Hagkus 20th century Bikol women writers. In the early 1990s, I wrote a dissertation on twentieth-century Bikol women writers, then relatively invisible even in Bikol letters. In what eventually became a book, I chose the most published among the 100 women writers I documented and classified them into four ‘generations,’ according to the themes of their texts. I then employed the hagkus or post-partum maternity binder as metaphor of the Bikol woman writer’s evolving consciousness through the different literary periods of the twentieth century. A symbol for woman, its confining and restricting could figure woman as a mere tool for the production of children. It could also, however, be a sacred symbol of the womb, the cradle of humanity.
I noted that the Spanish colonial and patriarchal heritage showed the first generation of Bikol women writers as being bound by the hagkus of domesticity and femininity in portraying women in the traditional role of obedient daughter, young virgin, and eventually faithful submissive self-sacrificing wife and mother. These roles were normalized as being as “natural” as binding the womb with the hagkus after giving birth. The second-generation writer, while also dramatizing women’s experiences of love and oppression in patriarchal structures, tended toward the realistic revelation that love and marriage are not all that ideal after all. However, there was little subversion of these structures, only sighs and complaints about woman’s plight. I described them as trying to unknot the hagkus of patriarchy.
The third generation moved on to topics other than love and domestic issues and wrote texts with a heightened feminist consciousness. As the new balyana, they were healers and Kulturtraeger in forwarding the woman question, often woven together with advocacies such as regionalism, nationalism, and class consciousness. They advanced from domestic issues to larger community and national causes and from passivity to action, shifting from object position to that of subject of their consciousness. I quoted from poet-community organizer France Clavecillas, that these women had unraveled and rewoven the hagkus into a great rainbow-colored “linen for our labor pains” that will bind all women in solidarity, so collectively, they can birth their dreams of human dignity and liberation. The emergent Bikol woman writer of the late 1980s and early 1990s then expanded the collective hagkus to include new concerns, new genres, and new writers and readers.
My conclusion then was that the future of the Bikol woman writer would depend on an improved economy, a more culturally oriented atmosphere via a return to roots movement, regionalism and nationalism, a strong women’s movement, and support for writers through more venues for publication, contests, grants, and study of their work. For example, emphasis on Bikol culture and literature versus the Western or Manila-produced texts in schools, and a return to writing in the languages of the Bikols would spur more writing not only by women but also by men.
There was a request for a Hagkus 2 which I was unable to honor because of other projects, and well, life happens. Nevertheless, it was heartwarming to note that Bikol women writers continued to write onto the first two decades of the 21st century. This is far from being a complete list, but among those published but not mentioned in Hagkus are Aida Cirujales, Judith Salamat, Maria Leny Felix, Mia Tijam, Dada Docot, Eilyn Nidea, Irmina Volante-Torres, Ydenn Velarde, and Stephanie Mira. New literary historians and critics emerged such as P. Raniela Barbaza and Shaunnah Cledera. Then came the many younger writers who won literary contests, joined theater festivals, produced chapbooks, were published in anthologies, and who joined the quadrennial Pagsurat Bikol Teachers-Writers conferences since 2000 as fellows. Their work should be easier to find in the internet age, compared to the time of my analogue research in archives and museums ‘last century.’
Writing Prompt. My viewing of a recent Virgin Lab Fest (VLF) Bikol play in Naga City, ‘Mama Mama Paano ka Mamuya?’ served as writing prompt for this article. I knew only that it would be a good watch, as it was among the eight pieces curated by premier Bikol theater troupe Sining Banwa for the first ever Bikol Virgin Labfest (VLF). VLF is a Cultural Center of the Philippines initiative to showcase “untried, untested, unstaged” one-act plays. I had initially planned to review the play, but since so much had already been written about it, I would have little new to say. But I was struck by the fact that the playwright was all of 22 years old. I also learned that two other women, also in their twenties, had made it to VLF Bikol. I therefore decided to write this feature on five 21st century Bikol women writers, amazing talents all, from Calabanga, Ligao, Tiwi, Canaman, and Caramoan, as a postscript to Hagkus 20th Century Bikol Women Writers.
These writers, Helena Francine Ebio, Krishia de Los Poyos, Ivy Ballecer Cultivo, Jennifer Lyn Romano, and Maria Cecilia ‘Maki’ de la Rosa ground their texts in Bikol to tell stories about the minds, hearts, and bodies of Bikol women.
21st century Bikol women writers
Helena Francine H. Ebio of Calabanga, Camarines Sur is an actress, theater practitioner, and creative writer. She studied at the Naga City Science High School and has a bachelor’s degree in Medical Technology from the Universidad de Sta. Isabel (USI). She is a founding member and Executive Committee member of Something Creative, a cultural group based in Naga.
Early influences were her mother’s partiality for the arts and Kulturang Bikolnon events where elementary pupils learned Bikol folksongs and tigsik. While there were school plays at the Naga City Science High School, her joining the Teatro de Sta. Luisa (TSL) in college at USI provided her more training in drama. She was part of the group that organized a theater workshop for Gen Z’s in USI Pili in 2025.
Helena was exposed mainly to Western and national literature. She mentions Agatha Christie, Antoine de St. Exupery’s The Little Prince, Paz Marquez Benitez’s ‘Dead Stars, and Severino Reyes’s ‘Walang Sugat’ as among the things she read at home and in school. She also watched tv and films. She is not familiar with Bikol literature and doesn’t consider herself well-versed in Bikol. Her Bikol is however very natural and contemporary, the language of home and community. She is quite proud of the language in fact: “How can one be from a region and not use one’s own language?” she poses.
Helena’s only training in writing was in school and a De La Salle University Senior High School Young Artists’ Workshop on flash fiction. She has written flash fiction, but these are unpublished. She confesses to ghost writing school papers as a sideline and decries how AI has taken that away as an income source.
She wrote the plays ‘Domingo de Ramos’ when she was in high school and ‘Manananggal’ for Sining Banwa’s Ped Xing festival for plays rooted in Bikol identity. In 2024, she wrote ‘Bitoon Ko’ and ‘Da Ipis Kronikels.’ Her ‘Mama, Mama, Papáno ka Mamuya?!’ made it to VLF Bikol in 2026. Helena had hoped to but did not really expect her play to make it, mainly because she had not had much formal training in writing. She was happy the organizers and the audience responded positively to her work.
Aside from the Naga Central medium of the piece, ‘Mama’ is very Bikol in its use of humor, frank language, gestures, and folksy double entendres. Its title is a take on Lualhati Bautista’s novel Bata Bata Paano ka Ginawa and is a solidly feminist piece with the focus on the aspirations and anxieties of women regarding motherhood and career.
The play focuses on the main character, Narra, who worries that she may be pregnant, and therefore unable to work in New Zealand. She consults a former classmate, a doctor in her ninth month of pregnancy, for a free check-up. The play is a cliff hanger about whether or not Narra is with child; the conflict is resolved, but best to keep this spoiler-free.
Helena says that the play was inspired by the increasing trend among the youth to remain child-free. She also wanted to use the play as a venue to inform and educate, for example, about the importance of family planning. Personal observations and experiences flavored the play: she witnessed mothers give birth while she was an intern at the Bicol Medical Center in Naga.
Helena is now updating her environmental play ‘Da Ipis Kronikels’ while reviewing for the Medical Technology Professional Board Exam. She wants to continue writing and being in the theater scene but accepts that this is not sustainable. As a medical technologist, she sees herself going abroad, to the New Zealand of her play, so she can help support family, and a younger sibling in particular. But even if she moves away from home, she will continue to write and be involved in theater.
Krishia De Los Poyos of Ligao is a licensed professional teacher, thespian, music artist, and playwright. A bachelor of Performing Arts graduate cum laude of Bicol University and a graduate student in Culture and Arts Education, she teaches part-time at her alma mater.
Krishia’s parents gave her free rein to watch television which served as an an introduction to storytelling. Her first love though is music. Self-taught, she composes songs and plays the guitar and piano. She has had no formal training in writing in Bikol either, although she took a subject in Playwriting in college. The late playwright and professor Julio ‘July’ Mendoza introduced her to writing plays. Other influences were Jobert Grey Landeza whom she has worked with in theater since college, and Sari Saysay of Sining Banwa.
She did write a Bikol song for Arts Month but writing drama was another thing. “Nakakatakot, to be able to sit with whatever you’re writing compared to whatever you’re presenting.” She writes when “my mind is not enough to bear the responsibility of being the audience; I need an audience to listen to my thoughts. Masarap magkuwento,” plus she sees the impact of theater on people. She writes for stage because characters can speak, act, and there are visuals and sounds; she finds fiction more challenging.
Krishia wrote ‘Luyos’ after submitting another play for VLF in Manila. This prompted her to try writing for VLF Bikol. The story revolves around Miko, a full-fledged architect, who goes home to visit Lola Viring. Throughout the play, Viring never stops shredding katnga (taro) leaves for stewing. Miko’s mother is overseas with a new family but sends money home; his father also has another family. Miko feels bad about leaving his grandmother and hometown to work in Manila but promises to make their lives better.
Krishia drew from her experience of culture shock as a promdi outcast from rural Ligao in the city of Legazpi. Wanting to fit in, she also felt guilt about turning her back on her town and language. She therefore considers the play as an apology to Ligao, its culture, and the people who raised her. She wrote the play in Ligaoenyo, the West Miraya variant of Albay Bikol, to reconnect with her linguistic roots and express gratitude to the people who shaped her identity. Both Lola Viring and Miko reflect her guilt of wanting to leave home to improve her life. ‘Luyos’ or sacrifice is the key metaphor and message: “Who are sacrificing themselves for you?”
Krishia says the play is feminist in the sense that it bats for empathy and equality. It shows the character of Viring in her quiet strength and unseen labor, revealing how older women in rural households carry the most emotional weight in the community but are not recognized. “This is reflective of my own humanistic view in showing the realities of love and life,” she says.
Aside from the Ligao language Krishia uses, the play is very Bikol in its being close to home. She wanted to offer a new, liminal, and horrific take on the theme of unconditional sacrificial love and guilt.
Krishia continues to write songs and has started writing a full play about Alzheimer’s—a story between a struggling artist and her mother slowly being consumed by the disease, only seeing glimpses of her mother’s lucidity during a song she used to sing to her as a child. Could this have to do with the grandparent she loves? The playwright was raised by her grandmother when her parents were busy.
Despite the theme of guilt on departure, she thinks of leaving teaching to work for government or even to go abroad, for the sake of stability. She still has the passion to continue in creative work but does not believe in being a ‘starving artist.’ But she will continue to write as long as “I have something I still want to say.”
Ivy Bataller Cultivo of Tiwi, Albay, has a bachelor’s degree in Political Science and is a first-year law student at the Bicol University.
A library gimmick that offered stamps for books, Lampara children’s books and stories on Wattpad as a pre-teen, and teachers, introduced her to literature. She also became an avid fan of Bob Ong. She first read Nick Joaquin’s ‘May Day Eve’ in high school and was astounded that such a story could have been written. Most of her other exposure has been through DVD films.
Loneliness was a motivation to write; she did not have playmates as a child and “makulit ang imagination ko.” Her English and Filipino teachers in Naga (Baño) National High School in Tiwi commended her writing ability. She tried her hand at writing a novella, filling notebook after notebook with 52 handwritten chapters. She experimented with whatever genre they were studying, such as a sonnet after studying Shakespeare. A classmate who noted her writing ability passed the word and Ivy started receiving commissions to write poems for classmates.
There are no other writers in the family, she says. In fact, her mother, a teacher and guidance counselor, was surprised to learn from her teachers that Ivy composed music and joined poetry competitions. Ivy has had no training in writing and was always pleasantly surprised when her pieces were accepted. She relied mainly on observation, experiences, and imagination. She also remembers a time when Abdon Balde Jr. invited students to his home in Tiwi and gave them tips on writing.
Ivy first became interested in drama when her Art Appreciation teacher, Krishia de Los Poyos, invited her to watch the plays of BU Performing Arts students (BPEA). She then tried her hand at playwriting, and her first theater piece was ‘Table for Two, Coffee for One,’ accepted for script reading in PedXing Year 8. When BPEA students accepted writers from other colleges for their Duplo theater showcase, Ivy submitted ‘Siisay an Masapna?’ Both scripts explore grief. The first is a take on the use of AI to cope with grief in hopes for closure, and the second, on the imbalance in age and gender roles even in household chores after a mother’s death.
On Krishia’s suggestion, Ivy planned to submit an entry to VLF Main in Manila but missed the deadline, and when VLF Bikol opened, she submitted the punny ‘Libing Things.’ Ivy really wanted to write a play centered on violence against women and children (VAWC). Her original working title was ‘Peklat Cream,’ used to conceal bruises and scars of battered women. When she was in a ‘flow state,’ she thought of a funeral parlor with women morticians applying make-up on corpses. What she did not know about funeral processes, she did research on. She also drew ideas from watching ‘Impossible Crime’ on tv. She added a rather disturbing highlight from what she learned from the Revised Penal Code, that corpses are treated as property instead of persons.
Ivy did not expect her play to be accepted to VLF Bikol; she was aware that there were many other writers with more experience in playwriting. “Natulala ako when I heard I had made it.” The organizers then asked her to translate the piece to Bikol, the preferential language for VLF in the region.
The story is very Bikol, not only in the Legazpi-cum-Sangay language variant of the boundary town of Tiwi, but in the fact that the characters and sub-plots are based on actual cases of VAWC that her Sociology professor had gathered from field work in the region. These stories filled her with rage, and she wanted to share them through drama.
Why did she decide to study Law? At first, she didn’t know what she wanted as a career. She only knew that she had been taught to love her country and to give back to the community. She took up Political Science for this and was active in college. She however shirks social media because users tend to be polarized, everything is either black and white, and therefore useless in civilized discourse. A teacher with whom she shared her thoughts told her that women were considered mababang uri in society. The teacher added, “the least thing you can do in this life is attain greater heights. Explore, go. Magalit nang magalit. Para sa mga babae.” She therefore plans to use her knowledge of law to help women. And now that she is enamored of culture and the arts because of VLF, she will go into cultural research even if she becomes a lawyer.
Ivy’s new work for BU’s Duplo Theater Festival is ‘P.I. Nating Lahat,’ about gossip and the hypocrisy of so-called moral guardians. ‘Things We Should Never Do in School’ is another of her recent plays. Written for Sining Banwa’s Ped Xing festival in November 2026, it touches on teachers’ frustrations and school shootings. She is currently drafting a piece that integrates issues of faith and the environment. As someone who grew up in a strictly religious family, she is a devotee of another woman, Nuestra Señora de Salvacion, the patroness of Tiwi.
Jennifer Lyn Romano is a filmmaker and teacher from Canaman, Camarines Sur. She writes essays and screenplays and directs films in Bikol. She has a bachelor’s degree in Communication from the Ateneo de Naga University and a Master’s in Media Studies (Film) from the University of the Philippines in Diliman. Her ‘Dalan: Exploring the Development of Cinemagoing in Mid-twentieth-century Naga City, 1923–1970’ received the best thesis award from the College of Mass Communications in 2026. She teaches at the Department of Media Studies of the Ateneo de Naga University.
Jenn has written opinion pieces for the column ‘Hawan Dalan’ for the digital magazine Magbikol Kita: about her search for the first film ‘Breaking Grounds’ made by a Bikolano, Francois Truffaut and film in the regions outside Manila, the Netflix series ‘Emily in Paris,’ and consumerism in online shopping. She also published ‘From Middle East to Bikol Land: The Bicharas and Their Movie Houses’ in the second issue of SAYSAY: The Journal of Bikol History (2022) with a Filipino version in the Ateneo de Manila University’s journal Katipunan.
Jenn reads a variety of materials, from creative to scholarly books but enjoys literary works na may taray, such as Jessica Zafra whom she read in college, Jhoanna Lynn Cruz, Jia Tolentino, and Susan Sontag. She likes the rhythm, pacing, and images in the books of fellow Bikol film maker Alvin Yapan. But since film is her medium, she was exposed more to the genre, from art cinema to KDrama. She follows the works of directors such as her idol Chloe Zhao (Songs My Brothers Taught Me, Hamnet), Marilou Diaz Abaya (Moral, Jose Rizal), and Anna Isabelle Matutina (12 Weeks).
Jenn considers Yapan as her mentor after college; he involved her in his projects, and she learned film making from him. She studied screenplay writing in college and graduate school courses, but her main training was in a workshop given by National Artist Ricky Lee, a Bikolano from Camarines Norte.
As to what moves her to write screenplays and make films, she simply loved stories as a child. She watched TV and movies, sketched, and even dreamed of becoming an actor. Looking back, she figures that she may have found film alluring because she was amazed at how stories were told and how images brought the viewer to many different climes and locales. The advent of computers in college was a venue for experimentation; she created PowerPoint slides with transitions, background music, and animations as birthday gifts to friends. In college, she became fascinated with the moving image, how a single shot of a landscape, for example, could communicate something words sometimes couldn’t.
Some of Jenn’s short films have been featured and recognized in film festivals such as the Furora Film Festival in Berlin, Tropfest in Malaysia, Gawad CCP, QC International Pink Festival, Sinag Maynila, Nabifilmex, and Cinema Rehiyon. Among her short films are ‘Kwatro: Otso’ which won the best live action film in the 2013 Cinema Rehiyon Bikol; ‘Takay,’ the 2015 Cinema Rehiyon Bikol Special Jury Prize; ‘Kapinunan kan mga Alon sa Danaw’ (Where the Lake’s Ripples Begin, 2017, Best Regional Entry in the 28th Gawad CCP), and ‘REJKT,’ an ongoing project that collects the names of EJK victims from all over the Philippines. She also directed ‘[Pa]duman’ (To Someplace) in 2014.
“Naggigibo akong pelikula ta nagresonate an language kaini. Not just a way of telling stories, but a way to understand people, places, and experiences,” she says. She started at a time when regional filmmaking was ripe, and appreciates the sustained efforts of those who preceded her. “Mas nakakua akong courage to imagine becoming a filmmaker while staying rooted in Bikol.”
Jenn does not claim expertise in Bikol; her use of the language is contemporary colloquial and mixed with English and Tagalog. “Pero sa Bikol pa din po ang pinaka-harani sa lived experience ko as a writer/director pati na din kan mga subjects na tig-aadvocate ko. Haluyon na panahon na ang mga pelikula Tagalog-centered, gamit ang Tagalog na lengwahe. Panahon naman na magin mas diverse ang mga nagkakahiriling ta sa pelikula.”
The making of Jenn’s debut feature film was serendipitous. She was doing archival research for her thesis when Cinemalaya called for entries. Bikol film maker Arjanmar Rebeta suggested that she apply. In the archives, she noted that the collapse of the Colgante bridge in Naga was the headline of the last issue of Naga Times in September 1972. Martial law was declared five days later, followed by a media blackout. This sparked her interest in exploring what happened later, hence, the film.
‘Padamlagan,’ set in September 1972 in Naga City, is about a widower’s search for his missing son. Could the son have been among the victims when the Colgante bridge collapsed from the weight of the crowd watching the Peñafrancia fiesta’s fluvial procession? Or kidnapped, disappeared, and ‘salvaged’ because of activism? Or gone underground or to the hills?
The first version of ‘Padamlagan’ was for a short film, but it was accepted as a Cinemalaya full-length feature. The Cinemalaya workshop helped her build the script, which moved from something fully fictional to a hybrid with a documentary/interview section. From the twenty that underwent workshops for script and other film aspects, Jenn’s film was among the top ten to receive a grant. She knew it would make it as she felt that the film aligned with the advocacies of Cinemalaya as an institution. “I also felt that the film was a big contribution in the gap in regional and martial law representations.”
This slow-burn film, written and voiced in Naga Sentral Bikol, won the Best Production Design award at the 21st Cinemalaya Philippine Independent Film Festival. It is a truly Bikol film, not only in language, but in its subject of local history and process of interviews, research, and shooting. Jenn made sure the film was grounded in truth because her objective in making it was really to commemorate the Colgante tragedy, which by the way, still has no historical marker more than half a century later. She also made sure that there was a platform for local artists and film workers to create and collaborate, even if there were crew members from outside Naga.
She thinks that the framework she used in her thesis has a Marxist leaning that is also reflected in creative practice. But when she was putting the film together, she was aware that she had to ground it in the parochial, ecclesiastical space of Naga, so liberation theology played a role, although she is not sure if that translated well in the film.
Jenn’s current project is Bikol science fiction. She also has a script about Bikolnon in Manila to explore the limits of the term ‘regional.’ She sees herself continuing in the field, quoting Rainier Maria Rilke in ‘Letters to a Young Poet’ that one must go into one’s self to discover whether one must create.
“Mapelikula daw ako? Ano an gusto kong sabihon sa kinaban? and dig into one’s self for an answer. Kun tuninong an banggi tapos nadakop mo an sadiri mong nagsimbag na ‘I must,’ then sabi ni Rilke, build your life in accordance with that necessity. Para sako, ining pagpepelikula, dawa masakiton siyang i-sustain, forever kong pipilion na struggle.”
Ma. Cecilia ‘Maki’ C. de la Rosa is a poet, fictionist, playwright, and translator. Born in Caramoan, Camarines Sur, Maki spent her elementary and high school years in Naga City. She graduated with a bachelor of arts degree in Philippine Arts from UP Manila and a Master of Arts Malikhaing Pagsulat in 2022 from UP Diliman. She now teaches in the Department of Art Studies of UP and has received recognition as UP Artist 1 and the UP REPS award when she was in the Researchers Extension and Professional Staff.
As a child, Maki read whatever she could find around her house, comics, newspapers, and the encyclopedia her father had invested in. Even if she studied at the Naga City Science High School, she felt more attracted to the Humanities rather than the Science track. An early influence was maternal uncle Florito Culvera Sr. who wrote short fiction and was published in the Philippine Graphics magazine. He noted her high grades in English and said “Magigin writer ka, may masunod sako. Tinandaan ko.” She wrote for the school paper and for competitions. In UP, the use of Filipino was encouraged even for term papers, and she soon learned to write comfortably in the language. Exposure to the nationalist movement in college also became an influence. She was moved by a reading of Sorsoganon revolutionary Wilfredo Gacosta’s ‘Bakit Ngumiti Lang Kayo?’ in her varsity organization UP Ibalon. She was also inspired by the then detained Kerima L. Tariman (✝) for her idealism as well as her facility in writing in several languages.
Maki’s training in writing has been in the university; she wrote a creative thesis in poetry for her master’s degree. Attendance in writing workshops such as the 60th UP National Writers Workshop in 2021 and the De La Salle University’s Bienvenido Santos Creative Writing Center’s Kritika in 2024 provided more training.
Her main exposure to Bikol literature was as a child, hearing nursery rhymes, folksongs, and folktales. She recalls in particular the playing game ‘Uwak baya uwak/ susuguon taka/ maghiling nin dagat/ kun baga hunas na. // Diyan ka mag-agi/ sa uruitaas/ ta igwa diyan nin/ hinog na tapayas.’ She has, however, had no training in writing in Bikol, although she did attend one Saringsing workshop in the region. “Ngunyan na lang ako nagsusurat in Bikol. Garo mode nin pag-uli. Dakul kitang words na mas makonswelo na mayo sa Tagalog. Nakaka-amaze, arog kan angry register of Bikol. Pero saralaksalak na an Bikol ko; dai ko na aram kun anong Bikol an gamit ko. So I edit my work to make it sound more consciously the Caramoan variant.”
The University of Santo Tomas Publishing House, 2026, University of the Philippines Press, and the indie Gantala Press, Aklat Ulagad, Kataga, and Alagwa have published her creative works. In 2017, she wrote the children’s story Ang Punong Mainggitin for Lampara Books. She is also published in journals such as Akda and Daluyan, in the Theater volume of the CCP Encyclopedia of Philippine Art 2nd Edition, and in books of luminaries Miguel A. Bernad, S.J., National Artist Nicanor G. Tiongson, Edna Zapanta-Manlapaz, Nick Joaquin, and Anton Juan, among others.
Maki’s one-act plays, the Palanca-awarded ‘Ang Mga Bisita ni Jean’ (2016), ‘Labor Room (2018), and ‘Mga Balo’ (2022) were staged by VLF at the Cultural Center of the Philippines. A couple of these plays have been restaged in Lucena, UP Manila, Ateneo de Manila University, and San Francisco, California.
These plays are women’s stories. ‘Ang mga Bisita’ is about former rebel Jean who recalls her past life of love and loss. It was a way to recall and pay tribute to Bikol martyrs Frankie Joe Soriano, Christine Puche, and Ted Palacio. ‘Mga Balo’ is about a writer suffering from creative block. The writer is consciously self-critical as she seeks content from widows who had experienced tokhang and EJK during the Duterte regime.
Personal experience and observations at the Bicol Medical Center where Maki gave birth drove ‘Labor Room.’ Set in the maternity ward of a regional hospital, the story follows women who are about to give birth or who are scheduled for a D&C procedure after miscarriage. Other women in this play are the exhausted but efficient doctor, a nurse who always seems about to burst into song, and a chatty janitress. The play is an exposé of the travails of motherhood in a broken public health care system of an unjust society.
Maki’s short story in Bikol, ‘Manoy, Manoy’ won first prize in the first Gawad Bienvenido Lumbera National Commission on Literature and the Arts in 2022 and is now published in Mga Nagwaging Akda sa Gawad Bienvenido Lumbera 2022. She has a Filipino translation of this story in the Agos journal of the Sentro ng Wikang Filipino in Diliman. ‘Manoy’ is a dark and gripping story of a child who begs to be circumcised so that he could finally ‘be a man.’ The child’s innocence amid violence and psychological harm is a harsh critique of machismo, a dysfunctional Filipino family, and an inadequate educational system. It is very local in its choice of the angry register of Bikol, whether in the rapsak of kanto language or familial affection.
Her latest book, Sa Paraan ng Ating Pananalig (2026) touches on faith, with the kicker “Ang tula po’y dasal din, hindi ba?” The book is her homage to a bosom friend and comrade who has passed on. Maki continues to write poems for advocacy, such as for the political detainee Amanda Echanis.
Discarding the hagkus
While the bigkis, the infant’s belly-binder, has been declared as a danger to newborns, the post-partum hagkus of the mother is sometimes still used for abdominal support and cultural reasons, even if it may pose some risks such as breathing and digestion problems. The maternal binder has therefore not been totally discarded in medical and traditional practice.
But the literary metaphor is another matter. The Gen Zs Helena, Krishia, and Ivy had never heard the word hagkus before. Millennial Jenn said the word was familiar but mistook it for the infant’s belly-binder. It was only Maki, also a millennial and the only mother in this group, who recognized the word; her mother had taught her to wear the post-partum binder after Maki gave birth.
Just as the word is unfamiliar to most of these 21st century Bikol women writers, the traditional binder as a symbol for woman is no longer relevant as metaphor for their creative work. Without necessarily turning their backs on being parents, the writers no longer portray motherhood as the woman’s end-all and be-all of existence. In the same way, they no longer subscribe to the traditional ideal of the abject self-sacrificing woman. This is most obvious in the works of Maki, Helena, and Ivy. Most of the women are afraid of or do not want to be mothers for various reasons.
In Maki’s ‘Labor Room,’ one woman had waited for some time to have a child, but most of the other women are dismayed about having too many children. One fears a cesarean section because of the expense. They all talk candidly about paglalaglag or abortion.
In ‘Mama,’ Narra is not ready to have a child because she will miss the opportunity of literal and figurative greener pastures in New Zealand. She dreams of having children in the future, but her priority is economic freedom before motherhood. Her financially well-off nine-months-pregnant obstetrician does not judge Narra’s unwillingness to be a mother and simply tells her to take care of herself.
In Ivy’s ‘Libing Things,’ a mother is chided for having another child too soon after a previous birth, for not using pills or condoms, and then attempting to abort her child lest it have a congenital disorder.
Women not wanting to have children is a theme in Philippine films such as the indie ‘Hinugot sa Langit’ (1985), ‘Bahay Bata’ (2011), and ‘Sunshine,’ (2024). Films like these may have influenced our movie-going writers. Getting rid of the baby that is the consequence of an affair, rape, or for career advancement is the ‘happy ending’ in a country where abortion is ‘kasalanan sa Diyos’ and a crime. A much earlier reference point on the topic is Lino Brocka’s ‘Tinimbang ka ngunit Kulang’ (1974) where a barbaric procedure with a wire hanger renders Lolita Rodriguez’s Kuala deranged. Pro-choice advocates are gaining adherence in this country which also does not allow divorce.
The other texts are marked by the mother’s absence. In Jenn’s ‘Padamlagan’ and in Ivy’s ‘Siisay an Masapna?’ the respective mothers have passed away. While Jenn’s films such as ‘Takay’ and ‘Kapinunan’ are about women, mothers and motherhood do not figure in them. The mother in Krishia’s ‘Luyos’ is overseas and has a new family; the aged grandmother of a previous generation has had to step into her shoes.
There is a Mamay in Maki’s ‘Manoy’ but this mother is not the traditional caring and self-sacrificing Filipina. The child of a landowner, Mamay is at first in denial about her husband’s sexual predation, and is later passive-aggressive in alternately haranguing and serving him. “Alagad, nagtios si Mamay hasta nagadan si Papay, salamat sa Dios, sa helang. Kaya salamat sa Dios ta kan nagadan si Papay, saka tinao ni Lola Veronica an kaherasan sa daga ni Mamay…” Mamay no longer has to work and periodically falls asleep on the butaka while praying the rosary. She shuts her eyes to the fact that her two sons, including the eight-year old protagonist, have dropped out of school, smoke, drink, hang out with a gang, harass women, carry dangerous weapons, and everything else na muyang gibuhon. Unable to control them, she hurls cariño brutal epithets of deputa and demonyito at the boys.
Fertility rate. These 21st century literary texts reflect the dropping of the fertility rate in the country, from 4.1 children per woman in 1993 to a “historic low of 1.7 children per woman, falling below the population replacement level of 2.1,” according to the Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA). There is also a decline in the number of marriages.
One need not dig too deeply to identify the reasons for the falling birth rate. There is simply not enough money for food and shelter, not to mention childcare. Furthermore, middle class women tend to postpone marriage and childbearing to pursue higher education and establish a career. They would like to be able to provide enough for their children’s well-being, education, and stable future. Children are no longer pension plans or future care givers. Some women also say that it is difficult to find men who can be good partners and fathers and there are too many cases of gender-based violence. Others opine that the world is not the most wholesome place to bring up children and refuse to cause more suffering. Of course, this will have an impact on the future work force and the ageing society in the Philippines. But that is for another article.
An outdated metaphor. Violence, and gender violence in particular, is almost endemic in the texts and in the society depicted in the texts. But women are hitting back harder, although not necessarily in the old binary of the ‘battle of the sexes’ but at the patriarchal system that enables it. Social media, for example, shows women battling rape culture of what a past generation and the former President now in the ICC feebly attempt to excuse as ‘jokes.’
While Hagkus read the 20th century Bikol women writers’ texts through the feminist lens of the 1970s to the 90s, the metaphor of the post-partum binder no longer works for the post-feminist writers of the 21st century. The hagkus is an outdated image because motherhood is no longer central to women’s identity and female creativity is no longer tied to birth pains and wounds. There is no reweaving of the linen “to bind all women in solidarity, so collectively, they can birth their dreams of human dignity and liberation” in the postfeminist scenario that rejects the idea of women being passive victims of patriarchy. Given also queer theory, eco-feminism, cyberfeminism, and now data feminism, an entirely new framework and metaphor is needed to carry on the research on Bikol women writers.
The header features a montage of design elements of the alternate book cover of Hagkus: Twentieth-Century Bikol Women Writers by Paz Verdades M. Santos (credit: Vibal Foundation)
About the author
DOODS M. SANTOS is a retired professor of Ateneo de Naga University and De La Salle University. She has written and co-edited Hagkus and Pagmangno for DLSU Publishing House, Obras Maestras and Lipwas for AdNU Press, and Mga Daso: Stories of Martial Law in Bikol for UP Press. She serves as a referee for three university presses and is a volunteer for the ecology with Sumaro sa Salog (SULOG), Inc. and Irukan. (Photo: Doods Santos at the Ateneo de Naga University Commencement Ceremonies 2025)