic medical record system was shut off due a cyber threat.

Taylor Dearden and Isa Briones (Photo by Warrick Page/HBO Max)

Dr. Santos Is So Filipino
The original intent wasn’t to create a generic Asian character; nevertheless, Briones must have really impressed Gemmill and company for them to accept the challenge of constructing a character as complex as a Filipina American doctor. In second-year resident, Dr. Santos, we see their diligence in portraying an individual’s struggle to balance Filipino values with American attitudes. And to reconcile it with all with the universal responsibility of a physician to put the patient’s welfare ahead of her needs.
Filipinos make good healthcare workers because of their generous spirits. When their sacrifices go unappreciated, they become aware of unfair biases that limit their growth. Jealousy festers when their non-Filipino peers are rewarded for the types of contributions they have been making in silence. A Filipina can look past personal insults, neglect of her needs, and laziness, but, as a doctor, she cannot ignore offenses that jeopardize the health of patients. We see this scenario in action after Dr. Santos reports star resident Dr. Frank Langdon (played by Patrick Ball) for stealing painkillers from a patient. She has compromised her Filipino vow of forgiveness by putting patients first.
As a biracial woman, Dr. Santos has probably endured alienation by full-blooded Filipinos and the white community. The consequences exceed personal slights when she becomes alienated in a trauma center that depends on teamwork to save lives.
Even the new attending physician, Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi (Sepideh Moafi), resents Dr. Santos without knowledge of her history with Dr. Langdon. When Dr. Langdon returns from 10 months of rehab, it’s surprising to everyone but a Filipino viewer that Dr. Santos dismisses Dr. Langdon’s apology as nothing more than a requirement of his 12-step substance abuse program. He has no concept of how much mental distress he caused Dr. Santos by committing a criminal act she was obligated to report. Her spirit has been violated in such a way Filipinas are ill-equipped to handle.
Fans who grasp the importance of emotions to Filipinos may be further alarmed by her unwillingness to show vulnerability by leaning on fellow resident and roommate, Dr. Dennis Whitaker (Gerran Howell). He is the trusted friend she needs more than she knows. Filipinos hate being burdens, and doctors hate feeling powerless. Dr. Santos won’t overwhelm Dr. Whitaker with her workplace insecurities and an ever-present history of childhood sexual abuse that was disclosed in Season 1. Again, Filipinos hate to be burdens. Briones conveys a Filipina's nature and how doctors feel powerless when they can’t identify a pathology, much less solve it.
Rescued By a Filipino Lullaby

Briones sings Ili ili, Tulog Anay, the Ilonggo lullaby. (Photo by Warrick Page/HBO Max)

This medical drama flourishes through the interplay of clinical procedures and human passions, but wisely The Pitt writing staff listens to medical consultants who emphasize that periodically even Dr. Zeus needs to shed excess lightning to stay sane.
“There are traumatic things that happen on the show, and then there will be a comedic moment,” Briones observes a pattern in the plotting. “That’s how it was when we talked to medical professionals. They tell us you have to laugh or else it’s going to be horrible all day. You’ll weep.”
Briones exudes optimism through a playful wit. For Dr. Santos, hilarity won’t displace her brooding and caustic sarcasm. Mercifully, in one episode Dr. Santos is given a cultural respite when the character sings a Filipino lullaby to soothe the inconsolable Baby Jane Doe who was abandoned in the lady’s restroom. “Scott Gimmell, our writer and showrunner, emailed me the idea for Dr. Santos to sing a lullaby,” she relates. “We were thinking maybe it could be a Filipino lullaby.”
“When he asked me how I felt about that, I was very excited.” Briones lights up with a smile as if she is reliving the moment during our interview. “I immediately called my dad, and he thought this is so exciting, too. We talked about it, and that’s when we landed on Ili ili, Tulog Anay, the Ilonggo lullaby.”
The Pitt has been given grief over its similarities to the medical drama ER, which was also produced by Warner Bros. but aired on the NBC television network from 1994 to 2009. (My HBO Max subscription fades into an ER episode from the WB library after each latest installment of The Pitt.) Obvious parallels are that both shows are set in emergency departments (as is the zany sitcom St. Denis Medical) and that actor Noah Wylie played medical resident Dr. Carter then and plays lead attending physician Dr. Robby now. I would argue that The Pitt has more in common with the long-running medical soap opera, General Hospital, because in both series, each new episode is a continuation of the last one.
Episodes of The Pitt always end with a cliffhanger, and it was no surprise that Season 2 ended with an avalanche given the mountains of unresolved angst circulating in the Emergency Department. The answer (or answers) that will keep Filipinos in a hiatus state of suspense concern: Dr. Santos finishes the night in a karaoke bar. What else does this Filipina need to get by?
‘Just in Time’ for Broadway
The last episode of Season 2 of The Pitt streamed on April 16, 2026. Filming wrapped before April. Briones relaxed for four days in Mexico before she was back on Broadway. She could barely sip a margarita before she was back on stage as songstress Connie Francis in the hit musical Just in Time at Circle in the Square Theatre.

When she plays Dr. Trinity Santos on The Pitt (streaming on HBO Max), Briones taps into a reservoir of heavy emotions that Filipinos are known to display in their everyday lives.

“Connie Francis was a superstar of her time. She had such a beautiful voice,” she says of the famous vocalist of the 1950s and ’60s and first female to top the Billboard Hot 100. “I grew up hearing a lot of music from that era because my mom was in an Andrew Sisters tribute group that played at parties.” Audiences are falling for her rendition of the Francis standard, Who’s Sorry Now.
Right now, every minute is accounted for. Briones longs to visit the Philippines with her family. “I was seven the last time I was there,” she reveals. “A vacation didn’t work out this year because I only had four days off. We want to stay a long time because it’s such a long flight to travel there. Hopefully, when I’m done with Season 3, we’ll be able to go, because I haven’t seen so much of my family in so long. I need to see my Lola.”
Judging by the Tagalog lessons on her Rosetta Stone app, she is serious about revisiting the mother islands. (Her mention of Season 3 can only mean that Dr. Santos is returning to the ED.) The last question I always ask my subjects is: What is your go-to song when you’re handed the karaoke mic? She replies, “I often go with a Whitney Houston song. Her music usually vibes with me.”
The final episode of Season 2 ended with her character belting out an Alanis Morissette song. As someone who prefers Whitney Houston songs in real life, Briones deserves an Emmy for inhabiting a character who functions 180 degrees apart from her joyful nature.

Anthony Maddela writes articles, fiction, and grants in Los Angeles. He looks forward to the World Cup and in 2028, the Olympics. His family of four has tickets to see Olympic women’s and men’s climbing and skateboarding.

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BINI’s Coachella Breakthrough

Julienne Loreto — Wed, 22 Apr 2026 15:17:22 +0000

BINI for Coachella Day 1 (Photo courtesy of ABS-CBN Star Music)

In 2011, Filipino news organization Vera Files published a deep dive into Philippine pop (P-Pop). Although “P-Pop” was already being used as a generic term for all Philippine pop music, what was emerging was clearly something else: candy-colored visuals, synchronized singing and dancing, and peppy, heavily electronic production that went against the Philippines’ love for acoustic, band, and ballad music.
“It was never going to work, it was just a novelty,” were some of the respondents’ thoughts on P-Pop. Fifteen years later, things are looking drastically different for the industry. At the forefront of P-Pop’s rise is BINI, an eight-member girl group.
Have you ever thought you would someday hear Tagalog being spoken onstage at Coachella, one of the world’s buzziest music festivals? How about Tagalog and other Philippine languages like Cebuano (Bisaya), Ilocano, and Bicolano? Well, on April 17, BINI did exactly that.
That weekend, the octet performed for the second time on the Mojave Stage in Coachella Valley, California. Their excellent performances earned rapturous praise. And their Weekend 1 set garnered more than 3.1 million views altogether online.
However, even their little gestures were celebrated by netizens too, such as their spiel with each member briefly introducing herself in her native language: Bicolano for Gwen; Cebuano for Aiah and Colet; Ilocano for Stacey; Tagalog for Maloi, Jhoanna, and Sheena; and English for Mikha.
Will 2026 be the year that Filipino music breaks into international consciousness like Korean pop (K-Pop)? Well, I can’t look into the future, but I can tell you about BINI. Fresh from their historic Coachella and GRAMMY Museum debuts, as well as their new album Signals, the girls will also embark on another world tour in June.
If you ask other Filipinos, many will tell you that so much of the P-Pop industry’s – even the nation’s – future lies within BINI’s. That amount of pressure is unfathomable, especially for a bunch of young women aged 21 to 25.
I’m their age and I damn well know most people in our generation would collapse if we had to bear the expectations of millions of people on our shoulders. But to quote one of their songs, “Zero pressure, zero diamonds.”
A Pre-Coachella Treat
BINI released the mini-album/extended play (EP) Signals on April 9, a day before their Coachella debut. None of BINI’s records since their sophomore album Feel Good (2022), which contains fascinating rock and jazz elements, have come close to its innovative edge.
But Signals is their best album since Talaarawan (Diary) in 2024. It’s certainly a massive improvement from their weakest record so far, Flames (2025).
Countless haters and Blooms (BINI fans) alike unleashed their outrage at the group’s first all-English EP, BINIverse (2025), due to deeply misguided notions about “authenticity” (i.e. Tagalog = authentic, as if all of the members speak it as their first language). However, the Taglish Flames had far lower quality.
The album’s bright spots were its more experimental moments, like the excellent First Luv’s use of a church organ or the zippy tropical hip-hop of Shagidi. But the rest of it ranged from listenable but dull (Katabi, Infinity) to downright subpar (Bikini, Paruparo).
Signals doesn’t break new ground for BINI sonically. However, the composers and producers have packed this EP with irresistible melodies, which is really the most important thing. It might not reinvent the wheel, but what a gorgeous wheel it is.
Track two, Unang Kilig (First Kilig), is the group’s finest lead single in months. The song feels complete. Its producer Jeremy Glinoga is actually young himself, just 26 years old, but crafts songs like a seasoned pro with several decades of experience. His talent for structuring songs is undeniable, even when I’m not the biggest fan of some – e.g., another BINI song he made, Infinity, has a clever looping structure that reflects the lyrics, which I love despite my other criticisms towards it.

BINI for Unang Kilig. (Photo courtesy of ABS-CBN Star Music)

Sugar Rush is possibly one of the best songs in BINI’s entire career. Although they’ve explored ‘90s-inspired R&B soundscapes before, Sugar Rush is another reminder of how vital an effective topline (the vocals sitting on top of the instrumentals) is.
Samantha, another writer for our Visayan zine kasing2, astutely pointed out that Sugar Rush has a subtle rock-and-roll flavor to it. That part of her review made me realize why Sugar Rush is so satisfying compared with other retro R&B tributes. The base melody is already so catchy, but the bridge and outro take us to the sky, holding nothing back.
In particular, main vocalists Colet and Maloi go toe-to-toe with the intensifying drums through their extreme high notes. It’s a rock star moment hidden in a new jack swing track.
Even the softer tracks like Blush, Honey Honey, and Tic Tac Toe avoid being boring with their fast-moving, well-composed toplines. The closing song Step Back is a hip-hop number with energetic hooks and chants, as well as cool electronic riffs and funk accents. The song is like a 2020s update of Hollaback Girl by Gwen Stefani minus the racism. Although its last chorus lacks the oomph that you might expect from the finale of Signals, it’s still a nice-sounding track from a high-quality EP.
BINI Conquers Coachella
As mentioned, the views on BINI’s Coachella set exceeded 3.1 million for Weekend 1 (April 10) alone. Their view count online was second only to headliner Justin Bieber’s.
Newness aside, what could’ve made people so curious about BINI? Appearance seems to be a factor. Although they’re all conventionally pretty, I’ve noticed a lot of people appreciating that they don’t fully conform to the toxic beauty standards that other countries’ groups might enforce. For one, some BINI members like Aiah have glowing tanned skin. Their healthy-looking visuals were also highlighted by their meticulously crafted outfits incorporating everyday Filipino items like the salakot (conical hats worn by farmers).
The musical arrangements caught many people’s attention as well. The team (including Choi Padilla, Nikko Rivera, and Errol Apacible) added native Southeast Asian instruments like the kulintang to the songs; but something I haven’t seen others talk about is that several of the tracks also received a rock remix: awesome guitar riffs and hard-hitting percussion.
Last but absolutely not the least, the girls are incredible performers, plain and simple. True live vocals while dancing at full energy is a P-Pop trademark that BINI demonstrated well at Coachella. That’s not to say that other countries’ musicians don’t have live vocal skills either, but P-Pop tends to prioritize them.
Even though their sets on both days entailed more than 40 minutes of nonstop performance, the BINI ladies continued to deliver impressive raw vocals and dancing. With their innate singing talent, musicality, and athletic stamina, the octet is one of the finest examples of P-Pop power out there.
Their hunger to prove themselves was palpable. The sets gave me a newfound appreciation even for some BINI songs I don’t like, e.g. Bikini. The beat is still a mess, among other problems. But like KATSEYE’s Gnarly, it functions well as a live performance song, if nothing else. And each member of BINI is a powerful performer through and through.
In particular, the livestream camera seemed to focus on Maloi on the first day. A lot of people have chalked it up to her vibrant stage presence and ever-passionate vocals.
Each woman in BINI was really impressive, though. For me, Gwen was a pleasant surprise. She used to favor a super airy, safe singing style. I was aware that she’d been improving over the years, but she solidified it here. On both days, she projected her voice beautifully and improvised note changes like in Strings (Weekend 2).

BINI for Coachella Day 2 (Photo courtesy of ABS-CBN Star Music)

Speaking of Strings, the Weekend 2-only opener has my favorite moment from their Coachella sets. The song is originally from BINI’s 2022 album Feel Good. It was never much of a hit and is stupidly difficult to sing, so I didn’t expect them to perform it in their Coachella debut.
A notable moment in Strings is Colet speeding through 25 notes in 9 seconds – not even in falsetto either, where such a fast run is far easier to execute, but using chest voice. She has pulled this off so many times live (I lost my mind when she did it at BINIverse London), so I don’t doubt her abilities. It’s just risky to attempt at Coachella, especially for a first-timer.
But not only did Colet nail it, she also sustained the end belt for longer than she did in the studio version as the instrumental dramatically stopped for her. Just glorious.
“Aminin (let’s admit), Colet has the most stable and powerful voice in BINI. She’s the backbone of their vocals,” a netizen commented on a clip of Strings at Coachella, amassing more than 6,300 likes (and counting) in under 24 hours. This is true.
Colet is frequently denied the spotlight for whatever reason, whether it’s a song not making use of her vocal abilities, or a camera not showing her at all when she’s performing. But give this girl a chance to shine, even if it’s just one moment, and people will take notice.
Maloi and Jhoanna have sugary sweet, delicate tones, the types that the pop market can’t get enough of. The emphasis on them and their voices is understandable, especially because BINI usually makes bright pop music.
Colet’s timbre may not be the most marketable in this context, but it’s definitely the most striking to me and plenty of other people. Utilizing her well gives the group a better sonic balance. Rich, round, and robust, her voice strongly reminds me of Perrie from Little Mix. (Maloi is totally Jade, and Jhoanna is Leigh-Anne.)
It’s clear that she’s an irreplaceable part of BINI’s sound. Her Strings highlight at Coachella should be proof enough. Give her more of those moments, please!

The views on BINI’s Coachella set exceeded 3.1 million for Weekend 1 (April 10) alone. Their view count online was second only to headliner Justin Bieber’s.

More to come
So, what’s next for P-Pop? None of us can say for sure, but this P-Pop group is certainly making their mark in the U.S. That’s a good sign, right? All of the BINI girls have rightfully earned Pinoy pride with their lovely music, talent, and hard work.
But how do we pay it back? A good place to start is by supporting and listening to their music, especially their new EP Signals. They’re going to announce U.S. stops for their upcoming world tour very soon, so you can keep your eyes peeled for that as well.
As someone who listens to so many P-Pop groups, I’m also hoping BINI’s success will make other people curious about the industry in general. Unlike K-Pop (Korean pop) or Western pop, P-Pop groups tend to lack money and resources. They have very little infrastructure to thrive, but they’re all so, so talented. There’s a whole realm of P-Pop goodness waiting to be discovered: SB19, YGIG, ALAMAT, KAIA, G22, and countless others.
BINI has given the world a taste of P-Pop. But this is just the beginning for them and the industry in general. We can only go up from here.

Julienne Loreto (they/them) is a non-binary university student with roots in Bohol and Leyte. They are also a writer whose articles have been published in the prestigious music magazine The Line of Best Fit, as well as the Asian-American magazine JoySauce; their fiction stories have also been selected for publication by 8Letters and sold at the Manila International Book Fair.

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Chess, Janis Joplin, and My Father’s Herbs

Alex S. Fabros, Jr. — Wed, 22 Apr 2026 14:18:12 +0000

The Coffee Gallery (Source: Georgee ROyce/Facebook)

I was sixteen years old in the spring of 1962, a sophomore in high school, restless and hungry for something beyond the rhythms of Salinas. On weekends, I rode with my father into San Francisco when he visited his friends on Kearny Street. They were older men, manongs who had worked the fields or carried rifles with Filipino regiments during the war. In the boarding houses across from Chinatown, they filled their evenings with food, laughter, and stories of New Guinea and the Philippines. They spoke of nights in the jungle, of hunger and fear, of brothers lost and comrades who had survived. I wasn’t there, but I grew up in those stories, listening as smoke curled around the tables.
My father would eventually press fifty cents into my hand and tell me to get lost for a while so he could spend time with his friends. He always knew where I’d go. A short walk brought me to Grant Avenue, past Broadway’s neon and burlesque clubs, into the Coffee Gallery. By eleven, he could always find me again, bent over a chessboard in a smoky corner, the clack of pieces and the murmur of music filling the room.
The Coffee Gallery was divided into two. To the right was a small stage, a step up from the floor, where singers and poets took turns at the open mike. Folk songs and blues, jazz riffs and poems about love or politics floated out into the crowd. To the left was the Beats’ corner, heavy with smoke, where poets recited jagged lines and serious men leaned over sixty-four squares. That was my world, the world of calculation and concentration. The middle door between the two rooms led upstairs to rented spaces where drifters and musicians stayed, a reminder that art and survival shared the same roof.
Smoke
I carried with me a pipe, the kind the old manongs smoked. I filled it with Filipino herbs they swore by for aching muscles and rheumatism. When I lit it, heads turned. The smoke was sharp, pungent, different. Players leaned closer. “What are you smoking?” they asked. I told them the truth. Some nodded with curiosity. One asked if I had more. Another offered me twenty dollars if I could bring extra next time. I shook my head. I wasn’t a dealer. The pipe was an inheritance, not contraband, a way of carrying my father’s world into the café.
On good nights, I walked away with twenty dollars or more in chess winnings. For a sixteen-year-old with fifty cents in his pocket at the start of the evening, that was serious money. On Saturday nights, my father would collect me near midnight, and we would return to my cousin Melvyn’s place before heading home to Salinas on Sunday. The weekdays brought school and chores, but those weekends at North Beach felt like another life altogether.
By March of 1963, the Coffee Gallery gave me something more. One night, deep in a middle game, I heard a voice split the air. It was raw, jagged, the kind of blues that felt torn out of the body. A young woman stood on stage, eyes closed, hair wild, her whole frame shaking with the song. When her set ended, she didn’t disappear. She wandered around the room and stopped at my table. She tilted her head at the pipe.
“What are you smoking?” she asked.
“Filipino medicinal herbs,” I said. “The manongs use it for rheumatism.”
She laughed, leaned closer, and said, “Smells like Texas herbal medicine. May I take a puff?”
Janis

Janis Joplin (Source: Publicity photo, 1970, public domain)

She drew from the pipe, exhaled, and handed it back with a grin. That was how I first met Janis Joplin.
By the fall of 1963, Melvyn and I realized the herbs had value beyond the boarding houses. What was ordinary to us was exotic to the Beats and musicians. Quietly, carefully, we began selling small pouches. By the end of the week, we each made about a hundred dollars. It was good money, though we never thought of ourselves as dealers. Janis was among those curious enough to try. In those nights, the economy of North Beach was its own ecosystem: coffee and poetry, guitars, and protest songs, chess games and the smoke of our herbs.
As the years turned, the music shifted. Protest songs about civil rights and Vietnam began to fill the stage. Folk sharpened its edge, jazz grew louder, and electric guitars buzzed where once only acoustic strums had been heard. The Coffee Gallery remained smoky and alive, but the sixties were pressing in, reshaping everything. Janis drifted in and out, always restless, sometimes gone for weeks before returning with new songs. We remained friends, talking after her sets, laughing about the smoke, caught between the pull of the city and the inevitability of change.
Vietnam and Monterey Pop
By the fall of 1965, I could no longer linger in North Beach. I left for the Marines, carrying with me memories of chess games, Janis’ grin, and the smoke of my father’s herbs. Vietnam came soon enough, and it left its marks.
In June of 1967, I returned, carrying the war inside me. On leave, I returned to Salinas, grateful for my family, trying to pretend I was just a son again. But the world had shifted, and so had I. With my Marine buddies, I attended the Monterey Pop Festival. We had box seats from the Naval Postgraduate School recreation center, eight seats to the right of the stage. Cameras hung around my neck — two Nikons, one wide, one telephoto, loaded with Tri-X 400 film pushed to 1600 ASA. I wasn’t just there to listen. I was there to document history.
My press card from the Philippines Mail earned me a festival press pass. It opened doors — backstage, side stage, the pit. I crouched before Hendrix’s flaming guitar, stood on the side stage as Otis Redding shook the crowd, and moved backstage as Janis came off after her set with Big Brother and the Holding Company. She spotted me in the crush and smiled. For her, I wasn’t another face in the press scrum. I was a boy she remembered from the Coffee Gallery, the kid at the chessboard with the odd pipe. For me, it was a circle closing: from a smoky café in 1963 to a world stage in 1967.
We skipped Ravi Shankar’s Sunday set. Four hours of sitar wasn’t for us. My ears were still ringing from Hendrix’s guitar and Janis’ scream. The next morning, I boarded a flight out of Monterey Airport, heading to Los Angeles and then east. My orders sent me to Fort Holabird in Baltimore for counterintelligence and interrogation courses. I told myself it was a way forward, but the truth was more straightforward: I needed to burn away memories. When I came back from Vietnam, I thought someone would be waiting. Instead, there was no one. My friend was gone, and in the silence that followed, the Corps was all I had left. So, I chose to stay in, to bury myself in work and discipline until the pain dulled.

The Coffee Gallery is gone now. Janis is long gone, too. The Haight has become a postcard version of itself; the manongs’ restaurants on Kearny mostly disappeared

Cousin Melvyn
My cousin Melvyn had his own struggles. One day, he wore his uniform to the store in San Francisco, and strangers jeered at him, calling him a baby killer. That cut deep. Soon after, he left for embassy guard duty, first in Moscow, then in Paris. From Haight and Central to the capitals of the Cold War, his path took him far from the streets we had once walked together.
For me, the next step came in June 1968. I returned to Monterey, this time not for music but for study. The Defense Language Institute became my post, where I spent a year drilling in Chinese Mandarin and taking a short course in Vietnamese. From June 1968 to June 1969, I lived in that rhythm — tones and characters, endless repetition, uniform pressed, preparing for a different kind of war. It was strange to be back in Monterey, the same city where, only a year earlier, I had crouched in the pit, photographing Hendrix and Janis. Now I sat at a desk, parsing sentences, repeating sounds until they felt natural in my mouth. The same streets carried two lives — guitars for some, grammar drills for others.
That summer, I came home often to Salinas. My father’s house became a gathering place for young people, PACE students from San Francisco State who needed a place to stay. They were full of energy, fire, and questions about what it meant to be Filipino American. Their laughter and arguments reminded me of my own restless days at sixteen, leaning over chessboards in North Beach. For a while, I wasn’t just a Marine. I was a bridge, standing between my father’s generation of manongs, my own service in Vietnam, and these students who wanted to build something new.
Vietnam Again
I spent months hanging out with friends, holding on to the ordinary rhythms of life while I could. But in June 1969, orders came again. The schooling was done. I left for Vietnam a second time, this time not just another Marine but a Sergeant, twenty-three years old, carrying not only a rifle but new languages in my head, tools for another kind of war. The second tour felt heavier because I knew what I was walking into and what I was leaving behind.
Seven years had passed since the spring of 1962, when I was just a sixteen-year-old kid walking into the Coffee Gallery with fifty cents in my pocket, hoping to find a chess game. In those years, I had won twenty-dollar pots on Grant Avenue, sold herbs with my cousin Melvyn, smoked with Janis Joplin, marched through Vietnam, photographed Monterey Pop, trained at Holabird, studied Mandarin at DLI, hosted PACE students at my father’s home, and gone back to war as a Sergeant.
The streets of San Francisco — Kearny, Broadway, Grant, Haight, Stanyan — had all marked me. The music of the city — folk, blues, jazz, protest songs, and the roar of rock — had carried me along. But the Marines also shaped me, instilling discipline and demanding that I bear my losses without complaint. My cousin had gone from jeers on the street to serving as an embassy guard in Moscow and Paris. I had gone from a smoky chess table to the jungles of Vietnam, carrying both memory and duty on my shoulders.
The Coffee Gallery is gone now. Janis is long gone, too. The Haight has become a postcard version of itself; the manongs’ restaurants on Kearny mostly disappeared. But I carry it all still. In memory, the board is set, the smoke curls upward, and the music carries across the years — the journey of a boy who was sixteen in North Beach and a Marine Sergeant of twenty-three, heading back to war.

Alex S. Fabros, Jr. is a retired Philippine American Military History professor.

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Where Talk of the Town Got Done in Paete, Laguna

Connie Cagahastian Triggiano — Wed, 15 Apr 2026 17:53:45 +0000

The original site of Tayangtang (bench) ni Karyong Bado in Paete, Laguna where participants met regularly, offering one another’s take from village gossip to world affairs.

Tayangtang has a rustic, almost musical ring to it, however discordant one may perceive the word on playback. Tayangtang, after all, was the pulse of Paete, a ubiquitous presence by which the tempo of life in this little town was measured and recorded.
Tayangtang served the town’s then-graying male population—folks who, despite faltering minds and failing vision, were still able to summon their inner youth as a group and reminisce about events of 70 or 80 years ago.
Ramon Cajipe Angeles, a retired elementary school master-teacher, described how motley gatherings of older folks and not-so-old men enjoyed lasting camaraderie as they shared stories, mostly of the past, in Tayangtang settings.

Retired Master Teacher Ramon Cajipe Angeles says World War II stories are favorite topics in Paete Tayangtang gatherings. He said Japanese forces occupied and burned the town during the war and drove the residents to take shelter in the Sierra Madre mountain for many months.

Angeles said the men doted on narratives that had been told and retold many times over but continued to engage those huddled together for hours, usually well into the night. “They mostly talked about the war,” Angeles said, “and at each retelling, new perspectives emerged.” The stories plumbed the depths of emotion, recalling the trauma and devastation when the town was burned to the ground by fleeing Japanese forces toward the end of the Second World War, Angeles related.
Tayangtang was vintage Paete, a small Laguna town south of Manila. This was the town’s indigenous term for a bench, serving as a nerve center for things precious and dear to its residents. Paete folks claim that the term is unique to the town, even if recent Tagalog dictionaries refer to “tayangtang” as “sun-dried”—something placed under the sun to dry and, intentionally or not, left seared. One might search for any ounce of similarity between the two terms, except perhaps the fact that participants in Paete’s Tayangtang remained for long hours, huddled and sparking, stretching each tale they shared with raging passion.
There had been similar wooden benches through the years, but there could only be one Tayangtang “ni Karyong Bado.” Situated a few meters away from the Ermita Church along the old highway, the Tayangtang bench occupied a special spot beside the store owned by Macario Valdellon, once a member of the Paete Municipal Government. Valdellon’s name rose in value not so much because of his success as an entrepreneur, but perhaps more because of the historical bond that tied his name to the past and the people of Paete.
Tayangtang ni Karyong Bado, the wooden bench, and the Paeteño had been through life’s many seasons together. It served as a forum where the town’s self-proclaimed geniuses, philosophers, and gossips dropped in to discuss the latest developments on the local, national, and international scenes. A favorite topic had been war—the Battle of Paete during the US-Philippines Revolution, as well as World War II, with the ferocious burning of the town by Japanese forces.
Tayangtang was also where one first heard who had just arrived in town; who had recently died, given birth, found a new job or lost one; who had gotten married; or who was sleeping with whom—small talk that might have sounded mundane. Yet these were the tales that threaded the lives of a people. They found comfort in these homespun accounts and passed them on to friends and relatives dispersed in the town and elsewhere.

A couple of fellows linger by one of Tayangtang benches in town, waiting for other participants to join their regular huddle.

The first Tayangtang bench served as a sort of pre-departure lounge where townsfolk sat waiting for rides to take them out of Paete. Owing to its strategic location, Tayangtang invariably became the principal source of the latest news from Manila and areas outside Paete, brought in fresh by early-morning arrivals. It proved to be a convenient place for embarking and disembarking passengers, eventually evolving into a public forum where people—not necessarily travelers—met to trade stories. This was where, according to local historian Virgil Madrinan, standards for non-Paetenian brides brought home by local boys were defined:

Paete menfolk enjoy lifelong friendships during hours seated at a Tayangtang bench sharing stories about life in this small town in Laguna.

(a) yung mga puwedeng iuwi ng tanghaling tapat (those who could be showcased at noon), and
(b) yung iuuwi lamang ng “first trip” or “last trip” (those who needed to be hidden from public view, brought to town only on the first or last trips).
Tayangtang remained a congenial spot for male bonding, not only for discussions on the meaning of life—or the lack of it. It was also perfect for the uniquely Paete “usloan,” a locally coined term referring to occasional digs at things personal and irreverent, led by the town’s most rowdy, raucous types—the buharo and the rascals.
Tayangtang still holds court in quaint corners of this little town nestled at the foot of the Sierra Madre mountains. The location of the original Tayangtang on the main road is now a designated public safety enforcement stand overseeing frequent arrivals and departures of vehicles northbound for Santa Cruz, the provincial capital, and those taking the eastern route to Metro Manila via neighboring Rizal province.
Current Tayangtang locations are now places where men usually congregate on Sundays and during church celebrations. The concrete sidebars of the stage in the town plaza are perfect examples. These structures were fashioned into twin stone benches on both sides of the two bridges connecting the plaza to the Catholic church and its expansive patio (courtyard).

The bridge’s concrete guardrail by the townsquare makes for a comfortable tayangtang bench where folks gather for a weekend chat following church services on Sundays.

The five adult men seated together on that concrete bench were deep in conversation on Easter Sunday morning this year, oblivious to the stream of townspeople traversing the bridge after church services. Asked whether the group could be considered a makeshift Tayangtang, the men exchanged awkward glances, unsure how to respond. “Meron po yatang tayangtang, kina Amang Dando,” one finally said (“There might be one at Amang Dando’s”), “sa ibaba (down),” still wondering about the sudden interest in what seemed an icon of the past. “Do they still meet regularly to reminisce about the old days?” came the follow-up question. Again, bewildered, inquiring half-smiles. Two of the men were not sure. A third reckoned that perhaps people now just text one another. “Matagal na pong wala yung Karyong Bado (Karyong Bado is long gone),” was the final answer.
Paete people are yet to get used to citing the street names of their small municipality. “Ibaba” means “down,” a walk toward the lake; the opposite, “ilaya,” refers to the upper part of town, midway toward the mountain. When one is up in the mountains and considers going back to town, folks say “lulusong.” To return to the mountain, one says “aahon.” The strategic play on directions—upward and downward, and moving through water versus climbing back—reflects the presence of the majestic Sierra Madre on the northwest side and Laguna de Bay, considered the third largest lake in Southeast Asia, on the east.

Menfolk grab a moment to talk at the end of the day. In the foreground is an assortment of tools and accoutrements of wood crafting used by the town’s renowned woodcarvers and artists.

The women of Paete stayed clear of the Tayangtang, effectively designating it as a forum for men to enjoy exclusively male talk. It was a comfortable setting for rambunctious exchanges of “conquests” and pleasures, real or imagined. One sat at Tayangtang without knowing what topics would arise. A newcomer could immediately engage or simply lurk and listen. A townmate passing by was almost always hailed into joining the fray, with the customary inquiry, “Saan baga ang punta mo?” (And where might you be going?)—which, to a non-Paeteño, might feel like an intrusion into privacy. But it was Paete’s way of breaking the ice. The manner in which the question was conveyed, along with the characteristic Paete punto or accent, half-pleaded for a response. It was good manners for the one invited to pause briefly for the obligatory kumustahan (how-are-yous) after deftly sidestepping questions about his destination. It also provided a polite exit for others who needed to move on.
A version of Tayangtang ni Karyong Bado surfaced in cyberspace in early 1997, organized on the town’s first website, paete.org. The founder, Rey Q. Carolino, and his Canada-based kababayans created a Paete chatroom on the DALNET Internet Relay Chat (IRC) network. They invited members of the Paete mailing list, and the first such chat was launched in real time. Early participants came from North America, Asia and the Pacific Islands, and Europe. The group held a Paetenians Internet Seminar in 1997 in Toronto, and the live internet chat brought in more kababayan (compatriots) from other parts of the globe.
It was Pastor Gagaring, a staunch Tayangtang devotee from Saipan, who recommended naming the forum “Tayangtang ni Karyong Bado.” Thus, the Tayangtang bench went high-tech. The participants were now male and female, of various age groups and from diverse backgrounds. The language used was a mix of English and Tagalog—but decidedly usap-Paete in character and appeal.
Back at the home of Ramon Angeles, the former grade school master-teacher was hosting his friends: a retired dentist, a couple of village politicians, and a former co-teacher. Over a large plate of fried cassava chunks and peanuts, they engaged in spirited discussion with much gesticulation and a chorus of overlapping voices. Laughter occasionally punctuated the rowdy banter. They were clearly decades older than the men by the church bridge.
“This now is a Tayangtang!” Angeles declared, nodding vigorously. “Not ‘the,’ but ‘a tayangtang,’” he explained. True enough, the group had the makings of one: no longer in a storefront like Karyong Bado’s, but still a gathering of men absorbed in conversations that felt urgent and all-consuming. And yes, each of the men also had a cellphone nearby.

A version of Tayangtang ni Karyong Bado surfaced in cyberspace in early 1997, organized on the town’s first website, paete.org.

Tayangtang very often erupted into a wild usloan when old hands at this kind of roasting took over. There would be moments of purely Paetenian mirth, and everyone would soon forget how the banter sometimes bordered on the profane or the sacrilegious. Goodbyes were always temporary (“See you next week in TKB”).
It has been many years since the Tayangtang bench in Paete hosted its last forum with the menfolk. The internet chatroom on the town website—and the website itself—has long been shuttered. Paetenians from all over now live out their lives in public orbits through platforms like Facebook, Messenger, Zoom, or Teams. Yet each text message, voice or video call, multimedia post, image upload, and kababayan conference still echoes the sentiments of a people longing for images and memories of the charming little town they left behind.

Connie Cagahastian Triggiano keeps the minutes for Circa‑Pintig, the community theater of Pinoys across Chicagoland, but she lives expansively. She threads tales, follows far‑off skies, breaks open word grids, and reads the world one book at a time.

More from Connie Cagahastian Triggiano

Overseas Filipinos Achievers, Part 3

Mona Lisa Yuchengco — Wed, 15 Apr 2026 17:53:36 +0000

In keeping with Positively Filipino’s goal of celebrating the 13-million-strong (and counting) Filipino diaspora, we are launching a new series titled Overseas Filipino Achievers. The series recognizes outstanding Filipinos making their mark in various countries around the world. It builds on our popular and long-running feature, “FilAms Among the Remarkable and Famous.”
But we need your help. If you know Filipinos outside the Philippines and the United States who are doing exceptional work in their adopted countries, please send their names, supporting documents or links, and photos to pfpublisher@yahoo.com.
QATAR
Dr. Rosanna Millar Barrera

Dr. Rosanna Millar Barrera (Source: Facebook)

Dr. Rosanna Millar Barrera is a dentist and educator based in Qatar. She graduated from Centro Escolar University-Manila, undertook advanced orthodontic training, and is completing an MBA in Healthcare Management in England. She previously served as president of the Filipino Dentist Organization Qatar and currently leads Pilipino Sa Qatar as its president. Her contributions to both healthcare and the arts have earned international recognition.
Engineer Liza Lorena Abinal

Liza Lorena Abinal (Source: LinkedIn)

Engineer Liza Lorena Abinal is a licensed civil engineer, Associate ASEAN Engineer, PMP-certified, and an MME-registered professional in Qatar. She is currently a Technical Engineer at Innospace Contracting in Qatar.
Michael Conjusta

Michael Conjusta (Source: Instagram)

Michael Conjusta is an artist who has been living in Doha, Qatar, since 1998. He received the 2025 New Hero Award, 2025 Bagong Bayani Award, and the 2026 Filipino Global Icon Award. He is known in the Qatar art scene not only for his vibrant murals and award-winning exhibitions but also for his deep admiration for Argentina’s football superstar, Lionel Messi. He was hired by Qatari authorities to paint graffiti murals during the 2022 World Cup. His move to Qatar was primarily to support his family of seven in the Philippines. His work also includes decorating homes, malls, and government properties.
OMAN
Emalyn Famolis

Emalyn Famolis (Source: Facebook)

Emalyn Famolis is the president of SAMAKO (Samahan ng mga Kasambahay sa Oman), a community organization supporting household service workers in Oman. It focuses on providing a platform for mutual support, empowerment, and skills training for Filipino workers in Oman.
UAE, DUBAI
Jane Cabusas Espante

Jane Cabusas Espante (Source: Instagram)

A proud daughter of Compostela, Cebu, Jane Cabusas Espante claimed the 2026 Cezve/Ibrik World Championship while officially representing the United Arab Emirates. The Cezve/Ibrik Championship brought together specialists of one of coffee’s oldest brewing traditions. Over three days, competitors from around the world were judged on technical precision, sensory excellence, and cultural expression. Cezve—or ibrik—brewing is not about speed; it demands control, patience, and intuition cultivated only through time and practice. Using a small pot with a long handle and flared brim—traditionally crafted from copper, brass, or ceramic—every movement is deliberate, every second crucial. The method has been practiced for centuries across Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa. Before the global stage, Espante experienced long shifts and steady work in hospitality and food service in the Philippines. She brought that work ethic with her to the Middle East, where Dubai’s competitive coffee scene refined her skills. Over time, she rose through the ranks to become a Barista Training Manager, shaping standards not only for herself but for others as well.
PORTUGAL
Antoni Mendezona

Antoni Mendezona (Source: Facebook)

Cebuana Antoni Mendezona, based in Lisbon, is an opera singer (coloratura) recognized internationally as a soprano with “dazzling high notes.” She has performed in New York and Manila. She is also the co-founder of Digitelle, a social media agency that “empowers artists, cultural institutions, and nonprofits to craft authentic digital presences that align with their artistry and mission.” With a background spanning branding, copywriting, content strategy, and art direction, she has worked across the classical music, design, and wellness industries, helping creatives and organizations connect meaningfully with their audiences. She balances the precision of an operatic career with the ever-evolving landscape of digital storytelling.
MEXICO
Miguel Alejandro Reina Gomez Maganda

Miguel Alejandro Reina Gomez Maganda (Source: LinkedIn)

Miguel Alejandro Reina Gomez Maganda is a filmmaker, screenwriter, and film producer. Born in Acapulco City, he studied Mass Communication at the Universidad del Nuevo Mundo and filmmaking at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. In 2008, Reina released his first short film Mi Vida en Frenesi, a biopic based on Josefina Gomez Maganda, his grandmother, that won an award for Best Short Film at the Perdidas Film Festival. He is recognized within the context of Filipino immigration to Mexico and is listed among notable Mexicans with Filipino heritage.
THAILAND
Christina Aquilar

Christina Aguilar (Source: Wikipedia)

Christina Aquilar, known as the Thai Queen of Dance, has sold one million copies of her debut album, Ninja, the first for a Thai female singer. Her eight solo albums have sold over 10.5 million copies. Aguilar was born in Bangkok to Filipino musician Tony Aguilar and French-Vietnamese mother Margaret. She studied at the French Institute, pursuing a bachelor’s degree in business management. After graduating, she was recruited by a French advertising agency, where she worked as an assistant account executive. When she returned to Thailand, she met Rewat Bhuddhinan, then the chief producer of GMM Grammy, who enticed her into the music industry.
FIJI
Dr. Virgilio De Asa

Dr. Virgilio De Asa (Source: Noel Novicio/Facebook)

Dr. Virgilio De Asa, owner and director of Nasese Private Hospital, opened a second hospital in 2021 with a 42-bed capacity. At the opening, De Asa said how proud he was that his private family practice had come so far since arriving in Fiji from the Philippines as an expatriate doctor in 1976. “Today is a historic day for me and my family, particularly as it took us four years for this hospital to become a reality. With all the planning and struggles we faced, I’m just so happy it is now a reality,” he said. The hospital provides admission (in-patient) services, including 24-hour emergency consultations, minor and major surgeries, pharmacy services, a birthing and maternity unit, as well as a women’s center offering mammograms, breast ultrasound, pap smears, congenital screening, and joint replacement surgery.
Ariel De Asa

Ariel De Asa (Source; Facebook)

Ariel De Asa, son of Dr. Virgilio De Asa, is the honorary consul general for the Philippines in Suva, Fiji. A prominent businessman, he is known for owning the largest coffee café franchise in Fiji. He opened several Gloria Jean's locations in Fiji and has been involved in community initiatives for Filipinos in the region.

Snack-Around-the-Clock with ‘Kakanin’

Manuel Hizon — Wed, 15 Apr 2026 17:53:24 +0000

Suman (Source: Pinterest)

Filipinos love to eat, and this is not at all surprising, what with a tempting array of treats available everywhere, anytime. We grab a bite from the moment we wake up—in mid-morning, at lunchtime, in mid-afternoon, at suppertime, and even before we sleep.
The eats are endless—pandesal at the corner store; ubiquitous street food; dishes at the carinderia (food stall) version of the buffet; office or school cafeteria fare with the usual ulam side by side with junk food; all tastes (and budgets) at dine-in restaurants; and dishes at mall food courts that have introduced many Pinoys to international cuisine.
But let’s go back to the basics. As sophisticated as the Pinoy palate has become, we always find comfort in the food that we grew up with. And nothing satisfies more than rice. Filipino rice culture is rich, diverse, and never disappoints. It comes alive in the kakanin (snacks)—simple yet satisfying, transforming ordinary ingredients into scrumptious edibles fit to eat any time of the day.
The Tasting Table counts as many as 15 kinds of kakanin, with some provinces having their own versions of certain rice cakes. Generally, though, they share two main ingredients: sticky rice and coconut milk.
Suman is made from glutinous rice and coconut milk, traditionally steamed and wrapped in either buri palm leaves or plain banana leaves. It is eaten with sweet condiments such as brown sugar, latik (toasted coconut milk curds), caramel, or even chocolate sauce. Eating suman with ripe mangoes is pure delight.
For culinary historian Ige Ramos, the Philippines’ national dish should be suman. “It transcends the boundaries of ethnicity, religion, and class. Suman can be cosmopolitan or it can be rural. It can be eaten alone or as a celebratory dish in a fiesta.”
It has evolved into deliciously diverse, mouthwatering variations from every region—a sweet reason to experience the country. Sampling the different kakanin takes us on a toothsome tour.
We start in Antipolo and the ever-popular suman sa ibus—glutinous rice mixed with salt and coconut milk, wrapped in young palm leaves called ibus, and steamed. It is usually served with a mixture of shredded coconut and sugar, or latik. A close relative is the suman sa lihiya or suman bulagta in Pampanga. The Visayan version has a different kind of latik—syrupy, caramelized coconut cream.
Suman is an irresistible snack most of us grew up with, even as it takes different forms in different places. Samar is known for its native suman moron. It is wrapped in banana or anahaw leaves and made with real cacao—and if that’s not available, store-bought chocolate.
Carigara in Leyte prides itself on tinipa or “opposites,” referring to the combination of white and red suman mix. The unique flavor comes from combining white glutinous rice—flavored with salt and ginger—with red rice sweetened with brown sugar. The Carigara Heritage Society has launched a Suman Festival to ensure that the art, recipes, and folklore tied to suman survive.
The traditional sumang malagkit is usually boiled, but the restaurant Sentro 1771 takes it to the next level by frying it and serving it with a slice of fresh mango. A genius pairing!
Kalamay is another favored sticky sweet enjoyed nationwide. It is made of coconut milk, brown sugar, and ground glutinous rice. Like suman, it has traveled to every region of the country, always coming out yummy. In Antipolo, kalamay is a dense, chewy rice cake sold in banana-leaf disks, topped with coconut curds. The sticky brown slices also appear in Bulacan, wrapped in banana leaves—a fixture in town fiestas.

Kalamay (Source: Pinterest)

Cavite’s Indang town offers kalamay buna, a sticky blend of the familiar glutinous rice, coconut milk, and panutsa(shavings of unrefined sugar loaf). Not to be outdone is Mindoro, with its own version of kalamay, rich with coconut and a whisper of peanut butter and vanilla.
The most unique—and tastiest—kalamay comes from Bohol. Thick and gummy, it is traditionally poured into halved coconut shells, then sealed with red papel de japon (Japanese paper).
Kalamay in the Philippines is available almost everywhere, sold in markets, grocery stores, and on the street. It’s also a fixture in shops at seaports and airports, catering especially to domestic and foreign tourists.
Puto likewise appears in countless forms. It is made from galapong, slightly fermented rice dough, and steamed. The most common variety is putong puti, which perfectly complements dinuguan, a dish of pork cubes or innards stewed in pig’s blood. It is a most savored merienda fare in many parts of the country.

Putong Puti (Source: Pinterest)

The types of puto are as many as there are provinces. Puto Biñan is a big favorite. It is fluffy yet moist, usually made as big as a pizza and topped with a generous coating of grated cheese. At times, salted egg bits and drizzles of condensed milk are added. You don’t end a visit to Biñan town without taking it home.
Puto Manapla originated from the town of Manapla in Negros Occidental. The glutinous rice is enhanced with flour, coconut milk, tuba (rice wine), and sugar; the blend results in a distinct texture and sweetness. It is steamed in banana leaves in small torta molds, resulting in small, yellow, round cakes that are soft and slightly sticky. Best eaten with a warm cup of sikwate, a native Filipino hot chocolate. Sarap (yum)!
Puto Pandan ranks high in flavor; you can call it special puto. It is uniquely steamed with a bunch of pandan leaves knotted together, giving it a pale green color and distinct taste.
Who can resist Puto Bumbong? It is made from pirurutong, a special variety of sticky rice that has a distinctly purple color. The rice mixture is soaked in saltwater, dried overnight, and poured into bamboo tubes called bumbóng. It is then steamed until vapor rises from the bamboo tubes. Topped with butter or margarine and shredded coconut, and finished with moscovado sugar, it is a snack craved by many.
Calasiao, the second-oldest town in Pangasinan, is home to the beloved Puto Calasiao. Made special, it can burst into the colors of the rainbow—pink (strawberry), purple (ube), yellow (mango), and green (pandan)—each one equally delectable.
Celebrity chef Tatung Sarthou extols puto: “Made from just a few ingredients and shared with many, puto is a quiet reminder of grace and generosity.”
Kutsinta almost always goes with white puto, carried around town by ambulant vendors. Unlike the usual rice cake, it takes on a reddish-brown color that comes from achuete powder. It has a firm yet jelly-like texture. The name is derived from kueh tsin tao (Hokkien for bite-sized snack or dessert), which Chinese traders introduced to the pre-colonial Philippines.
Bibingka is arguably everyone’s favorite—a provincial fare that has taken root in the metropolis. A very different type of rice cake, it is traditionally cooked in a terracotta oven lined with banana leaves and usually eaten for breakfast or merienda. Bibingka is a must during the Christmas season. After the dawn Masses, which start on December 16, vendors beckon to churchgoers with freshly cooked bibingka, taken with salabat (ginger brew) that tempers the chilly weather.

Bibingka (Source: Pinterest)

Bibingka is prepared in clay pots lined with banana leaves over charcoal, with a layer of hot coals on top for a distinctive smoky flavor—an invitation to try it. The unique taste comes from the interplay of sweetness, the creaminess of the coconut milk and cheese, and the subtle saltiness of the eggs.
Other places have their own interesting versions. Bibingkang monggo from Malolos, Bulacan, replaces rice with mung beans, while bibingkang nasi (rice) from Pampanga requires cooking in a molding pan.
Pateros and Pasig are known for their “stinky” bibingkang abnoy, made of rotten duck eggs with black pepper and dipped in vinegar—a challenge for the adventurous gourmand. Binakayan, Cavite, has an interesting take: their bibingkang balinghoy (cassava) is strewn with nata de coco (coconut jelly), kaong (sugar palm fruit), and langka (jackfruit). It’s something that can’t be missed.
Palitaw is another age-old Filipino sweet rice delicacy—glutinous rice flour mixed with water to form a dough that is shaped into flat, oval patties. These patties are boiled in water until they float to the surface—hence the name “palitaw,” from the Tagalog litaw, meaning “to float” or “to surface”—coated in a mixture of grated coconut and sugar, and topped with toasted sesame seeds for added texture and flavor. The result is a chewy, mildly sweet snack with a soft interior, faintly crisp from the coconut coating. Palitaw embodies the essence of Filipino comfort food in every soft, chewy bite.
Biko is glutinous rice blended with melted brown sugar that gives it a caramel-brown color. It has a chewy consistency with a mild sweetness, made tastier by different garnishes: coconut caramel, grated cheese, toasted coconut flakes, toasted coconut milk curds, or salted egg slices. A sticky rice lover says: “Biko is my favorite—it’s super simple and comforting: sweet, sticky, coconutty goodness.”
Biko Tapol, also known as biko Bisaya, is the Visayan version. It combines glutinous white rice they call “pilit” and black or purple sticky rice “tapol,” simmered in coconut cream, coconut milk, and brown sugar. The result is a dark, purplish rice cake that may not look very attractive but tastes really good. Interestingly, purple rice is known to support heart health and aid digestion. Health-conscious people choose to eat purple rice rather than white rice for better nutrition.
Quezon province’s version of biko is called Sinukmani; it is topped with ground roasted peanuts. Served with kapeng barako or brewed native coffee, it’s a favorite dessert or mid-afternoon snack in the Southern Luzon region—another irresistible treat. There’s a Sinukmani Festival in Batangas highlighted by a competition for the best-tasting sinukmani.
Again, Chef Tatung chimes in: “Dense and generously sweet, biko is a favorite at large gatherings; it’s indulgent but deeply familiar.”
Ginataang Halo-Halo or ginataan bilo-bilo is named after the marble-sized glutinous rice balls cooked by themselves or mixed with other ingredients like saba banana, kamote (sweet potato), sago pearls, langkâ (ripe jackfruit), and ube(purple yam). They all come together, cooked in thick, sweetened coconut milk.
Ginataan is called sampelot in Pampanga, usually paired with inangit (see biko) for an afternoon merienda. A Kapampangan housewife shares that she always makes this for her husband when she knows he’s had a bad week at work. “Nothing like sampelot to make him smile.”
Up north in Ilocos, it is known as pararusdos. It could have come from the Tagalog word “dausdos,” which means “to slide,” as rice flour is shaped into balls and rolled in dry flour. In Batangas, it is called paridusdos or pinindot.
Binignit in Cebu and Bohol differs by using glutinous rice instead of bilo-bilo as a thickener and introducing landang, palm flour jelly balls, for a unique texture—a must-try.
On the other hand, Pinaltok in Laguna is a simplified delight. It’s all bilo-bilo, sometimes with sago, for a straightforward yet satisfying dessert.
Sapin-Sapin is a vibrant, layered rice cake infused with different flavors, enhancing the rice flour and coconut milk. The name comes from sapin, meaning “layers,” because of its vibrant, multi-colored appearance. It usually comes in two to four colors, each with a different taste and texture. The violet layer is ube, the orange layer has anise seeds, and the white layer is buko or young coconut meat.

Sapin-Sapin (Source: Pinterest)

Espasol is a soft, chewy rice cake that combines toasted glutinous rice flour with grated young coconut that is slowly cooked in coconut milk. The mixture turns into a soft, pliable dough that is shaped into long cylinders or triangles before each cake is coated in rice flour. It is associated with the Laguna region—a popular snack peddled on buses that travel to Manila.
If these native treats don’t induce cravings or evoke hometown memories, you’re probably only half-Pinoy. It gets more interesting as we move on to the more exotic options.
Tupig, a kakanin from the province of Pangasinan, is made by mixing freshly grated young coconut with ground malagkit rice and a dash of sugar, wrapped in banana leaves, and grilled over hot charcoal. This gives it a slightly burnt flavor that makes it distinct from other kakanin.
Inutak is a tasty delicacy from Pateros and Taguig, named for its gooey, “brain-like” consistency. Made of purple yam sandwiched between layers of bibingka or rice cakes, inutak is best paired with at least two scoops of vanilla ice cream. It comes in other flavors too, like queso de bola, corn, and chocolate. There’s something addictive about the combination of creamy and chewy textures.
Binagol, another kakanin from the coconut-rich province of Samar, is made by mixing taro, coconut milk, and sugar over heat until cooked. Latik is ladled into a shaved coconut shell, then the binagol mixture is stuffed on top. It is a most welcome pasalubong (travel gift).

Binagol (Source: Pinterest)

Sayongsong is a delicious Surigaonon delicacy and a point of pride. It is a steamed, sweet rice cake packed in cone-shaped banana leaves (binalusongsong sa dahon) and is a favorite snack or pasalubong—a sweet remembrance of Surigao. It has traveled around the Caraga region, as well as Bohol, the Eastern Visayas, and finally the Bicol region.
Dodol, a traditional delicacy of Filipino Muslims, is made of flavor-rich durian cooked in coconut milk and mixed with brown sugar. Normally wrapped in banana leaves and colorful cellophane, dodol serves as a symbol of royalty among Muslims—an exotic dessert that other Pinoys have learned to enjoy.

Dodol (Source: Dreamstime)

Tamales: Saving it for last, tamales may be called the queen of Pinoy kakanin. It is made with ground rice cooked in chicken broth and coconut milk, then wrapped in banana leaves. The filling may vary from region to region. The Pampango version, arguably the best, has thin slices of chicken and pork adobo sa atsuete, and wedges of hardboiled egg—simply divine.

Pampanga Tamales (Source; Pinoy Cooking Recipes/Pinterest)

According to Filipina food historian Felice Prudente Sta. Maria (via Atlas Obscura), it is an ancient Filipino belief that there is a soul in every grain. That belief evolved into a tradition of offering rice cakes to ancestors so that the living may be blessed with good health and prosperity.

There is something to excite your taste buds anywhere you go. If kakanin is so good, imagine how satisfying the main dishes can be!

Kakanin has endured the test of time, sustaining us in times of abundance and scarcity, peace and war. Food author and chef of the famous Bale Dutung, Claude Tayag, says: “Kakanin transcends all the boundaries of our regional cultures, languages, religion, and cuisines. It makes a perfect accompaniment to the sour, salty, and mellifluous dinuguan or blood stew (tidtad in Pampanga), and a wonderful counterpoint to the umami-rich La Paz batchoy of Iloilo City.”
Truly, the Philippines is a foodie haven. There is something to excite your taste buds anywhere you go. If kakanin is so good, imagine how satisfying the main dishes can be!

Manuel Hizon is a Manila-based communications specialist.

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Eduard Bañez: From PH Media Host to PE Teacher in Hollywood

Rogelio Constantino Medina — Wed, 15 Apr 2026 17:53:12 +0000

Filipino singer-host Eduard Bañez

As a physical education teacher at Ralph Waldo Beverly Hills in Los Angeles, California, Eduard Bañez delivers age-appropriate lessons that build both physical and social skills—teamwork, sportsmanship, and discipline—while fostering a lifelong love for healthy living. Through engaging activities, proper use of equipment, and a strong emphasis on safety, he ensures that every student is supported. He also collaborates closely with staff and parents to create a well-rounded learning environment.
“I applied online and took the exam,” Bañez began. Fortunately, he passed with flying colors.
However, he admitted that his American journey was far from glamorous. It was filled with adjustments, paperwork, interviews, and moments of doubt.
“I applied like everyone else. I waited. I followed up. I prepared carefully. I didn’t walk in expecting entitlement—I walked in ready to prove myself.”
For Bañez, being a PE teacher is not just about sports—it is about mentorship, discipline, and encouraging students to believe in themselves. This reflects the way many Filipino teachers guide—with both firmness and care.
Teaching Good Manners
“I teach children good manners and right conduct. I give them good physical exercise every day and structured routine activities,” he added.
Beyond teaching, Bañez has also been part of a Hollywood Nickelodeon series and has worked with celebrities such as Justin Bieber, Sia, and Ed Sheeran.

Eduard Bañez (in violet jacket) in Nickelodeon series.

A health-conscious advocate, he strongly emphasizes the importance of proper nutrition.
“Consume a healthy and balanced diet, be aware of nutrition facts, choose whole, clean foods with clear labeling, and consistently incorporate worthwhile physical activities into daily routines,” he said.
In addition to teaching, he also works as an administrative coordinator, handling patient insurance, responding to emails, and assisting administrators with admissions.
“As a Filipino, you carry certain traits with you: respect, humility, and a strong work ethic. I leaned on those. I showed up early. I listened more than I spoke. I adapted to a new system while holding on to my values,” he shared.
SPLUK.PH Publisher
“Spluk.ph connects worldwide daily news, publishing fast-paced information and covering events and special happenings across the globe. It empowers voices and creates meaningful connections,” explained Bañez, a former TV news anchor and international VJ.

Spluk.PH supporters with spluk.PH editor-in-chief Chino Hansel Philyang (2nd from right).

“I started spluk.ph in January 2025 with my journalist friend, Chino Hansel Philyang, our editor in chief. It was driven by passion—to continue connecting international news to the Philippines. We are still learning the ropes of daily news engagement and exploring broader media exposure,” he said.
He recalled that Spluk was not always a formal media company.
“A few years back, Spluk wasn’t a formal media company. It was simply a feeling—that Filipino stories, especially those bridging Hollywood and the Philippines, deserved to be told with dignity and depth. As Filipinos, we value kwento. We value connection.”
He started small, guided by sipag and tiyaga (hard work and perseverance).
“No big capital. No loud launch. Just quiet consistency. Spluk comes from the idea of spilling stories—sharing them honestly. It began with late nights, self-funded coverage, and a lot of diskarte (resourcefulness).”
In the early days, he relied heavily on courage and pakikisama (fellowship).
“I introduced myself, built relationships respectfully, and showed that I wasn’t there to sensationalize but to support and amplify. Some emails were ignored. Some invitations didn’t come. But as Filipinos, we understand patience. Trust is earned, not demanded.”
Today, content comes from a mix of press releases, collaborations, event coverage, and interviews—but remains rooted in relationships.
“Media, for me, is not just distribution—it’s community. Like bayanihan, where everyone contributes to lift something meaningful.”
He added that contributors now include student interns from schools in the United Kingdom and the United States, along with content from Reuters and AP News.

Eduard Bañez is the co-founder of the TAIMI dating app.

One-Man Team
“Spluk started as a one-man team. I wrote, edited, coordinated, and even carried equipment myself. It was humbling, but it taught me every layer of the work.”
Now, the team includes editor in chief Chino Hansel Philyang and a small but passionate group of contributors.
“We are not a large corporation. We are lean, hands-on, and collaborative. That reflects the Filipino work ethic—adaptable, resilient, and willing to step outside job descriptions.”
As for its growth, Bañez describes it as steady and intentional.
“Spluk.ph is growing—not aggressively, but with purpose. I don’t measure success purely by numbers. I measure it by trust—by the messages from readers and the creatives who allow us to tell their stories.”
He has built a platform that bridges Hollywood and Asian media, bringing global stories to Filipino audiences. With his background in entertainment, journalism, and content creation, Bañez continues to position spluk.ph as a dynamic force in digital media.
“Our platform showcases compelling narratives, trending stories, and in-depth features that inform, entertain, and inspire. We strive to celebrate culture, inspire minds, and foster community,” he emphasized.
He added that spluk.ph remains committed to delivering high-quality content that sparks conversations, fosters connections, and highlights voices that matter.
“Whether it is entertainment, lifestyle, news, or inspiring human stories, we aim to be a go-to source for Filipinos seeking meaningful and relevant content in today’s fast-paced digital world,” he said.
Career in the Philippines
Bañez began singing at the age of five and entered the Philippine entertainment industry at 15. By 17, he gained recognition in dating blogs as Lilsaint.
“I attended Star Magic workshops and became part of Star Magic Batch 15 of ABS-CBN. I hosted MTV Asia in Singapore and Hong Kong and became a Nickelodeon star for a Nick Jr. series,” he recalled.
He also hosted programs on NET25 and TV5, worked as a commercial model for Goldilocks and Globe Telecom, and appeared in a teen magazine.

Model Eduard Bañez (Photo by Sthanlee B. Mirador)

He later pursued music more seriously after his rendition of Sharon Cuneta’s Kahit Maputi Na Ang Buhok Ko, composed by Rey Valera, garnered over 120,000 views on YouTube.
“I started singing at age five and performed at events as a teenager. Audiences were entertained and amazed by my voice,” he said.
Immigrating to the US
Bañez immigrated to the United States in 2015 when his family settled in North America.
“I preferred a land of more opportunities,” he said.
His father, Eduardo, is a chief ship engineer, while his mother, Zarina, is a businesswoman.
Born in Baliuag, Bulacan, Bañez earned a BS Nursing degree from Manila Central University and later took courses in political arts and media history at UCLA.

He admitted that his American journey was far from glamorous. It was filled with adjustments, paperwork, interviews, and moments of doubt.

“Education in the United States is very different from the Philippines. Personal independence and self-reliance are essential here,” he noted.
America sharpened his independence, but his Filipino roots kept him grounded.
“No matter where you are in the world, character travels with you. That’s what I bring into Spluk—resilience, resourcefulness, and heart.”
Despite living in the US, he continues to be featured in major Philippine broadsheets and television networks.
Bañez, a Pinoy in the heart of Hollywood, concluded with a simple message:
“Happiness is the most important thing in life. Don’t give up. Stand on your own. Be independent. Be generous. And be a servant of God.”

Rogelio Constantino Medina is a freelance writer based in Fairfield, California. He is an Associate Professor III in the Philippines and an award-winning journalist, columnist, and academic researcher with contributions to international media such as Far Eastern Economic Review (Hong Kong), Gulf News (Dubai), and The Japan Times (Tokyo). He is also a credentialed member of the U.S. Department of State’s State’s Foreign Press Centers in Washington, D.C. and New York City.

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