I consider myself fortunate to have done a bit of traveling around the Philippines when I was younger. While others may have their sights set on going overseas, I was more hooked locally. I wanted to see my own. Get to know it first before “conquering the world”. I was always intrigued about the rice terraces of Banaue, the mummies in Kalinga, the reefs in Apo Island and Malapascua, the Philippine eagles in Davao, the lush forests in Negros Island, of the high Maria Cristina Falls, of that aircraft debris up in Mt. Manunggal and more. I’ve always wondered, what could be in all those 7,107 islands that make up the archipelago? I kept hearing in school that this country is rich in natural resources. All those black and white textbooks said it. All those backpackers said it. All those Philippine post cards showing turquoise-green waters located in God knows where said it.

So I did go, whenever I could afford to and saw with my very own eyes that it’s not a lie. Indeed, the Philippines is an absolutely beautiful country, from its mountains down to its seas. No doubt about it. It’s worth exploring every nook and cranny. Well, except the big cities.

Oma with Tumihays family in southern Palawan, a Tau't Bato tribe.

With the Katutubong Filipino Project we get to see more of the country especially those locations that are harder to reach. While I am grateful for this rare opportunity, going to all these almost inaccessible places is starting to take its toll on me, physically and emotionally. Whereas those long and bumpy, very dusty bus rides from before meant nothing but sheer fun to my once youthful, adventurous spirit, I find myself whining lately. I am slugging, so to speak. My husband can very well attest to that.

I can’t however allow myself be overcome with these inconveniences. It is certainly true that there are days when I’d rather be stuck in my comfort zone than out in the field. When I’d wish for a softer bed to lay on at night. And better-tasting meals. There is one thing however, that I believe will carry me through until the project is finished. And they are the people we encounter, the local folks – our trike drivers, boatmen, the kagawads and barangay captains, the sari-sari store owners who gladly volunteer to cook for us, our little companions during bath-times in the river. They who have been our trustworthy guides, who didn’t ask for much or anything. Most of the time, these are the people who linger in our memory long after we’ve settled back into our normal lives.

The beauty of the natural environment will always leave me in awe but the people we meet in these far-flung areas are by far, the most nurturing to the soul. They live in downright simplicity in places that, for one who lives in and deals constantly with the trappings of a ‘modern’ world , seem so out there. Forgotten. Left behind. Nothing that you would fancy materially. Their life is very simple but really, what more can one need other than food, a roof above their heads, a family? Whatever they lack in an otherwise material world, they make up with their kindred spirits. I am always humbled every time our tricycle driver picks us up early mornings with such eagerness and his trike proudly waiting, all cleaned up. We tell him where to go and almost always takes us somewhere else, beyond our expectations. He waits patiently. He communicates on our behalf. He shares with us a little bit about himself, what makes him happy, his hopes and dreams and at the end of the day, invites us into his home for some gin and fish soup.

There is that one time too after the usual devoid-of-comfort, 3-hour bus ride going into a remote barangay, where we ended up staying at a Kagawad’s house. Not only did they give us the best room (to think we were complete strangers!), our stay also allowed me to witness a most loving relationship between a lola and Carl, an 8-year old grandchild with cerebral palsy. I’ve never been this close before to one afflicted with such and now that I’ve seen what it is like, I’d say nothing else must have kept them going except pure love. I secretly shared that special bond for the three days we stayed with them, delighted just to watch them together. Carl is a happy boy loved by everyone around him and I went away not a bit bothered about the ride going back into town.

Oh, and that night of singing nursery rhymes to Tumihay’s children deep in the valley. What a joy! I started it to entertain them as there was just no way for us to understand each other. They all fell silent as they watched me sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Stars and other silly songs I could think of. When I got done with one, they wanted me to sing some more because for them it’s “mangayun” meaning, beautiful. My heart literally melted. How easy it is to please them! I could only wish I had more time to sing for them. They are a lovely bunch of happy kids.

These are just among a few memorable characters we’ve been fortunate enough to have known. We don’t get it easy all the time as not everyone can be pleasant to deal with. But I’ve noticed that in all the places we’ve visited so far, we always manage to find exactly the right person that can point us to where we ought to go. It’s as if Someone was making sure we are guided well and I take that as a great blessing.

I am convinced now that in every long, arduous, back-breaking journey that still lies ahead of us, there’s a pot of gold waiting when we arrive. I have learned not to worry too much anymore. Someone will be there to take care of us. Without fail. For human kindness abounds in every corner of this planet. Gentle yet strong enough to move us in many, unimaginable ways.

When in my youth the scenery was all I could think of, that seems not to matter anymore. I hold closer to my heart now every person, child and family that offered the best of what little they have, opened their doors freely and welcomed us in. Knowing that they are everywhere, especially in places most unfamiliar to us, is enough for me to set aside any discomfort and focus on what is life-enriching.

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy–think about such things. ” Philippians 4:8

The Tagbanua people are descendents of some of the oldest people in the Philippines likely coming from Borneo and historically had strong relations with Brunei. Today there are various subgroups of the Tagbanua throughout the province of Palawan. In Coron, the Tagbanua are distinct from the Tagbanua on mainland Palawan, not only in their language spoken but also their general way of life. The Calamian Tagbanua (those living on Coron Island and on mainland Coron/Busuanga and surrounding islands) have adopted a sea oriented way of life, living off of the ocean and its resources. The majority of Tagbanua in Coron live in two communities on Coron Island (a different island than mainland Coron). In recent years Coron Island has had an influx of visitors, both foreign and local, because of it’s stunning beauty. Many tourists will spend a day visiting a few different lakes on the island which are open to the pubic, including Kayangan and Twin Lakes. However, the majority of Coron Island is still off limits to guests who do not have permits to be there. In 2003, Coron Island and its surrounding waters was declared ancestral domain for the Tagbanua and they now restrict where people can visit on the island. We are told that many of the most beautiful lakes on Coron Island are sacred burial grounds for the Tagbanua and only those Tagbanua who own land on the island can visit them. Although getting to the sacred lakes would not be possible, Coron Island would still serve as our starting point to explore the Calamian Tagbanua. READ FULL STORY WITH PHOTOS

Jeffery at 19 years old. His name was given to him after a missionary in their village (a customary practice among the Manobos)

He was 7 years old when he came to Davao with an uncle who was blind and needed assistance. It became his home for the next 8 years of his life. Shortly after arriving there, a couple took notice of him while sitting in front of the church beside his uncle who was playing an instrument, his means of livelihood. Perhaps feeling sorry for the innocent, young Jeffrey, they offered him to come and live with them. The uncle agreed it was to the boy’s best interest and let him go.

Jeffrey knows them as Atty. Dodong and Len Len Fernandez. They were childless. He fondly calls them Tay and Nay. Watching him talk about those years with them, it’s easy to tell that his foster parents treated him very kindly. They clothed him, fed him well, gave him a room next to theirs, watched him ride his first bike, taught him night after night how to read and write (in Tagalog). He also can’t forget enjoying a jacuzzi with his Nay and Tay (we just presumed it’s a jacuzzi since he described it as “kanang lingin nga nay tubig nga magbula-bula”.) In short, he was treated very well. Almost like a son. A well-loved son.

Everything was going well for the young lad until such plans arose for this couple to move to Manila and Jeffrey, of course, was going with them. Only then did it occur to him that he needed to see his parents first before going any farther. They had no idea where he was all this time. And so, 8 years after he disappeared from Sitio Tibugawan, he made his way back into the mountains. Looking much like a boy from the city, hardly no one recognized him when he finally showed up but that didn’t matter. He was happy to see his parents and siblings again and that night when it was time to settle for bed, he said, he made sure to sleep between his parents.

He was planning to stay for a week at most before heading back to Davao and onto Manila but what he didn’t see coming was that 3 days into his visit, he would be coaxed into marriage. Fixed marriages (buya) is part of the Manobo culture. Children as young as 9 or 10 could be forced into marriage. But the main reason why his parents hurriedly made him do it was they didn’t want to lose him again. They wouldn’t hear him. He was all of 14 years old when the marriage took place of which he couldn’t do anything. To refuse could mean death in his family. He never made it back to Davao. He never made it back to school. To his foster parents who probably waited for days. He was totally crushed. He thought of ending his life several times, of running away and of killing his own father.

He went through hell picking up his life after that fateful day. He had to relearn living the ways of a Manobo lumad  — to hunt for food, to sleep without a mattress on very dark nights, to eat camote for days when food is scarce, to walk on foot for hours or days into the jungle or the sentro. He also learned to look out for his life because life, especially in the mountains, could end rather quickly. When at last he finally accepted his fate and was ready to move on, the very first thing he did was visit the Seventh Day Adventist school, Mountain View College, who used to run the mission school in Tibugawan years back and plead with the administrator to open the school again. He did it primarily for his siblings to be able to attend school, albeit a non-formal one. He also began to find ways to earn in order to support not only his immediate family but two more families under his care. Today Jeffrey is a well-adjusted, well-respected, very capable young man in his community. He still thinks of his foster parents every day and what he would have been by now — maybe a student in high-school. Yet he also appreciates the fact that had he not returned, his siblings who mean so much to him, would have all been in a sorry state, married at a tender age. (One of his siblings, a sister died giving birth at age 11) He has since stopped his parents from fixing his siblings into marriage. He has known how hard it is to be married without the desire to or knowing anything of raising a family and doesn’t want any more of his siblings to go through the same. He wants them to be educated and will do everything in his capacity to send them all to school.

Jeffrey is proud of being a Lumad. He has the blood of a fearless Manobo warrior. Yet, he also sees the need for a change to better their lives (starting with education) and that is exactly what he is doing at present.

We will be raffling off THREE prints and each winner will be able to select the image they would like from the six shown below. Anyone who makes a pledge of $10 or more will automatically be entered into the raffle drawing. Those who have already made a pledge will also be entered into the raffle. These vintage prints will be 14″ long and printed on Fuji Crystal Archival paper. If we reach our goal we will hold the raffle the week following February 4th and the prints will be shipped and delivered shortly after. (Read More)

Dean C. Worcester (1866 – 1924) was an American zoologist, public official, and authority on the Philippines. From 1899 to 1901 he was a member of the United States Philippine Commission; thenceforth until 1913 he served as secretary of the interior for the Insular Government of the Philippine Islands. In 1910, he founded the Philippine General Hospital, which has become the hospital for the poor and the sick. Many of his tribal photographs from the Philippine Islands are held by National Geographic and the University of Michigan.

See ALL the prints available for this Raffle

Fifty-five days. That’s the number of days left before our fund-raising on Kickstarter ends. Many of you have already seen or heard about this project that my husband and I are hoping to accomplish. We’ve got a long, long way to go still; nonetheless, we are working hard each day on spreading this out to everyone simply because we want this project realized. For the value that we believe it holds.

It’s my husband who has always shown interest in covering Indigenous people, him being the photographer and always in search for unique subjects and stories. Frankly speaking, I had thought such groups didn’t exist anymore or had all been encroached on in some way. I remember in the 80s, during summers spent in Gigaquit, Surigao, it was a common sight to see the indigenous Mamanwas roaming around barely clothed. Nowadays, you can hardly see them going about town dressed the way they used to and sadly too, they have been heavily influenced by all these large mining companies surrounding them in all corners. They have learned to ask for money. They have learned to love money. Even when you approach them and politely ask if you can take their portraits, they will ask for money.  Everything now has a price tag for them. That’s when I started to think they are forever gone.

So when Jake took me along with him to Isabela last July 2011, I was a little bit hesitant due to the reason mentioned above. Also, it’s never easy to leave the kids even for just a few days. Good thing he was relentless in telling me how much he needed me to be there (to perform various roles:). Boy, am I glad I went else I would have missed so much relearning who I truly am. A Filipino. The Filipino. And I saw an abundance of that in these Dumagats and Agtas that we encountered and later befriended. Everything is still so fresh in my memory up until now – the loveliness of the people, the simplicity of life, nature and man supporting each other, depending on each other. Money has little or no value at all. It took me back to a world hundreds of years ago and at the same time, took me back inwards. I only have to think of them and I get my jolt of inspiration when I need it.

I have always been a proud citizen of this country despite the negative images oftentimes portrayed by fellow citizens. That one particular trip however, made me even prouder. Because I have found my roots. As authentic as it can ever get. And it is a beautiful culture, a beautiful world.

Unfortunately, a constant threat is hovering over these people and their land, and time may come when everything about them and their way of life will change. Big businesses, always on the look-out for more resources can barge in at any time. If and when that happens, what I’ve seen and come to love will surely vanish. No doubt, I will also lose a huge chunk of myself.

So with these thoughts, Jake and I came up with an idea to bring about awareness to these cultures. We know that not everyone is familiar of them and their existence. It is a very modern world we live, but we believe that this project can greatly benefit us, our children and our children’s children. That through photographs, we may always have something to look back with regards to our heritages. With pride.

May it never be lost.