I thought to do a multi-post series of books I’ve acquired locally, online and travelling throughout the winter. I do a lot of research on folklore, and thought it would be helpful to show you my struggles, challenges and also successes in finding these types of books.

Without further ado, here’s my next batch of books, that I was able to order from Philippine Books. They are a company based in both the US and Philippines and help import books over. Shipping can be sort of expensive! This isn’t a sponsored post, but I’ve done some work for them on my Instagram (PilipinxPages) in the past, so you can use code PXP to get a 10% discount.

Filipino Mythology Books You Can Order Online

Tales from the Southern Kingdom by Virginia Villanueva

Dr. Virginia Villanueva is of mixed heritage, born of a Muslim mother and a Christian father. With a medical degree from the University of the Philippines, she sailed for Sulu with her husband, another doctor, and their children. They lived in the heart of the Muslim community in Jolo, and later among her royal relatives in Patikul. For more than thirty years, she absorbed the stories about her family, mostly historical, and the tales and legends from her mother and many patients—the Tausug from Sulu and the Sama from Tawi-tawi. Tales from the Southern Kingdom tells and retells these old and rich stories for today’s young people.

The author now lives in Metro Manila with her youngest son and two grandchildren.

I was really excited to get this one because I do not get to read a whole lot about the south and its folklore—to be honest, most of the tales I’ve learnt are Tagalog. I’m learning more Visayan folklore because of my matrilinear side.

Song of the Mango and Other New Myths by Vida Cruz-Borja

A diwata brings a grieving slave’s brother back to life as a mango tree. Two writers write their ideal lovers into existence with ink from a mangkukulam. A kapre and a farmgirl play out a tale as old as time in Spanish colonial Philippines. A girl with a magical heritage must rescue a bumbling cartographer from the hidden city of Biringan. Maria Makiling opens a pop-up café with human heartbreak on the menu.

In Song of the Mango and Other New Myths, Vida Cruz-Borja brings stories woven from elements of classical myths and folklore from the Philippines and other parts of the world, as well as from visions of the modern and of the future. In worlds richly reimagined and reinvented, these “new myths” explore hidden depths from flawed characters who strive to search for a just and equal world, whether that may be in the realm of ordinary humans or the realm of magical creatures.

Philippine Folk Literature: The Myths by Damiana L. Eugenio

Philippine Folk Literature: The Myths by Damiana L. Eugenio gathers sacred creation stories, origin myths, flood tales, and ancestral narratives from across the Philippine archipelago, translated into English and organized by region. It offers readers a deep look at how different ethnolinguistic communities understood the world, humanity, and the natural order long before colonial influence.

Philippine Folk Literature: An Anthology (Second Edition) by Damiana L. Eugenio

Compiled by Damiana L. Eugenio — the "Mother of Philippine Folklore" — this introductory volume to her eight-volume Philippine Folk Literature Series presents a single-volume survey of the full range of Philippine oral tradition. Drawn from her career-long work documenting the archipelago's regional and linguistic traditions at the University of the Philippines, the anthology gathers representative selections spanning myths, legends, folk tales, epics, folk songs, proverbs, riddles, and charms from across the country's many ethno-linguistic groups. It serves both as a standalone introduction to Philippine folk literature and as a guide to the more specialized volumes that follow in the series.

A Visual Guide to Philippine Folklore by Beatriz Alegre

A Visual Guide to Philippine Folklore is a colorfully illustrated collection of the Philippines' richest folkloric traditions, featuring tales, epics, and legends populated by eerie spirits, powerful deities, and uncanny creatures. The book explores the cultural and historical contexts of Philippine folklore and how it has been passed on through generations. Beliefs and customs that are still practiced in modern Philippine society-including superstitious rituals, the use of anting-anting (amulets), and the continued reverence for traditional healers--are also detailed. A Visual Guide to Philippine Folklore invites readers to an enchanting and imaginative journey into mythological landscapes conjured by Filipino communities ancient and modern-striving to make sense of the mysteries of the world around them.

Read more on ginger & smoke!

Artist statement by Kat Wadel:

“Mountains are the main motif in this illustration of Diyan Masalanta. Soft pastel peach, periwinkle and pink hues fill the sky with the glow of the rising sun cresting the mountain summit. The surrounding cliffs rest in shadows as dawn breaks, lighting the mountain and goddess figure; her face veiled by soft clouds draped below the mountain peaks. As part of the mountain, the deity of love/ childbirth/ protector of lovers is depicted with her arms wrapped around herself, like the strength and support felt in the arms of a loved one. I incorporated the deity into the mountain range to symbolize the unwavering connection between Filipino mythology and the natural world.

I drew this piece with inspiration from Diyan Masalanta, daughter of the guardian of the mountains, Dumakulem; and her connection to Maria Makiling, the deity of Mount Makiling, a stratovolcano on the island of Luzon (just south of where some of my family lives). Volcanoes rule the mountain ranges along this part of the Pacific Ring of Fire. Unlike surrounding volcanoes, Mount Makiling is inactive and provides geothermal heat and minerals to the surrounding hot springs. Its waters are as healing as a hug.”

After finishing their cosmic net, Mangatia dropped their sewing needle to the Earth and the former became either Mt. Arayat, or Batung Maputi. The latter is a massive white rock formation near the peak of Arayat, where many legends say the magical entrance to Apúng Sinukuan’s subterranean palace is located.[2]

[2] Parker, Luther . “Daughters of Sinukuan,” Philippine Magazine 1929, Vol. 26, no. 1, 535, 694, 750.

Artist Statement from Kathryn Wadel:

“So far, as I learn more about these different myths, deities and creatures, I find they beautifully reflect the traditions and knowledge passed along through art and art making practices. Weaving textiles, nets, decor, and furniture are practices that date back alongside this creation myth that unites the sky and the earth. In this myth I see creation from the perspective of the Great Elder as a provider. It highlights weaving as a practice that is shared to provide for and strengthen the community. Weaving holds this tight with every twist and braided strand symbolizing a shared and unified strength. I find creation stories often offer tales of shared knowledge as a cornerstone of humanity. Observed from a mountain summit, the vast knowledge of the stars are gifts: ancient celestial bodies, stories, offering guidance and the best view of the universe. I imagine the woven net of stars cast upon the sky, like a web of knowledge, can be seen from the top of Mt. Arayat, where Mangatia dropped their sewing needle.

In this illustration I depicted Mangetchay / Mangatia, the Great Elder and Netweaver casting their intricately woven net over their head, creating the sky with stars forming from the mesh. Reading about Mangatia, I imagined them in different forms. Including a version where the Great Elder is weaving from an aerial view looking down upon the earth, blanketing it with a woven sky. In this iteration, I chose to pay homage to the rich fishing traditions of the Philippines archipelago. I drew a strong elder standing in a small fishing boat, casting their net up to create the sky. The stars and their constellations are significant motifs in Filipino myths and folklore that continue to guide fishers and farmers through hunting and harvesting seasons. In this piece I created a vibrant world of gradient colours, where Lapis blue and turquoise hues of the Philippines Sea harmonize with radiant Golden yellow and orange hues of the Sun at dawn, rising above the first horizon.”

I’ve tried submitting this flash fiction piece to only two publications to be fair, but I thought it’d be cheeky to share something that has been rejected multiple times on my end, just for fun.

I hope you enjoy my little reject, and my aunt’s funny story!

BIBLE LADY MEI MEI

A cross-collab story between me (Nathalie) and my auntie A

In 1973, Maritess moved to Vancouver from the Philippines to pursue better opportunities. She boarded the bus on a hot August day, on her way to a job interview, clutching her resume and a small purse. Maritess noticed the presence of Asians was a bit of a rarity.

The bus was moderately filled, and Maritess took a seat near the middle. She barely noticed when an elderly Chinese lady, clutching a worn Bible, sat down next to her. The elder’s eyes sparkled with determination.

The lady greeted her in Cantonese, and she held out the Bible towards Maritess.

Maritess, caught off guard, looked at the Bible and then at the lady. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Chinese,” she replied gently, her Filipino accent dotting her English.

The lady’s eyes widened in surprise. “You do!” she exclaimed, switching to English with a hint of disappointment. “You should be proud of your Chinese heritage.”

Maritess couldn’t help but chuckle. She found the assumption amusing. “I’m not Chinese,” she explained, her voice kind but firm. “I’m Filipino.”

“You are Chinese, be proud,” the woman insisted.

“No—” Maritess shook her head. But she remembered her great grandfather was Chinese, but she knew nothing about that side of the family.

The driver gave them a curious glance through the rear-view mirror. She saw that he was trying not to laugh. Maritess could feel the urge to laugh bubbling up inside her, too, but she stifled it, not wanting to seem rude.

“Do you ride this bus often?” Maritess asked, hoping to steer the conversation towards safer ground.

“Yes, almost every day. I visit my granddaughter. She lives near here.” There was a pause, and then she added, “I’m Mei Mei.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Maritess,” she replied, extending her hand.

Mei Mei stared at her suspiciously, “You’re not Filipino.”

Maritess withdrew her hand, still smiling. Mei Mei eventually left the bus.

“You okay?” The bus driver asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Maritess smiled.

“Mei Mei’s harmless. I think she’s just a bit lonely, and her mind is going. She has had trouble finding community out here,” he explained, “You’re dressed up nicely. Where are you going?”

“I’m going for a job interview.”

“Hope you get it miss. I’ll pray for you.”

Maritess stepped off the bus with a lighter heart. If she got the job, she’d take Mei Mei out for tea and bao.

Archaeologists believe early humans may have lived in the islands more than 700,000 years ago. But when we talk about Philippine astronomy, the way people understood the Sun, the Moon, the stars, and the sky, most of what we know comes from much later, after Homo sapiens arrived in the islands around 67,000 years ago.

A lot of this knowledge comes to us through stories.

Myths. Legends. Folktales. Oral traditions carried from one generation to the next.

These stories were ways of understanding the world. They explained the seasons, the heavens, spirits, creation, and our place in the universe. They helped people look at the natural world and make meaning from it. They helped people remember.

For this new season of Filipino Fairy Tales, Mythology, and Folklore, I wanted to begin with sky stories: tales that speak to the Sun, the Moon, the stars, the sea, and the deep human longing to understand where we come from.

One of the sources I returned to was Philippine Folk Tales, collected by Mabel Cook Cole and published in 1916. Cole and her husband, anthropologist Fay-Cooper Cole, spent time in the Philippines in the early 1900s, documenting stories from different communities, including the Tinguian, Igorot, Tagalog, Bilaan, Bukidnon, Mandaya, Moro, and Visayan peoples.

I want to name, too, that Cole and her husband were white scholars and I acknowledge the lasting and current impacts of colonization in the Philippines. I think it is important to sit with that. So much of what has been preserved about us has passed through the hands of people who were not us. And yet, when I read these stories, I try to listen past the collector’s voice. I try to hear the ancestors who told them.

One passage that stayed with me described evenings around a bonfire, where stories were shared after dark. Someone would begin telling or chanting a tale, while others listened, laughed, worked, smoked, or simply sat together beneath the night sky.

I keep thinking about that image.

People gathered in the dark. A fire burning. The sky open above them. A story moving from one voice to another. I long for that kind of storytelling, a gathering and remembrance as a way of being together.

The first story in this new season is “The Creation of the Earth,” a folktale about a world that begins with only ocean and sky. A kite bird flies endlessly, unable to find a place to rest. In her exhaustion, she starts a fight between the sea and the sky. The sea rises. The sky responds by scattering islands across the water, giving the bird somewhere to land. Then comes the bamboo.

The land breeze and the sea breeze have a child, and that child is bamboo. It floats across the water and strikes the feet of the kite bird. Irritated, the bird pecks it open, and from inside emerge the first man and woman, Maganda and Malakas.

In Way of the Ancient Healer: Sacred Teachings from the Philippine Ancestral Traditions, Virgil Mayor Apostol offers an interpretation that stayed with me: sailors may have once used kite birds to navigate and locate land during storms. The fight between the sea and sky could be a storm. The bamboo could be a boat carrying our ancestors across the water.

I love the idea that a folktale can hold both wonder and observation. That myth can be poetic and practical at the same time. That our ancestors may have looked at birds, storms, boats, islands, and the dangerous beauty of the sea, and turned what they knew into story.

For this episode, I wanted to bring “The Creation of the Earth” back into Tagalog.

I’m deeply grateful to K.S. Villoso for translating the text, and especially thankful for Mikhail, who performs the Tagalog reading in the episode. There is something powerful about hearing the story spoken aloud. It feels different from reading it silently. It has breath again.

This is something I hope to do more of.

In the next few episodes, I’ll be sharing more folk tales that speak to the Sun, the Moon, and the stars, in both English and Tagalog. At the heart of this season is a conversation about sky stories: how people looked up, made meaning, and carried that meaning forward through myth.

If you’d like to listen, the new episode of Filipino Fairy Tales, Mythology, and Folklore is out now.

Listen to the new episode

And if you would like to share or read a fairy tale, myth, or folktale in your native tongue for a future episode, please email me at pilipinxpages@gmail.com. I would love for this podcast to become a place where our stories can be heard in the languages that hold them.

Listen to the episode, sit with the story, and look up at the sky tonight.

In my folklore classes, a lot of people worry that they might not be Filipino enough as they never learnt the folklore growing up, or that they don’t study the field enough, but these books are made to make these tales accessible to a large audience beyond children and young readers! It’s a reminder that you can tell these stories if they touch your heart and breathe new life into them.

A part of my queer Filipino fantasy novel, Diyosa Mata, will also be released in Lambda literary’s anthology, if you’d like to read it! To think I was reading anthologies three years ago, I couldn’t have imagined being in a couple now!

Get a copy!

If you like the work I do here, please consider buying a copy—it will help Lambda provide retreats and workshops for queer emerging writers, and help them fight for queer and trans rights in the US.

Nest of Tongues by Randy Ribay

A lyrical, evocative horror about vampires from the Philippines . . . and a hunter on their tail. A brother and sister fight to protect their secrets, their community, and most of all, each other, in this evocative novel from the New York Times bestselling author of Patron Saints of Nothing.

As Filipino vampires known as manananggal, Lily and her brother Caleb understand the value of a secret. After all, to hide is to survive. To lie is to live. They’d never harm another person—but people only believe their worst fears around creatures of myth. So the siblings stay quiet. They follow their community’s rules.

Until a monster hunter turns up and kills a fellow manananggal, anyway.

Until Caleb is marked as the hunter’s next prey.

Suddenly, he and Lily realize there’s always been more at stake than the lives of their people. Because when doing everything “right” is still a death sentence, what can they take as truth? As the hunter nears, the siblings must decide if they’ll be driven from the only home they’ve ever known . . . or fight to protect a community that may already be lost.

She Who Devours by Bea Bustamante

21-year old Maya Halili is determined to secure her spot as a full-time faculty member at the National University of the Seven Islands, the most prestigious academic institution in the country. She’ll do absolutely anything, including run errands for her beloved adviser, Dr. Manalo, and butt heads with her long-time rival, the aggravating and handsome Aga Kaneko. But with a series of mysterious disappearances plaguing the city of Santa Teresita and the Astyrian forces tightening their grip on her people, Maya’s carefully constructed world of academics and ambition crumbles when the spirits of the Seven Islands draw her into a secret society known as The Hand of Kaylahon, a group of shamans that can call down the gods and allow them to use their bodies as vessels - for better or for worse.

When an ancient evil awakens and threatens to plunge their world into eternal darkness, The Hand of Kaylahon desperately tries to convince Maya to accept the spirits’ call and fight by their side. Maya must confront the deadly secrets of her past and navigate a treacherous landscape filled with shamans, monsters, and political forces that threaten to engulf the Seven Islands in a war of humans and spirits alike. She must make an impossible choose the quiet, academic life of her dreams or embrace her destiny, join the battle and save the world.

Her decision will not only determine the survival of the Seven Islands, but the future of humanity itself.

The Bathala Games by E. Manawari

TWO WORLDS AND ONE WILD (AND KINDA EPIC) FILIPINO MYTHOLOGY ADVENTURE Michelle Macabebe aka Chi dreams of adventure outside her home, the island of Luna Asul. For that, she must first survive the boredom of high school, so she can, one day, escape to a university in a faraway land. However, the adventure she seeks comes early against her will, when a talking fat cat chooses her for an out-of-this-world (literally) and suspicious competition. Bickering deities, (not-so) gentle giants, a moon-eating dragon—all the forgotten stories from her childhood have come to life. Chi navigates the lands of gods and spirits, competing against (and struggling alongside) four other contestants to complete the missions. Meanwhile, her real-life problems are piling up too: from a strict mother to a one-sided crush, and a secret that will break her heart and, potentially, her brother’s and best friend’s too. Amidst her confusion and search for meaning in all that’s happening, will Chi find the right answers?

Isle of Teeth by Tessa Barbosa

For fans of FRANKENSTEIN and THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS, Tessa Barbosa’s ISLE OF TEETH is a poignant dark fantasy that centers on two remarkable individuals, each labelled a monster in their own right—their destinies divided by empire, their fates intertwined by Lady Death.

Lady Death always comes to collect.

Matiu Frankel joined the imperial military to escape his childhood: his father’s wretched creations, his witch-mother’s loyalty to Lady Death, and the haunting voice in his own head. With no choice in assignment, however, he returns home to Song—and to a waiting nightmare. A revenant attack waylays his mission and Matiu, being part-Songi, is accused of working with native insurgents. To remove the bounty on his head, Matiu must prove his loyalty to the Lyssian Empire by infiltrating the resistance and capturing the monster they’ve weaponized.

But Calyx is not a monster. A revenant pieced together from animals and dead Songi, yes. Abandoned by her makers to rot on the Isle of Teeth, yes. But not a monster. At least, not yet. Without medicine, Calyx and her siblings risk losing their humanity to Lady Death’s whispers.

Calyx has three weeks to find a cure. Matiu has even less time to clear his name. In their desperation to survive, they turn to each other, becoming entangled in each other’s stories—and in the larger story of empire and resistance. Amidst growing tensions and the echoing calls of the goddess of death, Matiu and Calyx’s relationship transforms into a dark fable about those who have spent their lives with a boot on their neck—and what they would sacrifice to stand tall once more.

Diyosa Mata by Nathalie De Los Santos

In Diyosa Mata, Mayari awakens the power to shapeshift into the male god of the sun and war, Apolaki, and as she leads an uprising against colonial oppressors, she must confront whether her true battle is with her enemies or with her own divided identity.

Inspired by Filipino folklore and mythology, Diyosa Mata unfolds in a reimagined Spanish colonial Philippines while carrying the heart of the diaspora experience: the fight to preserve culture and reclaim what remains. Mayari knows she has no home to return to, even as she marches toward victory. Beneath the battles, she longs for connection—a path of reclamation and acceptance in a world remade. Yet at her core lies a quieter fear: losing everything as the price to pay along an uncertain path of resistance.

Read it in Lambda's anthology!

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Magwayen is depicted as a vast ocean whose waters reach all lands, including underground rivers and the spirit world. She carries a budyong or a conch shell in her hand and is sometimes accompanied by another sea goddess, Lidagat, who many believe to be her daughter. Lidagat died of a broken heart, and Magwayen followed her daughter’s soul to purgatory. She took up the role of ferry-woman of souls in her balangay, so she could visit her daughter.

Magwayen played a role in the creation of the first man and woman. After their marriage, Kaptan planted a seed in the sea and Magwayen cared for the plant until one day the plant, a very big bamboo plant, split open. From it emerged Sikalak and Sikabay, the first man and woman.

I collaborated with Kathryn Wadel, who illustrated this beautiful illustration and wrote this deeply touching artist statement of what Magwayen means to her.

Artist Statement by Kathryn Wadel

The day after the devastating Lapu Lapu Day tragedy, a pod of orcas were sighted off the coast of Vancouver. Believed to guide souls to their final resting place, Indigenous elders noted the sacred significance of their presence in the aftermath of this tragedy. I imagine these orcas guiding our family, friends, neighbours and colleagues to Magwayan, goddess of the underworld. Together in kapwa, they board Magwayan’s balangay. Navigating tumultuous tides, she carries our loved ones safely to their final resting place.

In this digital illustration I depicted the Visayan goddess Magwayan as the vast ocean, guiding souls to the underworld in her balangay. At the confluence of life and death, she guides them through monstrous tides, crashing waves, and times of uncertainty. Painted in monochromatic hues of blue, contrasting light and dark shades speak to the range of emotions we hold while navigating grief. Magwayan, ferry-woman, leads with a sense of unwavering momentum and the strength of Bayanihan.

She also translated “Dante L. Ambrosio and the History of Philippine Ethnoastronomy, 1992-2010” by Emmanuel Jayson V. Bolata, so you can read about the creator of the paper. His life in revolutionary times is as fascinating as his work in the heavens.

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the BC Arts Council. This translation would not be possible without their support.

Read the full text

From the introduction:

Whenever the ancient Filipinos gaze upwards, they behold not just the heavens. They also see the history of their civilization, particularly with regards to the stars. Just like in other cultures, they stamped their essence upon the sky, claiming it for their own. The sky formed the basis of their reason, conduct, and way of living, conceiving a treasury of perspective, beliefs, knowledge, and behaviour according to the heavens.

As far back as the early days of civilization, people have known of the blessings and perils brought by the skies as part of the forces of nature. From the heavens, they glimpsed the rays of the sun, the moon, and the stars that—whether it be day or night—give brightness and splendour to the world. The rhythm of their lives followed the rise and fall of the sun, the certainty of the waxing and waning of the moon, and the eventual emergence of the stars.

It was only in 1982 that it was discovered that Filipinos had their own stars. At the time, I had read the stories on Magbangal of the Bukidnon (Cole, 1956). I previously knew about Tatlong Maria (Three Marys), Supot ni Hudas (Judas’s Sack), Krus na Bituin (Cross of Stars), and Koronang Tinik (Crown of Thorns) of the Tagalogs, which was taught to me by my grandmother. But these were stars of the Christians, which I didn’t put much value on. It was only when I learned of the stars of the Teduray of the Cotabato that Schlegel named in 1987 according to modern astronomy did I become certain: Filipinos have their own stars! My interest in the ancient knowledge as taught by the stars, and their influence on the lives of people, blossomed. This study is called ethnoastronomy, the study of civilization with regards to astronomy.

This sort of study holds great value for historians. It involves the analysis of ancient viewpoints and the formation of the reasoning, conduct, and way of living of our ancestors. In other words, ethnoastronomy serves as an addition to the study of the essence, consciousness, civilization, and history of the Filipino people. It is not only in parsing through documents or reading into ancient artefacts, but in considering the prevailing viewpoints, beliefs, knowledge, and behaviour do we catch a glimpse of the nation’s pre-colonial past. Through these studies, we can connect the present and the past, and grant significance to the changes brought over by colonial times.

Our study reveals the similarities of various indigenous civilizations, unearthing a wealth of knowledge while also highlighting the unique characteristics of each. Through this, we were able to shed light on forgotten fragments of history, gathered from national records and scholarly accounts. From all of this emerges different scenarios of how the skies and stars formed the basis of Filipino civilization.

Read the full text

Tala, the Tagalog goddess of the morning and evening star, is one of three daughters of Bathala and a mortal woman. According to mythology, Tala played a key role in creating the Tagalog traditional constellations. She used light spheres or orbs to guide men to safety at night, and without her stars, travellers would be lost in the seas.

Read the full entry here.

And watch ginger & smoke and this space for more entries throughout the year!

Just as a shameless plug, if you like this story, please consider becoming a paid subscriber! While this story is free, I have other long form paid stories like The Multo of the Forgotten Queen and An Empire of Monsters, both modern interpretations of our folklore and stories.

burnt out babaylan

I am the best group healer–a babaylan–the world has ever known. Truthfully, my job is watching people stand in fire like dumb fucks and I’m expected to heal them.

And that’s what I’m exactly doing when this mythic void dragon with seven heads appeared out of nowhere. The first of its kind, its scales are also covered in another layer of magic which makes their hide impossible to pierce. As it bellows out fire, there is always at least one person standing next to its pool, and I call to the Gods above to cocoon this person from their own stupidity.

This idiot doesn’t speak for our guild, though. We’re renowned for ranking world-first for raid clears, usually seventy-two hours after it appears. My sweaty guild aims to always kill these epic creatures first, so the entire world can hear the deathblow call of our best warrior, Besnel. Usually only eight heroes go, while another sixteen wait in case they need support. It has been hard having a normal life, having to heed the call all the time. Once, our main tank’s wife was going into childbirth right as he left his home, so one of the sixteen in the reserve had to jump into his place.

My tendrils of light reach at least six people. I carefully downrank spells so it’s not all healing—I’ll toss out a quickstep or protective bubble so there’s some preventative care. In being the best babaylan, my raid encounter movement and castings are studied in guild libraries across the world, so many raid healers have come to rely on my positional knowledge to even hope to keep up.. This is why I take this seriously. I have to protect my people and our reputation, and if I fall, someone else may not be strong enough or smart enough as me. I would feel terrible if we wiped at .4% of phase 4 on a Witch Queen hard-mode. And if I don’t stay in the margin of excellence that I am, the guild will cut me out of the roster, despite my history of world-firsts.

The dragon lets out a shriek and out of its mouth comes a laser, something we’re all not expecting. People jump and cower out of its beam. One of our skirmishers is cut clean in half and I know I have to do something. I have a new spell, one that can make you immune to any attack for 5 seconds. I call upon my inner power and pull out my green light from my chest after it blooms like a flower in my belly. Up, and up it goes, and it spreads upon the battlefield. Its petals cover my colleagues. And as the lasers cross them, it takes no effect. One man is brave enough to launch his spear as the dragon’s mouth is open for the laser attack, and the dragon is finally hit. It shrieks, and I go deaf. I feel blood dripping from my nose, but I laugh. A friend pats me, but I collapse onto my knees, he’s the last thing I see before my world turns to black.

When I wake up, it’s nothing out of the ordinary at first. I just needed a long rest. But when we fought a witch who just rose from a swamp out of the blue, and she summoned ten thousand mirrors of herself, who had knives for legs, my guild leader, Strom yelled out “Use your power, Sana! Save us!”

And I did, I covered my colleagues in the planet’s protection and they were unfazed by her razor heels. But then I collapsed again, nearly getting myself killed, and everyone was without a healer while I slept. So many people fell and were frustrated by my power’s demanding cost.

And this is how I ended up in Beha’s studio, lying on a woven mat, staring into a mirror, with her next to me.

“You’re a babaylan of amazing power,” Beha assured. “What do you feel when you collapse each time?”

I explain to her: I just feel sleepy right after. My head nods off and people talk to me, but it’s a warble, then I collapse.

“I wonder if it is because you use all your energy, Sana. You only learnt this skill as an area of effect, but try protecting me only, and we’ll work up to several, so you can be efficient with your magic. Use only the right amount of energy, not all of it.”

Beha turns down the oil lamps in the room, so it’s dim and calming. I sit in a comfortable position, for I know the first thing she’ll tell me is to be at ease. I close my eyes, take a slow deep breath in and exhale gently. I feel my shoulders relax.

Beha begins, “With each inhale, feel yourself becoming lighter. With each exhale, release any stress, any burdens you carry. Let them dissolve into the air, leaving space for something new, something healing.

Bring to mind the person you trust. Whose energy brings you peace and strength. Picture them standing before you, their presence steady. Imagine them looking at you with kindness, understanding, and unwavering support. They’ve come here without judgement. Invite their energy to surround you.”

This is a hard one. Everyone is so demanding around me. Like, “Sana! Can’t your healing work faster? I know my torn limb should be healed first, but my arm hurts!”, “Sana! You always heal him first over me!”, “Sana, why are you slow?”, “Sana, you can’t take a vacation now! I don’t want your sub, she sucks!”

But I hear a soft voice underneath all the screaming. A gentle, familiar one. “You are safe,” she echoes, “you are protected. You are never alone.”

I open my eyes, and see the energy of the green protection petals wrapping around my body. I breathe in the truth of the words when I realize it’s my mother’s voice, I let that weight settle into me. I let the memory of her and me biking under a summer sun hold me. I see her giving me a magic wand for my eight birthday, and feeling seen. I remember when I broke my leg and was sad we couldn’t ride out the next summer, she read books to me while I lay in bed, and I felt deeply cared for.

The image of her fades, but I’m not sad to see her disappear there. Her energy remains with me. I take one final deep breath in, before I cast the spell onto Beha, knowing to not use the power surging through me.

“Just one petal,” Beha smiles.

And just one petal floats towards her and she cups it in her hands. I see her hands are protected, and I wonder if I can do a selective body part in order to conserve energy, versus wrap the whole body. We continue this exercise, where we pass the green petal back and forth. As we do this, at first my mind is empty, but it starts to fill up with I wonder how my mother was doing. I had left home to join this guild and hadn’t have time to go see her, because I was always an active combatant or on the bench. Mama told me not to worry when I apologized for not seeing her. She said she was happier to see me work and build a life in another city. If she only knew I stayed home playing these games instead, because I’m lonely in this other place.

Ma had been a healer herself, and she told me this one thing she learnt from her tribe, “While we heal others, a babaylan cannot heal herself.”

Absent-minded, I pass the petal back to Beha, but in my racing thoughts, I give her a hundred petals versus one. I feel the energy swell in me and then deplete as I protect her entire body. And then the sleepiness returns. She says something to me, but I fall face first into the ground.

Beha keeps me on track the next day. She does more than one guided meditation to clear out my mind, so I don’t sidetrack into anxiety. My concern about my mother is a good one and I’ll request some time off, but for now, I know I have the time to focus on myself. Not only to learn this skill to protect others, but also protect myself, not give so much of myself in battle.

After all, I am the best babaylan. And if I fall, someone will take my place. But it’s not a thin margin, not something someone can do right away. A lot of trial and error, a lot of deaths of countless healers to these emergent monsters, will be because I couldn’t keep my powers up.

Though it was only day three, when a giant harpy the size of three castles appeared. Thankfully most of what I had to do was repair—lots of direct healing after someone lost an eye or got their hand cut. But it came to the final four who made it close enough to the beast. It liked to stomp, so there was no way I could do a selective body part.

But I still tried to incorporate the lesson from Beha. To not let my energy pour out into the world, to be intentional, to focus on the people before me. I thought of my mother standing in the field with her bike, her distant words enveloping me, “You’ll get it this time. Come on. I’ll teach you how to bike.”

With her words, I see the petals wrap themselves around my colleagues. I pray to all the Gods my fatigue won’t swallow me. I fall to my knees as the last petal leaves me, and to my amazement I don’t start to nod off. I do not have the strength to stand, but I’m awake, watching them disappear under the earth shattering stomp of the harpy, but then rising from underneath, grabbing onto its claw and scaling the titan, knowing the battle is won.

“You’re amazing Sana!” My team cried, when they realized I had stayed awake.

“What do you need to continue to cultivate this skill?” Strom asked me.

“Rest,” I said, simply. “Can I take some time off?”

Strom eyes me as if he has a million reasons not to, but he seems to swallow it. “Yes, so long as we can get your sub not running in spotlights and attracting mobs! But Beha maybe can help her, and I know you’ll be an amazing teacher.”

“Thanks Strom,” I stand on my feet, the hope of a quiet, less chaotic time already giving me an incredible lightness of being.

Boy was I ever wrong.

At the National Bookstore, I asked “Do you carry Filipino folklore or mythology books?”

The clerk said, “In Tagalog or English?”

“Either.”

They reached for a Greek mythology book and handed it to me.

“No, I don’t want Greek or Roman. I want Filipino mythology.”

“We don’t have anything like that.”

I went around to other National Bookstores, Fully Booked, even a Tesoro’s in Intramuros (which does have Filipino history/culture books), but no luck. I did find random picture books of Christianized Filipino Indigenous folk tales, but I didn’t want that!

A colleague recommended I go to the University of the Philippines Press, which was a good idea, but they were only open during weekdays and I could only get there on the weekend. However, looking at their catalogue, I can confirm they have some good books. It makes me sad though that tomes that contain a lot of the knowledge are barred off in academia, and a lot of the source materials still are by white colonizers (scholars).

As I travelled across ten bookshops, one clerk told me after I told him I’m the creator of the podcast Filipino Fairy Tales, Mythology and Folklore, “You guys care more about this it sounds like, we don’t really have a strong decolonization movement here.” Whether that’s true or not, I did notice these things: the National Bookstore does have a Christianized slant to it. Besides these major stores, you have to serach for these really indie shops in Manila. But the other type of bookstore that’s in abundance is used bookstores in the Philippines, and they’re beholden to what’s donated or sold to them, which is seemingly mostly American.

Anyway, I eventually and finally found this one book in Fully Booked in Makati in their Filipiniana section (which was only half a shelf compared to the rows and rows of American history, sad-face):

Filipino Folktales for Children: Stories of Wisdom and Wonder in English and Tagalog

A beautifully illustrated collection of Filipino folktales to share in Tagalog and English!
Drawn from the rich folklore of the Philippines, these seven exciting tales are filled with magical creatures, captivating gods and goddesses, and the remarkable acts of ordinary people. Free online resources accompany the book including lessons, a glossary, and read-aloud recordings of each story in both languages.

Philippine Folk Literature

These were the titles available at UP. Which also includes another anthology, riddles and more. They’re wonderful collections that are pretty comprehensive, but again, you can only really get them if you visit the University during the day and incredibly hard to order online if you’re in Canada/US.

A Visual Guide to Philippine Folklore by Beatriz Alegre

This was SO hard to find in the Philippines. I found the Fauna and Geography book, but this one I’d have to special order. It is GREAT though!!

A Visual Guide to Philippine Folklore is a colourfully illustrated collection of the Philippines' richest folkloric traditions, featuring tales, epics, and legends populated by eerie spirits, powerful deities, and uncanny creatures. The book explores the cultural and historical contexts of Philippine folklore and how it has been passed on through generations. Beliefs and customs that are still practiced in modern Philippine society-including superstitious rituals, the use of anting-anting (amulets), and the continued reverence for traditional healers--are also detailed. A Visual Guide to Philippine Folklore invites readers to an enchanting and imaginative journey into mythological landscapes conjured by Filipino communities ancient and modern-striving to make sense of the mysteries of the world around them.

ALL OF MAXIMO D. RAMOS BOOKS!!!!

I affectionally refer to all his books (there’s a lot more than depicted) as your Pokemon starter kit for Filipino mythology. You pick one and start there, or if you have the $, get them all. They are easy to order off Amazon (sorry, don’t mean to plug Besos, but it is the one platform that has all of them. You can try ordering at your local bookshop.) His work is what made me get into Filipino folklore and mythology, and I absolutely love the Creatures of Midnight for the funny drawings of the aswang in it.

Outline of Philippine Mythology

I really like this one because it has the translation of Hinilawod, a 30 hour epic oral poem that is kinda like our Iliad or Odyssey that F. Landa Jocano documented, and wrote as a shorter story in this book. You can listen to the full recording in a university in Cebu. I really wanted to go listen and visit my mom’s ancestral home, but because of the typhoons, I couldn’t sadly! If you want an epic story of three brothers questing for brides, that documents mighty battles, goddesses and gods, and cunning monsters and enemies, this is your book!

There’s more books out there I could rec, but these are my favourite. Should I do more booklists like this? Drop your recs in the comments too!!

Beyond my family’s small rice field lay the forest. The last slivers of the sun filtered through the trees. My Lola always warned me about the jungle and its aswang, how these monsters slipped through villages past midnight, hungry for careless souls.

As a child, I was told to be careful of the tiyanak, little demons who looked and cried like babies, who become gnarled old demons when you approached them. They were spotted on the fields and forests near our village at night.

But there were real aswang we had to avoid. The American soldiers told us of reports of vampires, where victims were found with bite wounds on their neck on nearby trails.

Posters went up: “Stay inside! The creatures come at night!”

Across from the neighbour’s home, an eye had been painted on a wooden post. It was like a Pharaoh’s eye. No one knew where this symbol had come from, and we averted our gaze when we passed the post each day.

One night, I wanted to watch comets burn in the sky with a friend.

“There’s a good view over here, Cecily,” my friend waved me over.

As soon as we sat in a clear field, just by the forest’s edge, I thought I heard the whistle of the breeze at first. But then there was something like static in the air. Something that sounded like speaking.

Hello. Anak?

“Did you hear that?” My friend panicked.

The voice whispered again, Nights like these are hungry for footprints.

My chin quivered from the fear that filled me, and my friend held tight onto my hand.

It swallows the brave who wander.

As the nights passed, we were not the only ones who heard the voices. Fear spread throughout our village. But despite those warnings, I had no fear staring into the forest tonight. It was way past our curfew, and I should be inside.

But here I was, crouching by the bamboo fence, and I could hear the faint sounds of insects.

Tik-tik-tik.

It was as if the forest was calling to me.

As I peered past the bamboo stalks, I remembered Lola’s advice: “Respect them, child. These spirits are part of our land, just like us.” Lola gave me a little pouch as a child—rice to ward off evil.

I slipped pass the fence, darting into the forest. The jungle’s breath kissed my skin, warm and thick with its lingering dampness.

Tik-tik-tik.

In the silence, I imagined Lola telling me I’m too old for these games. I just turned sixteen, after all. But I ventured deeper, listening to my sandals making soft taps on the earth beneath me.

Tik-tik-tik.

I paused, straining my ears to hear anything out of the ordinary. Even a rustle of leaves, or a disembodied whisper like the other night. I peered in the undergrowth, imaging the shadows shapeshifting. Relief and disappointment went hand in hand with each moment of silence. I just wanted to see a shadow, a pair of glowing eyes.

But the night was silent. Still. Boring.

My shoulders sank in a mix of relief and frustrated wonder. It had grown dark, so I made my way back. I caught sight of the edge of the field, where home was just beyond the bamboo fence, where a glow of a single lantern flickered from my family’s porch.

Something caught my eye. A glimmer of light on metal up ahead.

Soldiers.

They were on the village road, too close to the fence for my comfort. My stomach twisted, and I could hear Lola’s warnings echoing in my mind. The ones about men were much worse than monsters. My mother once had fought in the Hukbalahap rebellion but in the night she had been captured, turned into a comfort woman by the Japanese, and my life came from a violent union.

Mother died in childbirth, and Lola raised me, never failing to tell me to stay away from strange men.

I ducked low and slipped behind a cluster of thick, leafy bushes, heart pounding against my chest. From my spot, I watched the soldiers, hoping they wouldn’t see me in the moonlit grass. I held my breath, crouched behind the tall grass, waiting for them.

A group of soldiers were restraining a man on the ground. His brown eyes were wide with terror. He was my neighbour—the one who had the painted eye facing his home.

A soldier produced a small syringe and, without warning, injected the man’s arm. The neighbour’s limbs jerked, and he let out a muffled cry that never found its voice, his mouth forced shut by another soldier’s gloved hand. I tried to pry my eyes away, but they were locked onto what was happening before me.

Gradually, his anguished movements slowed to a feeble twitch. That was when a different soldier stepped forward, a dagger catching the moonlight in a cold glimmer. With practiced precision, he pressed the blade against the man’s neck, leaving two shallow punctures. The blood sprayed out, but they pressed down on the wound, draining his blood. After the flow of blood became a slow trickle, the soldiers moved his body closer up the village road, while the others covered the blood soaked earth with a fresh sheet of soil.

After they were done, the soldiers returned to their truck. They drove off and I cowered deeper into the grass, my hands pressing into the damp leaves. I waited for the sound of tires crunching against the gravel to fade before I started to even hear my own heart beating again.

Tik-tik-tik.

Why would they do such a thing? Hadn’t the rebels fought off the Japanese with the American soldiers?

I lay in the moonlit grass, too dazed too move.

Once, when I was six, Lolo and Lola were fighting in the kitchen.

“That child is half Jap, she is the devil–” Lolo spat.

“Cecily is innocent.”

Lolo threw a dish at her, which Lola dodged, and it smashed against the cabinet. “She’s why people look down on us.”

Lola picked up a shard of the plate and held it out in defence. Lolo threw another plate, and Lola ran outside. But Lolo followed her, pushed her hard against the ground and then smashed Lola’s head down, pinning her. When she screamed, he shouted at her: “Shut up! No one will help a woman like you! Stupid!”

I knew the village could all hear them. I would be the only one to do anything. I threw the rice in my pouch at him, desperately trying to ward off evil.

Lolo grabbed me by the hair, raised his other fist, when a neighbour finally cried out, “Stop!”

In the present, my dissociation in the tall grass broke as the morning did, when a woman screamed. I rose from my hiding spot. A villager had found our neighbour by the fence.

“Aswang!” The woman cried.

She didn’t even notice me rise, she immediately ran down the path crying for help. I wanted to tell her what I had seen, what the soldiers had done. But my heart leapt to my throat when I saw the woman was running for the American soldiers on patrol in the village.

Silence was the best choice for me. I walked back home, only being stopped once by the woman and a soldier. They asked me if I saw anything. I shook my head, and I pretended I had only gone on a brief morning walk.

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ginger & smoke launched on October 31st, when the veil starts to thin between our world and the spirit realm.

ginger & smoke is a digital publication produced in Vancouver BC, dedicated to reclaiming Filipino folklore, mythology, and fairy tales—retelling them with new fire while honouring their roots. Here, the boundaries between genres blur, but the heart beats strongest for fantasy and speculative fiction.

Reclamation is an act of return, protection, and creation—an ever-shifting answer to the longing for our ancestors, the ache of disconnection, the urge to guard what’s sacred, to ignite art, to breathe freedom.

This issue is for the dreamers and protectors, the warriors and storytellers who whisper to Mayari or the manananggal in quiet moments, charge their anting-anting under moonlight, imagine video game battles with Filipino mythology, and carry enough garlic to make the aswang tremble in their boots. If this is you, welcome—you’ve found your hearth.

We hope you enjoy these selections!

Love,
Nathalie De Los Santos
Editor-in-Chief

Read the issue now!

Thank you to Lele Chan, who created the Ginger and Smoke wordmark, Erica Dionora, who helped design the website, Sam Moore, our copy editor for volume 01, Domenic De Los Santos for her comms work, and Dani, Asia & Maria always, my Filipino-Canadian Book Fest crew.

Content warning: neglect, implied child abuse, eating disorder

The Multo of the Forgotten Queen

by Nathalie De Los Santos

Once upon a time, there was a house that breathed.

I lived there for a little while with Mama, Papa, Sister, and my uncle—the house was his.

Mama and Papa slept downstairs where it was cold and smelled like wet socks. They called it a “basement.” I thought of it as the belly of a sleeping giant.

The grown-ups whispered a lot. They whispered about Tita, who died and went somewhere far away where I couldn’t see. Her picture sat beside candles and a little white cloth. They called it a wake, but I thought wake meant awake, so I stared at her picture for a long time, waiting for her to blink.

When people were praying, the TV jumped awake. CLICK—pppzzzttt—all by itself, and the screen turned into snow. The candles toppled like they’d been pushed by invisible hands. Everyone gasped. I didn’t know why. I liked the fuzz sound the TV made. It sounded like crinkling tinfoil.

After that, the house felt more alive. My mother felt a cold hand grip her shoulder when she was napping near me. She told me that she couldn’t scream, she was so afraid. And late at night, the adults would hear things.

Mama said, “Did you hear that?” Papa said, “Footsteps.”

I didn’t hear footsteps. I only heard the sound of the Candyland board sliding when I pretended Queen Frostine was skating across it in her sparkly dress.

Grown-ups said Tita’s spirit might be mad. They said he was seeing someone else when she was dying. No one said anything when I asked if he was seeing a friend.

Uncle said, “Maybe it’s her… but maybe it’s not.” I didn’t know what that meant. I only knew that everyone got quiet and looked at the floor.

Then one day, my babysitter screamed.

She grabbed my arm so fast my doll hit the ground face first. She didn’t go back for it. She ran with me out the door, her voice cracking like the broken house paint, shouting, “Help! Help!”

Later, they said she saw something. The word they used was demon, but I didn’t know that word. But I knew the house finally woke up all the way and Queen Frostine looked at her.

If only Queen Frostine were here now, she would make everything still.

I want to go back to before the scream. Before everything went CRACK! like thunder inside our house.

There was a lady made of bedsheets. Sculpted by condensation on cold glass from warm exhales. Born from sighs, and words that hit the back of your teeth, never let out. Grown from the few tears shed before one tells themselves to stop before someone sees them weeping.

She floated when no one was looking. The sunlight made the fabric glow like a ghost-princess dress, all floaty and dripping with sparkles. She had a crown, but it wasn’t nice like the ones in cartoons. It poked into her head like thorny dragon teeth, and black goo dripped into her hair like tar. Her eyes were shiny white marbles. Sometimes they rolled back like she was pretending to be asleep, but I knew she was peeking.

Whenever grown-ups started shouting, she would POOF! vanish, like dust when you clap your hands.

The house became a dragon when my family fought. I couldn’t see its whole body, but I could feel it. Big, with smoke in its throat, rattling the walls with its growls.

“Leave my abode, unless you bring more gold for the girl for her stay here,” the dragon roared in a grown-up voice.

“She’s just a child!” my father hissed back.

Pera. Upa. Katherine. When the dragons said my name like it was something heavy to carry, I realized I was the “child”.

Then—SMASH—a dragon’s tail hit the table.

My mom’s voice cracked like glass. “STOP! We’ll pay the extra rent for her.”

This was followed by her sobs. I hear my father’s low words, but can’t make them out. I hear her words loud and clear though: “I wish we didn’t have another child.”

I ran into the deeper belly of the house, where the dragon’s fire couldn’t hurt me. I called for my guardian the way wizards call their familiars in storybooks.

“Kween Frosty!” (I couldn’t say Frostine right yet.)

A strand of icy hair appeared in the air like a magic ribbon, brushing my cheek. Then two eyes bloomed out of the air, blue like frozen, dead lips, then stone-dark like angry sky.

She didn’t have a mouth but I heard her anyway: “Ignore them. Come play.”

I knew her game. I always did.

I stole a candle from Auntie’s altar where Jesus watched me with very tired eyes. I wrapped the candle in my mama’s white ribbon like binding a spell. Then I took a huge breath and screamed as loud as I could, as if my scream could freeze the fighting dragons.

Queen Frosty said that if I screamed without my lungs exploding, she would make me a knight. Or a sorcerer. Or maybe just... worthy of someone’s love.

But before the magic could finish, my parents shouted my name like a rope yanking me back to the real world.

“Inside voice! STOP THAT!”

I hid the candle quick-quick, rolling it under the bed like a secret treasure.

Queen Frosty’s eyes slowly blinked. I heard her whisper in the walls:

“Good girl.”

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As figures in culture, monsters carry messages drawn from folklore, mythology, ancestral knowledge, rituals, memories, and lived experiences. They emerge from both the past and the present, from the rural and the urban, from our hopes and our traumas.

By looking at how we encounter monsters—real or imagined—we can see how they shape us. In Philippine literature and visual arts, monsters can reveal, challenge, or reinforce ideas about power and the way it moves through our lives.

I’ve put together a little aswang encyclopedia for you to enjoy and get introduced to aswang this Halloween season!

Anggitay

Horse-like creature | Category: Aswang

The Anggitay is a fascinating mythical creature that has the upper body of a female human and the lower body and legs of a horse from the waist down. The Anggitay is believed to be the female equivalent of the Tikbalang. According to many legends, they are attracted to precious gemstones and jewellery. Most Anggitays live alone or in small groups, preferring to avoid complex societies.

Appearance: Half horse, half human

Batibat

Malevolent tree-dwelling spirit | Category: Aswang

The Batibat is a terrifying demon from Ilocano folklore. It is also known as Bangungot in Tagalog folklore. It takes the form of an ancient, grotesquely obese, tree-dwelling female spirit. The Batibat were blamed as the cause of the fatal nocturnal disease called bangungot, a disease where a seemingly healthy person goes to sleep and never wakes up.

To ward off the batibat, one should bite one’s thumb or wiggle one’s toes. In this way, the person will awaken from the nightmare induced by the batibat. This is because the batibat is said to be attracted to the sound of snoring. By making a sound or a movement, the person can break the spell and wake up from the nightmare.

Appearance: Large, luscious lady demon

Siyokoy

Male mermaid creature | Category: Aswang

The Siyokoy, also known as Syokoy, is a male equivalent of mermaids, but with a more bestial and terrifying appearance. Siyokoy are sea creatures with scaled fish-like bodies but with a humanoid shape. Their bodies are decorated with long green tentacles and fins on several parts. They also have gill slits, webbed hands, and are colored brown or green. They can survive out of water for an hour before they dehydrate, which means death.

Siyokoy are horrors of the ocean that are said to drown mortals and eat them. They are often considered the cause behind tragedies at sea. Intimidating aquatic animals such as eels, octopus, rays and squids usually swim along with Siyokoy. It is also believed that Siyokoy have the power to transform into a human. A Siyokoy is a handsome man, kind and seductive to women, who they impregnate to create more Siyokoy.

Appearance: Handsome man that’s bottom half is a fish, decorated with green tentacles and fins, their scales are either brown or green.

Tahamaling

Protective tree spirit | Category: Nature Spirit

The Tahamaling is known for their red complexion and their role as the keeper of forest animals. According to legend, they are spirits that appear as female humans with their skin colored red. They live in balete trees in the forests of the Philippines and are said to be fierce protectors of the animals that inhabit the forest. They reside within balete trees, which are often considered sacred in the Philippines.

In order to hunt in the forest, it is believed that people must offer the Tahamaling betel chew leaves as an offering. The Tahamaling will either grant permission to hunt or punish those who they believe are unworthy. The betel chew leaves are also offered as a way to ask for forgiveness. The Tahamaling represent the importance of respecting and protecting the natural world.

Appearance: Female humanoid with red skin

Kibaan

Mischievous dwarf | Category: Nature spirit

The Kibaan is a creature that stands around a foot tall. The Kibaan is a humanoid with backward feet and golden teeth. It is said to have sharp eyes and a high-pitched voice, and its feet are different from those of humans, with the tiny toes at the back and the smooth heels at the front. It is also said to be able to shift its form into bamboo sticks. They are known to sing in small groups on vines in groves while strumming tiny guitars.

The Kibaan is also known for its love of yams, which it steals from fires. However, it can be fooled by stones roasted in place of the tubers. The Kibaan sometimes also plays tricks by stealing rice or fish from humans and even pulling strands of human hair. Despite their mischievous ways, the Kibaan are benevolent creatures that provide magical items to humans that they like.

Appearance: Little people with backward feet, focused eyes and golden teeth

Anyway, here is the story written by me, after sometime thinking about this weird tale!

Something is Mimicking Dad

by Nathalie De Los Santos

Over one summer break in high school, every night I was plagued by a recurring dream. I would always miss the first week of school. In the dream, I wandered the hallways of the building, clutching my timetable, but every time I looked, the paper was blank.

When school finally started, my first day of grade nine was uneventful. I even fell asleep in my first math class, the teacher’s droning voice felt anticlimactic.

On the Friday of that week, reality shifted. My dad received a phone call that wrapped our lives in a shroud of grief: his father had passed away. We had to fly to Toronto immediately. I didn’t know my grandfather that well because of the distance between us, he had lived in the Philippines before coming to Toronto. This was the first funeral I had ever attended.

Before we left, my dad handed me an Oh Henry! chocolate bar. “Bring this,” he said softly. “It was your grandpa’s favourite.”

At the funeral home, I stood over his casket. His face looked waxen and doll-like, the familiar features rendered uncanny without the spark of life. A chill crawled down my spine as I gazed at what a body looked like devoid of a soul. Tears welled up and spilled over.

“Give your grandpa his chocolate,” my dad whispered, his voice strained. He took the candy bar from my trembling hand and threw it into the casket. Then he guided me to my seat.

Later, during the viewing, someone exclaimed, “Who the hell threw this in here?” They held up the chocolate bar, confused.

“She did,” my dad said with a hollow laugh, pointing to me. Behind his sunglasses, I glimpsed his tear-streaked eyes. Humour is the way my dad copes with things.

On the way to the cemetery, we joined the funeral procession, a line of cars snaking through the city streets. But then my uncle, lost in his own mind fog, veered off, breaking the line behind the hearse. My aunt gave him a hard time because tradition dictated that the funeral route must circle without retracing steps, to prevent the spirit from finding its way back.

At the graveside, I remember the sound of earth hitting the casket as my grandfather was lowered into the ground. My dad stood at the edge, his composure finally shattering as he tossed a single white flower into the grave, his sobs were now unguarded.

Afterward, we gathered for lunch. There was a belief that returning home immediately would invite the spirit of the deceased to follow, so we led grandpa to a restaurant.

My cousins told me that our Filipino death traditions are:

· The deceased must leave the house first if they died at home, no one else can exit the house before them.

· There are nine days of prayers after someone passes, called a novena.

· You’re not supposed to sweep when cleaning up, lest you disturb the lingering spirit.

· The dead will wander for 40 days, and in that time, we must pray to guide them.

Returning home, because I had missed school, anxiety gnawed at me because tests loomed. Normalcy settled back in and I soon forgot about the recurring dream.

Every morning before school, I followed the same routine. I would rise and pause before the bathroom door. A mirror hung on the wall, angled just so, allowing me to see into the dining room without entering it. Every morning, my dad usually sat there, eating his toast, as he was an early riser. I would greet him and go into the bathroom to wash up.

“Good morning,” I called out into the mirror one day. My dad hadn’t turned on the lights and he sat unnaturally still, leaning forward on the table. Concern prickled at the edges of my mind. Perhaps he was grieving this morning.

I entered the bathroom, the fluorescent light flickering to life. As I brushed my hair, I called out, “Do you want me to make dinner tonight?” My voice sounded small, muffled by the tiles. Silence answered me. Unease settled in my stomach.

“Are you okay?” I asked, setting down my brush. Still no response. I rummaged for my toothpaste, the sound of drawers opening and closing the only disturbance in the quiet.

Toothbrush in hand, I stepped back into the hallway and glanced into the mirror again. The figure was still there. His head was bowed, face obscured. But now that I looked closer, I couldn’t quite distinguish his figure—he resembled more of a shadow.

“Hey, are you okay?” I called out to his reflection. The figure didn’t move.

A cold chill skittered down my spine. I turned slowly, eyes fixed on the doorway to the dining room. Gathering my courage, I stepped forward.

I entered the dining room, but it was empty.

The chair where my dad usually sat was neatly pushed in, the surface of the table undisturbed.

Panic surged through me. My throat constricted, and my heart pounded in my ears. I rushed to my parents’ bedroom, pushing the door open quietly. There they were, both of them, sleeping soundly. My dad’s breath rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

I retreated to my own room, shutting the door firmly behind me. I crawled under my covers, the fabric a thin barrier. My sister stirred slightly in the bed beside mine, but I couldn’t bring myself to wake her. The words tangled in my throat, too heavy to speak.

Later, when I mustered the courage to tell my dad what had happened, he listened thoughtfully. To my surprise, he wasn’t alarmed.

“That must be Grandpa’s spirit,” he said softly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

But—the figure had looked just like my dad. I hoped this shadow was my grandpa, and nothing else. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had mimicked my father that morning, something that didn’t belong in our world.

Listen to the episode

In this story (and in my own journey) I found that every time the wind touched my face, every time I felt a river-stone underfoot, the earth carried medicine. Reconnecting with the land—letting cold water hold me, letting birdsong rewrite the script in my head—showed me that nature mirrors back wholeness long before we can see it in ourselves. The forest doesn’t call us flawed; it calls us home. 🌱💛

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you’re already beautiful

A long time ago, when the world was younger, there was a quiet place of tall bamboo and golden cogon grass. The people who lived there wandered freely, planting camote, rice and vegetables, and raising their livestock beneath open skies. Few settled long enough to name their homes, for the earth was wide and inviting. Each person could command the elements at their fingertips, a gift of the gods, to help them cultivate the young world.

In this gentle wilderness, a child was born whose grace and kindness drew the affection of all. Her smile was like a bright star, and as she grew, her spirit was as generous as the earth, and her laughter could charm birds from the trees. But the clothing the weavers made never fit her right, always being a size too small for her.

When she asked why the clothes were made this way for her, an elder replied, “Only those slender and graceful can command magic. You will never have power in this cursed form.”

The girl was not slender and delicate as they believed a magical child ought to be. Her form was round and full, her arms strong and her legs sturdy. Because of this, the villagers believed magic would never bless her.

As she grew older, even as her kindness blossomed and her laughter rang brighter, a part of her heart carried sorrow, as her magic never came forth and she would never be enough. At the sight of a mirror, she was reminded of her curse. She covered the mirror with the too-small dress from the weaver she received as a child. When she practiced magic, she just felt cold at her fingertips. In her home, day after day, her parents watched her in disappointment as she tried to call upon her magic in vain. Knowing she could not even do this, if she could see herself reflected in someone’s eyes, she’d advert her gaze to the earth or the sky, for she did not want to look at herself.

One early morning, while the mist still embraced the hills, she wandered into the deep woods. She discovered a hidden clearing with a pool so clear it mirrored the sky, fed by a gentle waterfall. She avoided looking at her reflection as she dove into the water, but she forgot those thoughts as the waters embraced her gently.

Resting upon a smooth stone, she admired the world around her. The playful dance of birds, the whisper of leaves in the morning breeze. Yet, when her eyes fell upon her reflection, a shadow passed over her heart. She tried to teach herself countless times to not drown in her own thoughts, so she noticed first her bright, compassionate eyes, sparkling like stars. She admired her wide, joyful smile. Yet again, her heart sank when her gaze moved to the roundness of her face, the fullness of her arms, and her broad, powerful legs.

“Ugly,” she said as her tears fell into the pool, “I’m so ugly.”

She wished herself slender and graceful, as the villagers said she ought to be.

A sigh escaped her lips. But suddenly, she heard the wind whisper gently through the leaves, “Marikit ka na,” it murmured softly. The phrase meant you’re already beautiful.

Startled, she turned sharply. She saw no one. But then she felt feeling warmth and power dancing across her fingertips, like sparks of sunlit flame.

With her hands outstretched, she rose. Magic flooded her veins, warm and strong. Flowers bloomed suddenly at her feet. Birds came forth, singing harmonies that mirrored her joy. Butterflies wove gentle circles around her, their silken wings brushing softly against her cheeks.

In that sacred moment, she gazed deeply into the shimmering pool, her reflection wavering gently in the clear water. She saw her body: rounded and powerful, imperfect and undeniably hers. But something shifted within her heart, a whisper older than the trees and deeper than the roots beneath her feet. It spoke the truth she had long been denied: her magic had never been bound to her appearance. Her power flowed from her spirit, bright and limitless, untouched by judgment or doubt.

For the first time, she knew the villagers’ words had been lies. Her appearance was not a curse and had no effect on her abilities.

Magic did not ask for beauty: it asked only to be believed.

Day after day, she visited the hidden pool, learning the secrets of her magic. She discovered she could speak to plants, urging them to grow. She could heal wounded animals with a gentle touch. She made rivers clearer and brought sunlight to shadowed groves. Whenever she healed the forest, the woods whispered always, “Marikit ka na!”

One day, a young man from the village, gentle and quiet, followed her, enchanted by her laughter and the way flowers seemed to bloom in her wake. He’d hear the forest whisper to her of her beauty. He watched silently from behind the trees, awed by her newfound powers, until one day, he saw her looking into the pool. She seemed to hesitate, and moved by the sadness in her eyes, he stepped forth from hiding.

“Marikit ka na!” he called to her the words he heard the forest speak, his voice full of admiration and awe. The echo danced along the cliffs and filled the valley, ringing through the trees and the wind. Soon, the villagers heard the echo and took up the call. “Marikit ka na!” became their cheer.

Yet, though the girl welcomed the young man’s admiration, she knew her true strength didn’t lie in his words or their approval. The village and the man had fallen in love with her magic, her beauty and her strength, which all came from within her and the love she finally gave herself. The village became known as Marikina, the loving phrase still echoing through the trees and streams to this day.

Listen to the poem

You can read the poem in full on ROOTed Rhythm’s website, and listen to it on my podcast. Below is an excerpt of the poem.

There are stories I cannot speak plainly, whispered truths that poetry alone dares illuminate. I’m terrified yet comforted that these words now live beyond me, seen and held gently by others who understand, as this poem first appeared at the ROOTed Rhythms Colours of Culture exhibition earlier this year.

When you dare to speak up about racism, your workplace can turn into a labyrinth, twisting performance reviews, processes, even your mental health against you. I fought until leaving became the only breath left. I still dream of laughter at my desk, colleagues whose warmth remains vivid, but now each memory is laced with sorrow and longing. All this because some cannot—will not—face the quiet violence of their own silence.

I carry with me always the words of Catherine Hernandez, our keynote speaker at the Filipino-Canadian Book Festival: when you do radical work like this, you must be prepared to lose everything, yet trust deeply that the land will carry and provide for you. Her wisdom has guided me through the hardest moments of this journey.

Even publishing this poem, I feel fear, but I have to trust in the earth, and the goodness that does exist between people, within our community. I’ve felt so alone in all of this, it’s trickled into small ways in my life that are indescribable. Have you ever experienced something like this?

This retelling of the "The Legend of the Flower Dama Noche" is a cultural commentary and a reflection on how modern creatives navigate praise, pressure, and personal peace. This episode explores how talent, communal politics, and the quest for authentic selfhood intertwine—illuminating why some flowers choose to open only after sunset.

The Lady of the Nightbloom

Listen to episode on Spotify

Evangelina was known as the gifted daughter of a prominent family that had immigrated to a new world. She didn’t study at a prestigious private school, but she excelled effortlessly in arts, academics, and music. At first, her parents wanted her to get married, but soon they saw her destined for greatness in society’s eyes.

As her popularity grew, Evangelina was invited to gatherings, clubs and groups to help organize community events. But in rooms full of people, Evangelina felt an emptiness in these social gatherings. Behind glittering parties, protest posters and curated social media posts lay gossip, envy, and competition. Evangelina lost track of who liked who, and who hated who. If she didn’t take a side, she would hear no end of it. And if she was given an award, while many praised her, she would lose a few friends each time. “I did the same thing as you. It’s because you’re younger,” a colleague once scoffed. Even if the envious stayed in her life, their response to her success was always “If only we could all have what you have.”

She knew these friends wouldn’t be there if she hadn’t any skills or prestige, so she felt the ever present need to keep up. She learnt to never fully talk about what she could do, in case it came across as bragging. When she talked about being proud of her work, her friend said, “How can I compare to you?” and Evangelina felt bad for making her friend feel this way. Evangelina tried to continue the conversation, but the spark had faded from the discussion. Evangelina wanted to connect with people when she shared her inner world. She wanted a good conversation, where two imaginations could connect. But there were so few people who didn’t see her as an ideal or threat or someone to use. And her inner world was very small, a sanctuary of her beliefs. It only became smaller when people made it bigger than what it seemed. Evangelina quickly grew weary of this crab mentality, drained by the constant pressure to participate in social politics.

Yearning for authenticity, she gradually withdrew from public life. She chose to spend her days immersed in books, honing her skills in solitude, embracing her art, writing, and music. Her withdrawal only increased her mystique; her carefully curated social media posts of beautiful paintings and art, insightful essays, and hauntingly beautiful songs became eagerly anticipated events, each drawing admiration from thousands who never truly knew her but adored her from afar. The artists she highlighted alongside her art loved her for understanding their work with the deepest part of her heart and soul.

Each evening, Evangelina sang from her balcony, softly but powerfully, her voice floating gently through the night air. People would gather quietly below, recording snippets and sharing them widely online, touched by the pure emotion in her voice. Though suitors and admirers frequently sought her attention, Evangelina politely declined their advances, preferring the peace she had carved out for herself.

But her messages flooded with demands to sing in all sorts of venues, from agents wanting her talent for themselves, rather than give her light to the world for free. Even community members, who only wanted her to show up and sing to soothe their hearts, would be offended if she picked one event over the other, showing any preferential treatment to another community member. Understanding this, she declined all requests. Her explanation to each suitor, each community member was: “If I chose one, I’ll cause sorrow to all.”

Her parents expected her to marry and have children, to one day commit all her time to her family and leave this wheel of the world behind. While this route was a viable exit, Evangelina didn’t want to exist for one person either, and she thought day and night how she could remain free, as her own person, without hurting the people she loved. Evangelina felt guilty for taking up so much space. She stopped posting photos of herself online. Everything tasted like ash, so she also stopped eating. She wanted to play small in order to survive. Hunger became a dull ache in her body and her mind emptied into nothingness. Her art became a mindless motion to pull through. Slowly, her sanctuary was infiltrated with a chorus of external voices and her soul became the size of a grain of sand.

One quiet night, overwhelmed by the demands and expectations from others despite her attempts to distance herself, Evangelina realized she was tired of testing the limits of her mind, and filling her days with restless busywork. She longed to spend more time with her divine creators. Evangelina whispered a heartfelt wish to Bathala himself: “Let my legacy live in the hearts of others without losing myself in their storms. Let me exist gently, cherished from afar but untouched by their chaos.”

In a flash of fire, she disappeared without a trace. In the place where she often stood, singing beneath the moonlight, a lush plant sprouted rapidly. It bloomed into delicate, fragrant white flowers that only opened after sunset, their fragrance spreading peace and gentle sleep to all nearby. Her parents wept over her disappearance, and the townspeople mourned her loss. They named the flowers “Dama de Noche”, a flower that would grant sleep to the restless, allowing anxious folks to be at ease in their darkest hours. Evangelina remained forever beloved, remembered fondly as the elusive talent who had chosen peace and solitude over the noise and turmoil of the world.

I first met Hinilawod not in a university library or digital archive, but in the dusty closet of my dad’s house. Tucked behind old VHS and family photo albums lay Philippine Folklore, Vol. 2, a lovingly compiled collection produced in the 1990s by Filipino elders right here in Vancouver. Every page pulsed with the voices of people determined to carry our stories across an ocean. Many of those elders are gone now and I tried to contact their descendants, who didn’t have much interest in reviving this tome. But their work cracked something open in me—it lit a torch I didn’t know I was meant to carry.

I wanted to share that torch with the world, but the book’s uncertain copyright made a straight republication complicated. So I did what storytellers have always done: I retold. I breathed, researched, and wrestled with the text, bringing forward the women whose voices felt muted in earlier versions. Those retellings became the seed of my podcast, a small audio sanctuary where Filipino myths and folktales can shimmer anew.

I’m releasing my own version of Hinilawod. It’s a love letter to our ancestors, to Hugan-an’s persistence, to Jocano’s scholarship, and to every elder who fought to keep our epics alive in diaspora. May this river of a story remind us that heritage is not something we inherit passively; it’s something we keep breathing into, shaping, and handing forward—one retelling at a time.

Thank you for reading, for listening, and for walking this winding path of myth with me.

Don’t forget to submit to ginger & smoke

Submissions are open for ginger & smoke volume 1 until June 30 at 11:59 PST. You must be Filipino-Canadian to submit for volume 1. The estimated publication date will be October 2025. The website will be in my stories and link in bio.

ginger & smoke focuses on the reclamation of Filipino folklore, mythology and fairy tales. There can be all sorts of blurred lines in terms of genre, though the focus is on fantasy and speculative fiction. ginger & smoke will be a digital publication.

What does it mean to take on the work of reclamation? Is it wanting to reconnect with our roots? Is it because we’ve suffered so much disconnection in our family? Is it protection? Art? Freedom? Do you meditate to Mayari or Tala in your guided meditations? Do you call on them to charge your anting-anting? Do you wish there was a RPG where you could just wallop someone with a kris sword? Do you carry enough garlic on you to make aswang shake in their boots?

However you take this prompt, we’d love to see fictional pieces that retell ancient stories and personal pieces that explore the deep psychology of our folklore and your place in the world. We will be accepting short stories, creative non-fiction, poetry and art!

Submit Now

The Epic of Hinilawod

A long, long time ago, when the goddess of the eastern skies, Alunsina, reached womanhood, her father, Kaptan, who was the king of gods, decided she should marry. Alunsina had long, dark hair, skin like freshly pressed clay and bright animated eyes.

Her father was a supreme god in the skies, a paragon of strength, adorned in gold and protected by lightning. All the unmarried gods vied for her. Perhaps Alunsina knew the jealousy of the gods. Her marriage would bring war among them. Instead, she chose to marry a mortal, named Datu Paubari, the ruler of Halawod. Her decision angered her other suitors, and they met in council to bring the newlyweds down.

Alunsina had married beneath herself, and they would soon correct this insulting mistake. The jealous gods decided upon a flood that would destroy Halawod. The God of the Plains, Maklium-sa-t’wan was the one to destroy Halawod by this method. Alunsina’s sister Suklang Malayon learned of the evil plot. She was the guardian of Happy Homes. She warned her sister and her husband of the plot, and they were able to seek refuge on higher ground.

After the flood water subsided, the couple returned to the plain secretly. They settled near the mouth of the Halawod River in a short time. Alunsina was able to live a wonderful and calm life with her husband upon the stretches of green as they inhaled the scent of fresh rainstorms of earth. A deep love blossomed between the couple. She soon became pregnant and asked Paubari to prepare the siklot, things necessary for childbirth.

She delivered a set of triplets. The high priest promptly made an altar. When the ceremony was over, he opened the windows of the north side of the room and a cold northern wind came in, and suddenly the three infants were transformed into strong, handsome young men.

They named them Labaw Donggon, Humadapnon, and Dumalapdap.

Labaw Donggon was the eldest son of Alunsina and Datu Paubari. When he became an adult, he decided to go on a quest to find himself a wife.

He heard of the beauty of Anggoy Ginbitinan of Handug. Stories told of her braided halos, and that she wore elegance like a second skin. He wanted her for a wife. He asked Alunsina for a magic cape, hat, belt, and kampilan.

Labaw Donggon journeyed across the land until he reached the mouth of the Halawod river. When he finally met the maiden’s father and asked for her hand in marriage, the father asked him, “Prove to me your worthiness. Fight the monster, Manalintad as part of the dowry.”

Labaw Donggon went into the jungles to find the beast, which towered over thirty feet, with large sharp tusks and a long-spiked tail. With his magical belt, he was able to bind the monster. His blade pierced its flesh and found the bitter pit of the aswang’s heart. Desperate and dying, the manalintad cried out a death knell that pierced through him. He brought Angoy Ginbitinan’s father the monster’s tail.

After the wedding, the newlyweds travelled to Labaw Donggon’s home. They met a group of young men who told him that they were on their way to Tarambang Burok to win the hand of Abyang Durunuun, sister of Sumpoy, who was the lord of the underworld. Her enthralling beauty was described by many. Her twisted locks draped over her shoulders, bouncing alongside the curve of her shapely form.

Labaw Donggon brought his bride home, but as soon as they arrived, he departed to Tarambang Burok to vie for Abyang Durunuun’s hand. On one ridge he had to pass to get there, he encountered a hundred-armed giant named Sikay Padalogdog. With his magic cape, Labaw Donggon was able to dodge the giant’s heavy attacks, and their fighting lasted for days. Labaw Donggon eventually tired the giant out, who gave up and allowed him to continue.

When he arrived, Labaw Donggon won the hand of Abyang Durunuun and took her home. Labaw Donggon went to Gadlum to ask for the hand of Malitong Yawa Sinagmaling Diwata. She was the young bride of Saragnayan, the lord of darkness. The legends told of her long, dark silky hair, thick lashes that hid her pretty, downcast eyes.

The voyage to Saragnayan’s realm was long and dark. Labaw Donggon travelled by his black boat for many months, went across the region of the clouds, and passed the land of stones until finally he reached the shores of Tulogmatian which was the seaside fortress of Saragnayan.

When he arrived upon the land, Saragnayan asked him, “Who are you and why are you here?”

He answered, “I am Labaw Donggon, son of Datu Paubari and goddess Alunsina of Halawod. I came for the beautiful Malitong Yawa Sinagmaling Diwata.”

Saragnayan laughed in his face. Labaw Donggon then challenged Saragnayan to a duel saying that whoever wins will have her. The challenge was accepted. Labaw Donggon submerged Saragnayan under water for seven years, but when he let go of him, Saragnayan was still alive, because he was immortal. The latter uprooted a coconut tree and started beating Labaw Donggon with it. He survived the beating but was not able to surpass the powers of Saragnayan’s amulet. He was soon imprisoned by Saragnayan beneath his house.

Back home, Labaw Donggon’s two wives both delivered sons, Aso Manga and Buyung Baranugon. Only days after their birth, the two sons went to look for their father. They sailed through the realm of eternal darkness, through the region of clouds, and passed through the land of stones to Saragnayan’s home.

Upon the shores, a wave of dark shadows overwhelmed the youths. Aso Manga and Buyung Baranugon shot poisoned arrows that dealt seven wounds with a single shot. They peppered the minions until Saragnayan was the only one left standing. Buyung Baranugon wrestled Saragnayan. Buyung Baranugon won every match, but Saragnayan could not die.

The brothers retreated and asked for Alunsina’s help. Using her divine powers, she learnt that Saragnayan’s life was housed in the body of a boar in a place called Paling Bukid. The two brothers hunted the pig. Once they captured and slaughtered it, they ate its heart, which made Saragnayan mortal.

Saragnayan knew he had become mortal. He spent one last night with his wife, “Goodbye my love,” he said to her one last time. She embraced him with her long, thin arms and lifted her downcast eyes to admire him. He was grotesque and ugly, while she was beautiful, but she knew he loved her with every beat of his ancient heart. As he let her go, her eyes went back down, and she did not look the way of the battle and hid herself in their home. She hated Labaw Donggon with all her being, and she would flee from him and his sons if her husband fell in battle.

Saragnayan called upon the powers of night one last time. A cloud of bats hid him from Baranugon, but the child ran through the swarm, locking arms with the once-God. They wrestled once more. Saragnayan pinned Baranugon down, and while they wrestled, Baranugon jabbed poisoned arrows into both of Saragnayan's eyes. This was the lethal blow to Saragnayan.

During this battle, their father hid under a fishnet out of fear. The two brothers could not find him after and assumed he had gone home before them. However, when they arrived home, they realized their father was still missing. After the sons left, Malitong Yawa Sinagmaling Diwata cursed Labaw Donggon with madness and lovesickness. She turned her grief against the man who tore her whole life away from her. She then left to go into exile, and to live in peace and contentment in the forest, tending different animals and helping the lost.

Labaw Dunggon’s two brothers, Humadapnon and Dumalapdap went to search for him instead. They found Labaw Donggon under the fishnet, who had succumbed to madness. Labaw Donggon's brothers returned him home to his wives. Nagmalitong Yawa's curse was so strong that curing his madness was no simple feat for Abyang Ginbitinan and Abyang Diriinin. Everytime he heard Malitong Yawa Sinagmaling Diwata's name, Labaw Donggon would break out into an episode. For a time, he would see her face in the middle of night, muttering her name but only feel the cold touch his flesh. His wives and their healing magic eventually grounded him back into the present, and his former strength was returned.

Labaw Donggon’s defeat by the Lord of Darkness angered his brothers. Humadapnon went off on his journey of revenge, seeking out all of Saragnayan’s kinsmen and followers.

Humadapnon returned to Saragnayan’s domain. He employed the aid of Buyong Matanayon, a skilled swordsman. For their journey they rode on a sailboat called biday nga rumba-rumba. They travelled through the region of the clouds, passed by the region of eternal darkness and ended up at a place called Tarambang Buriraw. In this place was a ridge called Talagas Kuting-tang where a seductive sorceress named Pinganun lived.

Pinganun changed herself to a beautiful maiden, and seduced Humadapnon into her bed. Buyong Matanayon begged with Humadapnon to leave the place with him, but Humadapnon wanted to become a witch and make love to his new lady. After seven months passed, Buyong Matanayon remembered that they had ginger in their provisions. One evening at dinner time Buyong Matanayon threw seven slices of ginger into the fire. When Pinganun smelled the odor of burning ginger she left the dinner table because sorcerers hated the odor of ginger. Immediately Buyong Matanayon struck Humadapnon, who became unconscious. No friend of his was going to become a witch!

When Humadapnon came to, they continued with their trek. One day they reached a place called Piniling Tubig who was ruled by Datu Umbaw Pinaumbaw. There was a big gathering in the village and the datu announced that he was giving his daughter for marriage to whoever could remove the huge boulder that rolled from a mountain into the center of the village. The two men watched others try to lift the stone, but there were many shaking knees and grunts for miles.

Humadapnon took off his magic cape. He threw it to the wind, and the cape wrapped itself around the stone. He grabbed one end and spun the stone around himself for some momentum, then threw it back to the mountain. The datu kept his word and Humadapnon married his daughter. During the wedding feast, a minstrel sang of a goddess glittering with gold, who lived with duende. She was the goddess of greed, Burigadang Pada Sinaklang Bulawan.

After the wedding Humadapnon went to seek the hand of the goddess in marriage. Along the way he encountered Buyong Makabagting, who wanted the goddess of greed for himself. Makabagting challenged him to a duel. Humadapnon overpowered him, and the fight ended when Buyong Makabagting surrendered and even promised to aid Humadapnon. When the two arrived, many suitors laid in wait for the goddess. The men had dreams of gold and beauty woven into their minds. Little did they know that Burigadang Pada Sinaklang Bulawan had woven those patterns of greed. She wanted to see who would be the strongest willed out of them all, for she did not want to marry someone who would thieve or murder. She punished those who did so.

Her duwende subjects set up an arena for the men to fight each other, and each day Burigadang Pada Sinaklang Bulawan watched the tournament between men. Their sword fighting bored her, and when they murdered each other in the night to thin the competition, she brought misfortune on the murderers. While most men sang of her gold and glitter, Humadapnon proclaimed her beauty as his muse before every battle. He took down each suitor before him, and after many battles, he stood as the victor of the matches before her. Humadapnon married the goddess and brought her home.

Meanwhile, right after Humadapnon left to seek Saragnayan’s followers, his brother Dumalapdap left for his own adventure. He journeyed to the Land of Dawn where Lubay-Lubyok Hanginun si Mahuyokhuyokon lived. Her long name is roughly translated as “Graceful Movement of the Arrogant Breeze”. She is the goddess of the night breeze, who resided in the east. She tended to plants and animals of the forest in her domain and was the creator of the kasoy tree. She is very sweet-natured but is wary of men and does not trust them. She also has a short temper when provoked. She has two guardian monsters that protect her. One is the two headed giant Balanakon, who guards the ridge going to her domain. The other is the scaly bat-like monster with poisonous sharp claws and teeth called the Uyutang which guards the gates.

On his journey, Dumalapdap brought a friend called Dumasig, one of the top wrestlers of Madyaas. He also brought his duwende subjects to help him along. They travelled, singing songs and collecting fruit and tubers on their way to the Lawn of Dawn. One night, the moon kissed the sun and his blush is what was Dawn. They had arrived at their destination. They encountered Balanakon, who guarded the ridge. Showered in golden, pink hues of the morning, Balanakon charged at them. Dumalapdap was able to quickly roll out of the way of Balanakon’s mighty fist. The monster struck again but Dumalapdap held up his magic dagger. Balanakon’s fist hit a barrier of magic, releasing a twang of energy. The duwende started to run around rapidly to help their master, creating little mounds which would explode with sparks. Confused and overwhelmed, Balanakon tried to play whack a mole with the duwende, but Dumalapdap threw his dagger at Balanakon’s first eye. While in pain, Dumalapdap climbed the flailing giant, holding on tightly to not be thrown off, and stabbed his other eye, and felled the beast.

Uyutang descended upon them with a terrible screech, its blue scales blackened by blight. Dumalapdap fought Uyutang for seven months, and their skill was equally matched. On the last month, Dumalapdap took hold of Uyutang’s ankle while the beast flew too close overhead of him and broke it. The creature cried out, flying around in pain, hit a tree by accident, which disorientated him. Dumalapdap stabbed him with his magic dagger in the armpit. The monster gave a loud, supersonic cry, but not one Dumalapdap could hear, but could feel in his bones. The cry was so powerful that the ridge broke into two and the earth quaked.

Feeling the quake, Lubay-Lubyok Hanginun emerged from her forest and greeted the men. She was impressed by Dumalapdap’s prowess in defeating her two monsters, so she agreed to return to his domain with him.

Upon his return, Datu Paubari gave a feast in honor of his three sons. The entertainers sang of their adventures and beautiful wives, and the strength of their heirs to come. There was a plentiful amount of food served: crabs, eels, sword fish, nuts, bananas, guava, mangoes, rice, and berries.

After the celebration, the three brothers went off on their own adventures. Labaw Donggon went northward, Humadapnon went southward, Dumalapdap, westward and Datu Paubari remained in the east.

Humadapnon was the chieftain of Sulod. His domain was at the headwaters of the Panay River.

In a dream, Humadapnon was visited by his spirit friends, Taghoy and Duwindi. They walked through a grassy path, through the jungle, and deep, deep into the green. In the ruins of a forested open air catherdal, his spirit guides told him that in a village in the west-central coast of Panay lived a beautiful goddess named Nagmalingtong Yawa, the widow of the late lord Saragnayon.

When Humadapnon awoke from this dream, he embarked on his adventure. He rode on his golden boat, and while the skies were clear, and his crew’s spirits were high, a strong wind brought them into an unmoving, red sea. The red was much like blood, and it took months to cross the unmoving deep. Just as they were able to make some movement, the boat was again blown by a strong wind into a channel near the mouth of a river called Saruma. At first the waters seemed calm and serene, but in a matter of seconds, the two land masses to his left and right came crashing towards each other. Humadapnon and his men found a cliff with a seaside cave and hid in there for the first crash. They sat in wait, observing the chaotic crashing to see if there was a rhyme or reason, to make sense of the intervals. It seemed like they had a minute between each crash. Humadapnon’s men were afraid to continue, but Humadapnon believed his spirit guides would keep him safe. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, feeling the energy of the waters around him. He directed his crew to each crack and each cave that would provide shelter as they went down the dangerous river.

They hit clear water soon, and they sailed on, and on. They encountered an enchanted island called Tarangban. This was an island inhabited by beautiful women. Humadapnon noticed a beautiful woman named Ginmayunan upon the shore, and upon seeing her, he set sail towards Ginmayunan. Ginmayunan welcomed them, and the men paid the women a visit in their caves. Humadapnon was bewitched and imprisoned for seven years.

Humadapnon was freed from his captives by Nagmalitong Yawa. Nagmalitong Yawa at first did not care when she saw his predicament, but Taghoy and the Duwindi convinced her to go help Humadapnon.

Nagmalitong Yawa disguised herself as a man and assumed the name of Buyung Sunmasakay. Ginmayunan welcomed her to the island like the others, and Sunmasakay agreed to follow her. Ginmayunan thought Sunmasakay was so handsome, so she took him quickly to the cave. The women in the cave tried to cast their spells upon Sunmasakay, who was immune to their surprise. To them, Sunmasakay was truly a beautiful god. Sunmasakay demanded they release Humadapnon and the women obliged.

After liberating Humadapnon from the cave, Sunmasakay performed a ritual which removed their charms they casted on Humadapnon. He rose from his binds in his prison and went to clean his disheveled self. He cleaned his teeth with a vegetable husk and was careful to clean behind his ears. Beneath his long dark hair, Nagmalitong Yawa saw the handsome face of Humadapnon. She fell in love with him, and just as they were to board his golden boat, a shimmer of light danced across Sunmasakay’s body. His square chin turned pointed, and his bald head grew a full head of hair, and before them all, she became her true form. Nagmalitong Yawa was so beautiful that Humadapnon fell in love instantly. He asked her for her hand in marriage.

Nagmalitong Yawa answered that she could not do anything until she had the permission of her parents. Humadapnon accompanied her back to Halawod. They encountered Buyung Paglambuhan, lord of the island-fortress in the middle of the sea. Nagmalitong Yawa disguised herself again as a man and sailed into Buyung Paglambuhan’s waters in a small fishing boat. She took some of Humadapnon’s men with her, but hid them in her crates, and wove magic illusions above them making them appear as crabs. Buyung Paglambuhan shot arrows and his men waved their swords in what Nagmalitong Yawa could only interpret as surrender. As they descended upon the small boat, Nagmalitong Yawa drew her sword and fought with the men. Her illusions vanished, and the men hiding in the crates came out to help her fight. She giggled because she didn’t think you could crab in these parts! Humadapnon joined the battle, swooping in aboard his golden boat, raining arrows upon Buyung Paglambuhan. As his men launched the aerial attack, Humadapnon leapt onto Buyung Paglambuhan’s boat and the men’s swords danced. Humadapnon emerged victorious in the battle, and they were able to sail back home unharassed. They reached Halawod and Humadapnon married Nagmalitong Yawa.

During the wedding feast, Dumalapdap was attracted to Huyung Adlaw, daughter of one of the rulers of the Upperworld. Dumalapdap asked Humadapnon to help him win the girl. Humadapnon refused his brother’s request. But Dumalapdap reminded him that when he was in trouble, he had helped him. After a small squabble, Humadapnon accompanied his brother to win Huyung Adlaw. Their adventure took seven years.

Seven years is a long time, so Matan-ayon gave the hand of Nagmalitong Yawa to Buyung Sumagulung. Conveniently, Humadapnon and Dumalapdap returned just as she was about to be wed. Humadapnon blew his horn to notify Nagmalitong Yawa of his arrival.

Some men met them at the shore and informed the brothers about the wedding. On knowing this, Humadapnon and Dumalapdap killed all the guests present in the house of Labaw Donggon. They also killed Sumagulung.

In his anger, Humadapnon confronted Nagmalitong Yawa about her infidelity. But her words only made him angrier, even if she insisted it was her mother in law’s idea. Without saying a word, Humadapnon stabbed his wife with his poisoned knife. After this, Humadapnon’s conscience bothered him. His spirit guides came to him, and he realized he had made a mistake in killing his wife.

Remorsefully, Humadapnon persuaded his sister, Labing Anyang, to resuscitate the dead Nagmalitong Yawa. When Labing Anyang revived her, Nagmalitong Yawa ran away from Humadapnon. Humadapnon followed after her.

She went down to the underworld, passing through the channel guarded by an eight-headed snake, the region ruled by her uncle, Panlinugun, lord of the earthquake. Humadapnon felled this beast, determined to catch up with Nagmalitong Yawa.

From the underworld, Nagmalitong Yawa fled to the upper world, the domain of her grandmother, Laun Sina. Reaching the middle space between the Upper World and Middle World, Nagmalitong Yawa noticed a handsome young man riding on the shoulders of the wind. How he did this, was he had a long cloth above him, attached by thin rope and he bound his body to that rope. The cloth had lines that symbolized grass, the sky, the sun and moon. He looked like he was having a lot of fun. She stared in wonder. He swooped down and let her in on the fun, though she let out a gasp and wanted to be put down immediately, but he didn’t let her go.

Humadapnon challenged this stranger, and they fought for seven years. From above, Laun Sina was watching, and eventually, she got bored of watching this melodrama. She descended from her ethereal throne and settled the case.

The man was Amarotha, Humadapnon’s brother who died upon birth. Laun Sina explained that she had brought Amarotha with her to the Upperworld and resuscitated him when he died. She brought him up until he became a full-grown man.

Laun Sina decreed the body of Nagmalitong Yawa be divided into two, so both men could have her. Humadapnon brought his wife to Panay and ruled the island for centuries.