UPB Cordillera Creative Writing Workshop

UPB Cordillera Creative Writing Workshop Hosted biennially by the College of Arts and Communication of the University of the Philippines Baguio

11/09/2026

Ang Mga Wala sa Manila International Book Fair

Matagal ko nang isinuko ang Manila International Book Fair, hindi dahil wala itong halaga, kundi dahil bilang manunulat at publisher mula sa Region VI, maaga kong naunawaan na hindi natin maaaring isandig sa isang book fair sa Metro Manila ang tagumpay ng lahat ng ating literary, book, at literacy initiatives sa mga rehiyon. Hindi naging madali para sa akin ang ganitong pag-unawa, lalo na noong mga unang taon na parang mahalagang ritwal para sa isang publisher ang makarating sa Manila, makapag-display ng libro, makahanap ng mambabasa, at masabing bahagi tayo ng mas malaking industriya ng libro sa bansa. May kakaibang validation kapag nakikita mo ang iyong libro sa isang malaking convention hall sa Maynila, katabi ng malalaking publishing house, kilalang authors, at mga pamagat na may kakayahang umabot sa pambansang merkado. Ngunit habang tumatagal, mas lalo kong nakikita ang isang simpleng tanong na hindi natin dapat katakutan: Sino ang mga wala roon, at bakit wala sila? At marahil, mas mahalaga pa, ano ang ibig sabihin ng kanilang pagkawala sa isang pambansang usapan tungkol sa pagbabasa, pagsusulat, paglalathala, at kultura?

Hindi ko rin nais sisihin ang mga manunulat na patuloy na nangangarap makasali sa Manila International Book Fair, dahil naiintindihan ko kung bakit mahalaga ito sa kanila. Para sa maraming writers, lalo na iyong nagsisimula pa lamang, ang MIBF ay tila isang pagkakataon upang makita ang kanilang pangalan, makilala ang kanilang libro, makahanap ng publisher, makabuo ng network, o simpleng maranasan kung ano ang pakiramdam na mapabilang sa isang malaking literary ecosystem. Hindi masama ang mangarap na makarating sa Maynila, at lalong hindi masama ang maghangad na mabasa ng mas maraming tao. Ang problema ay kapag nasanay tayong isipin na ang pagkilala sa Maynila ang sukdulang sukatan ng halaga ng isang libro, at kapag hindi nakapasok sa malaking book fair ay para bang hindi sapat ang libro, manunulat, o publisher. Dito ako mas nagiging mapanuri, dahil ang ganitong pananaw ay hindi lamang personal na usapin kundi usapin ng istruktura ng ating book industry. Kung ang sentro lamang ang paulit-ulit nating tinatanaw bilang pamantayan ng tagumpay, paano natin tunay na mapapalakas ang mga reading community sa mga lugar na malayo sa sentro?

Kaya para sa akin, mahalagang maging mapanuri tayo sa Manila International Book Fair at sa iba pang malalaking book events, hindi upang maliitin ang kanilang halaga kundi upang maunawaan kung ano talaga ang kanilang ginagawa at kung ano ang hindi nila kayang gawin. Ang isang malaking book fair ay maaaring maging mahalagang marketplace, networking space, promotional platform, at meeting place para sa iba't ibang sektor ng industriya ng libro, ngunit hindi ito awtomatikong representasyon ng buong Filipino literary landscape. Hindi lahat ng libro ay naroon, hindi lahat ng publisher ay kayang magbayad para makilahok, hindi lahat ng writer ay may kakayahang bumiyahe, at hindi lahat ng reader sa bansa ay may pisikal o pinansiyal na access upang makarating sa venue. Kapag nakita natin ang mga librong nakadisplay doon, dapat din nating itanong kung anong mga libro ang hindi natin nakikita at kung anong mga kuwento ang hindi nakararating sa ganitong espasyo. Ang hindi natin nakikita sa isang book fair ay hindi nangangahulugang hindi ito umiiral. Minsan, ang wala sa display ang siyang pinakamahalagang bahagi ng kuwento tungkol sa kung paano talaga gumagana ang Filipino book industry.

Mahalaga ring suportahan ang regional initiatives dahil ang literary culture ng bansa ay hindi lamang nabubuo sa Metro Manila. Sa Western Visayas, halimbawa, may mga manunulat, publisher, reading advocates, teachers, translators, librarians, cultural workers, illustrators, community organizers, at independent booksellers na patuloy na gumagawa ng mga bagay na maaaring hindi palaging napapansin ng national media ngunit may tunay na epekto sa kanilang mga komunidad. May mga librong nakasulat sa Hiligaynon, Kinaray-a, Aklanon, Capiznon at iba pang wika na maaaring hindi kailanman maging national bestseller ngunit mahalaga sa isang bata na unang nakakakita ng sariling wika sa isang aklat. May mga maliit na book fair na walang malaking stage, walang celebrity author, at walang napakalaking crowd, ngunit nagtitipon ng mga bata, g**o, magulang, local writers, at community readers. Para sa akin, hindi dapat ikahiya ang ganitong mga gawain dahil ang reading culture ay hindi naman nagsisimula sa malalaking convention hall; nagsisimula ito sa isang silid-aralan, isang barangay library, isang maliit na bookstore, isang community center, isang café, o kahit sa isang tahanan kung saan may isang taong nag-abot ng libro sa isang bata.

Ngunit kailangan din nating maging matapat tungkol sa ekonomiya sa likod ng MIBF. Ang Manila International Book Fair ay bahagi ng book industry, at dahil industriya ito, may negosyo, marketplace, sales targets, distribution networks, marketing strategies, booth costs, logistics, partnerships, rights, institutional buyers, at iba pang economic considerations na kailangang tingnan. Walang masama sa pagiging negosyo ng isang book fair dahil kailangang may economic engine upang mapanatili ang isang malaking event, ngunit nagiging problema kapag ipinapalagay nating ang commercial visibility ay katumbas ng kabuuang kalagayan ng Filipino literature at reading culture. Hindi lahat ng mahalagang libro ay commercially viable, at hindi lahat ng commercially successful na libro ay awtomatikong kumakatawan sa kabuuan ng panitikan ng Filipino. Kung marketplace ang isang malaking book fair, kailangan nating tanggapin na may mga librong mas madaling ibenta kaysa sa iba, may publishers na mas malaki ang kapital, at may authors na mas malakas ang marketability. Ang tanong, kung gayon, ay hindi kung masama ang negosyo, kundi kung paano natin titiyaking hindi tuluyang natatabunan ng lohika ng negosyo ang mga aklat, wika, manunulat, at komunidad na hindi kayang makipagkompetensya sa parehong antas.

Ito rin ang dahilan kung bakit maraming writers at independent publishers mula sa mga rehiyon ang hindi madaling makilahok sa ganitong uri ng gawain. Para sa isang independent writer mula sa probinsiya, hindi lamang registration o booth fee ang kailangang isipin kundi pamasahe, accommodation, pagkain, shipping ng books, transportation ng materials, promotional expenses, at pagkawala ng ilang araw na maaaring ginagamit sana sa trabaho o pagtuturo. Para sa isang maliit na regional publisher, ang perang gagastusin sa isang malaking event sa Maynila ay maaaring katumbas na ng halaga ng pagpapalimbag ng panibagong title, pagbabayad sa illustrator, pagkuha ng editor, pagproseso ng ISBN at iba pang publishing requirements, o pagpapadala ng libro sa mga paaralan at library. Kaya kapag sinabi nating “sumali lang kayo,” kailangang itanong natin: May sapat ba silang resources upang gawin iyon? Hindi lahat ng hindi nakikita sa MIBF ay walang interes na makilahok; marami sa kanila ang simpleng walang sapat na kapital upang bumili ng espasyo sa isang merkadong matagal nang mas pabor sa mga may access, network, at resources.

At dito ko gustong ilagay ang sitwasyon ng independent writers at publishers sa mga rehiyon. Marami sa kanila ang gumagawa ng halos lahat: nagsusulat sila, nag-eedit, naghahanap ng illustrator, nag-aayos ng layout, naghahanap ng printing press, nagpoproseso ng publication requirements, nagbebenta ng libro, nagdadala ng kahon sa mga event, nakikipag-usap sa bookstores, at kung minsan ay sila rin ang nagbabayad sa shipping at marketing. Sa ilang pagkakataon, sariling pera ng writer o publisher ang ginagamit upang mailabas ang isang libro na maaaring walang katiyakang mababawi ang puhunan. Mas mahirap pa kapag ang ginagamit na wika ay isang regional language dahil mas maliit ang commercial market at mas limitado ang distribution network, kahit napakalaki ng cultural value ng mga librong ito. Kaya bago natin husgahan kung bakit hindi “national” ang isang regional publisher, baka kailangan muna nating tingnan kung gaano kahirap maging publisher sa isang lugar kung saan kakaunti ang bookstores, limitado ang institutional buyers, at hindi pa sapat ang ecosystem para suportahan ang independent publishing.

Hindi rin sapat na sabihing kailangan lamang nating “mag-market better” o “mag-social media” upang malutas ang problemang ito. Ang problema ng regional publishing ay hindi lamang kakulangan sa promotion kundi kakulangan sa istrukturang susuporta sa production, distribution, translation, circulation, preservation, at readership. Kung gusto talaga nating palawakin ang reading culture sa Filipino, kailangang may mas seryosong investment sa mga regional publishers at writers, lalo na sa publication grants at translation grants na hindi lamang nakasentro sa iilang institusyon o sa kompetisyong may napakakaunting slots. Kailangang isipin natin ang public funding bilang investment sa cultural infrastructure, hindi bilang pabuya na kailangang pag-agawan ng mga writer at publisher. Hindi dapat ang tanong ay kung sino ang pinakamagaling manghingi ng maliit na grant, kundi kung paano natin mapapalakas ang buong ecosystem upang mas maraming libro ang maisulat, maisalin, mailathala, maipamahagi, at mabasa. Kung tunay nating kinikilala ang libro bilang bahagi ng edukasyon, kultura, at pambansang pag-unlad, bakit tila palaging kailangang makiusap muna ang mga gumagawa nito bago sila suportahan?

Kailangan ding makinig ang mga organizers, government agencies, cultural institutions, at iba pang organisasyong nangangalaga sa books sa mga manunulat at book workers mula sa mga rehiyon. Hindi iisa ang Filipino writer, at hindi rin iisa ang publishing experience ng isang manunulat sa Quezon City, Iloilo, Zamboanga, Davao, Cagayan de Oro, Tacloban, Baguio, Tawi-Tawi, o anumang bahagi ng bansa. Magkakaiba ang kanilang wika, audience, distribution networks, economic realities, cultural contexts, at access sa resources. Kaya kung may mga programang pambansa para sa literature, books, translation, publishing, at literacy, kailangan ng tunay na konsultasyon bago gumawa ng mga polisiya at programa. Hindi konsultasyon na parang requirement lamang sa proposal o meeting na may predetermined na sagot, kundi konsultasyong handang makinig at magbago ng disenyo batay sa aktuwal na karanasan ng mga nasa field. Kung paulit-ulit na pareho ang nakikinabang at pareho rin ang mga problemang binabanggit ng mga regional writers, marahil panahon nang tanungin natin kung ang sistema ba mismo ang kailangang baguhin.

At sa mga manunulat at publishers sa mga rehiyon, ito ang hamon ko: huwag nating hintayin na ang Maynila ang laging magsabi kung mahalaga ang ginagawa natin. Malaki na ang ipinagbago ng MIBF sa mga nakalipas na taon, at marahil kailangan din nating tanggapin na hindi na sapat ang isang malaking annual book fair sa Metro Manila upang maging pangunahing mekanismo ng accessibility ng books para sa isang bansang binubuo ng libo-libong isla, maraming wika, at napakaraming magkakaibang reading communities. Kung hindi sapat ang isang sentrong book fair, gumawa tayo ng sarili nating book fairs. Bumuo tayo ng regional collectives, local publishing networks, community reading festivals, school-based book fairs, mobile libraries, translation circles, independent bookstores, zine festivals, literary gatherings, at iba pang espasyong maaaring maging alternatibo sa centralized model. Hindi mahalaga kung maliit o malaki ang unang event; ang mahalaga ay may nag-uusap, may nag-oorganisa, may nagbabasa, may nagsusulat, may naglalathala, at may gumagawa ng paraan upang ang libro ay makarating sa mga taong hindi karaniwang naaabot ng mainstream distribution.

Bilang isang writer at publisher mula sa Western Visayas, natutunan kong hindi lahat ng laban ay kailangang dalhin sa Maynila upang maging lehitimo. May mga laban na mas kailangang ipaglaban dito mismo sa ating mga komunidad, kasama ang mga g**o, estudyante, librarians, artists, cultural workers, parents, local governments, bookstores, publishers, at ordinaryong readers. Ang paggawa ng regional book fair ay hindi kompetisyon sa MIBF; maaari itong maging katuwang nito at, higit sa lahat, maging katuwang ng isang mas malawak na pambansang reading ecosystem. Kapag may book fair sa Iloilo, Bacolod, Kalibo, Roxas, Antique, Cebu, Davao, Cagayan de Oro, Zamboanga, o iba pang lugar, hindi nito binabawasan ang halaga ng isang national book fair; sa halip, pinalalawak nito ang mapa ng kung saan maaaring mangyari ang literary exchange. Ang tunay na progress ng book industry ay hindi lamang nasusukat sa laki ng event kundi sa dami ng komunidad na nagkakaroon ng access sa libro at sa dami ng manunulat na nagkakaroon ng pagkakataong mabuhay at magpatuloy sa kanilang craft.

At habang ginagawa natin ang mga bagay na ito, kailangan nating patuloy na manawagan sa gobyerno. Hindi maaaring habang lumalaki ang pangangailangan para sa books, reading programs, translation, local literature, at cultural education ay nananatiling kakarampot ang suporta para sa mga taong gumagawa ng mga ito. Kailangang palakihin at gawing mas accessible ang publication grants, translation grants, regional literary programs, library acquisitions, writers' support, at iba pang mekanismong maaaring magpatatag sa book ecosystem. Kailangang suriin kung bakit napaka-competitive ng ilang grant program na parang napakakaunti lamang ng dapat suportahan, gayong napakalaki ng pangangailangan sa buong bansa. At higit sa lahat, kailangang alisin natin ang kultura kung saan ang writer at publisher ay tila kailangang magmakaawa upang makakuha ng maliit na halagang suporta para sa isang gawaing may malinaw namang public value. Kung ang isang grant ay hindi sapat upang makagawa ng makabuluhang libro, hindi sapat ang sabihin na “at least may grant”; kailangan nating tanungin kung tama ba ang disenyo, halaga, proseso, at pananaw ng programang iyon.

Hindi naman talaga ang MIBF ang kalaban. Ang mas malaking problema ay ang paniniwalang ang isang sentral na espasyo ang dapat maging sukatan ng kung ano ang mahalaga sa Filipino literature at publishing. Ang tunay na hamon ay kung paano natin gagawing mas decentralized, mas accessible, mas inclusive, at mas makatarungan ang ecosystem ng libro sa Filipino. Kaya sa susunod na makakita tayo ng mga litrato ng napakalaking crowd sa isang book fair, huwag lamang nating itanong kung ilan ang dumalo at magkano ang nabenta; itanong din natin kung sino ang wala roon, anong wika ang hindi natin nakita, anong rehiyon ang hindi narinig, anong independent publisher ang hindi nakalahok, at anong reader ang hindi pa rin naaabot. Dahil baka ang tunay na kuwento ng Filipino book industry ay hindi lamang nasa mga librong nakadisplay sa pinakamalaking book fair, kundi nasa mga librong wala roon, mga manunulat na hindi nakarating, at mga komunidad na patuloy na nagbabasa kahit hindi sila napapansin ng sentro. At marahil, panahon na upang hindi na natin hintaying kilalahin tayo ng Maynila bago natin kilalahin ang halaga ng mga ginagawa natin sa mga rehiyon.



Noel Galon de Leon is a writer and educator at the University of the Philippines Visayas. He teaches in the Division of Professional Education and at UP High School in Iloilo. He currently serves as faculty-in-charge of the UP Visayas Language Program Office and as secretary of the National Committee on Literary Arts of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA). His poetry has been recognized by the Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature.

12/08/2026

Stop Blaming the Reader

I found the article The Biggest Crisis in Philippine Literature Isn’t Translation. It’s Readers compelling because it asks a question that the Philippine literary community often avoids: who actually reads the literature we produce? Its shift from translation, international publishing, foreign rights, and global recognition toward readership is necessary. But I am not entirely convinced by the article’s central framing. For me, calling the crisis a “reader problem” risks making the reader responsible for a failure that is much larger than individual reading habits. The shortage of readers, assuming that there is indeed a shortage, cannot be separated from the cultural, economic, educational, institutional, and geographic conditions that determine who gets access to books in the first place. I agree that readers are essential to literature, but I would hesitate to blame the absence of a strong reading culture on readers themselves.

The question I would rather ask is not simply, “Why are Filipinos not reading?” but “What conditions have we created for Filipinos to become readers?” This distinction is important because reading is never purely an individual act. We often speak about reading as if it were a matter of personal discipline, attention span, or interest, but the ability to sustain a reading practice is deeply shaped by material circumstances. A person needs access to books, affordable editions, libraries, bookstores, schools, teachers, time, physical space, and communities that value reading. These conditions are not equally distributed. A reader in Metro Manila may have access to dozens of bookstores, literary events, universities, independent publishers, and libraries, while a reader in a provincial community may have very different options. To reduce this disparity to a lack of interest is to misunderstand how readership is produced.

This is where I think the article needs a more structural vocabulary. I would move the conversation from the “reader problem” to the literary infrastructure problem. By literary infrastructure, I mean the entire network through which books are produced, financed, edited, published, distributed, sold, taught, reviewed, archived, translated, and read. Readers exist within this infrastructure. They do not simply appear because we tell them that literature is important. Schools produce certain kinds of readers. Publishers determine which manuscripts become books. Bookstores determine which books become visible. Libraries determine which books remain accessible after their commercial life ends. Cultural institutions determine which writers and traditions receive support. The market determines what can survive economically. These structures collectively shape the reading public.

I am especially interested in the article’s claim that reading has become a luxury. I think this is true, but perhaps not in the way the article initially suggests. Reading becomes a luxury not simply because people are distracted by technology or because books are expensive. It becomes a luxury because time, access, cultural capital, and economic security are themselves unequally distributed. For someone working multiple jobs, commuting for several hours, caring for a family, or simply trying to survive economically, sustained literary reading may not be an easily available activity. The issue is therefore not only whether someone wants to read. It is whether that person has the social and material conditions necessary to read. This is why the discourse of “cultivating readers” can become problematic when it ignores the unequal distribution of the resources required to cultivate them.

There is also a class dimension to the way we talk about readers. When we imagine the ideal reader, we often unconsciously imagine someone who can purchase books regularly, visit bookstores, attend literary festivals, study literature formally, follow literary journals, and participate in intellectual communities. But this is only one kind of reader. There are readers who borrow books, share books, download texts, read photocopies, use public libraries, encounter literature through classrooms, or discover writers through social media. There are readers whose literary engagement happens in languages other than English or Filipino. There are readers who may never identify themselves as part of the “literary community” but who nevertheless read deeply. If our definition of readership is too narrow, we may end up diagnosing a reading crisis that is partly produced by our own limited understanding of who counts as a reader.

This becomes even more complicated when we talk about Philippine literature across languages and regions. The Philippines does not have a single literary public. We have multiple linguistic communities with their own traditions, histories, readerships, publishing practices, and literary institutions. A Hiligaynon reader, an Akeanon reader, a Kinaray-a reader, a Cebuano reader, a Waray reader, an Ilokano reader, and a Filipino or English reader may inhabit overlapping but very different literary worlds. When we say “Filipino readers,” we need to be careful about whose reading practices we are actually describing. The national literary market has historically been highly centralized, and this centralization affects not only what gets published but also what becomes visible as Philippine literature. A reading crisis may therefore also be a problem of linguistic and geographic fragmentation created by unequal systems of circulation.

This is why I am cautious about treating translation as something that should simply be displaced by readership. Translation and readership are not opposing priorities. They are interconnected. Translation can create readers, not merely serve readers who already exist. A Kinaray-a novel translated into Filipino can reach a reader who would otherwise never encounter it. A Hiligaynon poem translated into English can enter a classroom, an anthology, or an international literary conversation. A regional story translated into another Philippine language can cross an internal cultural border that may be just as significant as an international one. Translation can therefore function as a form of literary infrastructure. The more interesting question is not whether we should choose between translation and readers, but what kinds of translation create new relationships among readers, languages, regions, and literary traditions.

I also think we need to question our obsession with international recognition without dismissing its importance. Foreign publishers, translation grants, international book fairs, rights sales, and global literary networks can provide Filipino writers and publishers with opportunities that would otherwise be difficult to access. The problem begins when international visibility becomes the primary measure of literary success. A book can be translated into several languages and still remain inaccessible to the community that produced it. A writer can receive international recognition while the literary language they write in remains marginalized within the country. We should therefore ask whether the global circulation of Philippine literature is accompanied by stronger domestic circulation. It is possible to export literature successfully while failing to build the infrastructure necessary for Filipinos to encounter one another's literature at home.

This question becomes particularly urgent for regional publishing. As someone who has worked closely with books, writers, literary communities, and publishing outside the dominant centers, I find the idea of simply “creating readers” insufficient. Regional publishers often confront problems that cannot be solved by reader enthusiasm alone. Distribution is difficult. Bookstores are unevenly located. Shipping costs matter. Marketing budgets are limited. Institutional procurement can be unpredictable. Libraries may have limited acquisition budgets. Regional languages may have smaller commercial markets. Even when a book is excellent, there is no guarantee that it will reach the reader who needs or wants it. The problem is therefore not simply whether people want to read. Sometimes the book and the reader are separated by an entire infrastructure of economic and geographic barriers.

This also forces us to confront the politics of cultural value. Who decides which books deserve to circulate? Who decides which authors are important enough to teach? Which languages receive translation funding? Which books are reviewed? Which publishers are invited to major literary events? Which writers are included in national anthologies? Which regional traditions become representative of “Philippine literature”? These questions are not merely administrative. They involve power. Literary culture is produced through processes of selection, recognition, institutional endorsement, and exclusion. When certain books become visible while others remain obscure, this is not always because one book is objectively better than another. Often, visibility is connected to networks of institutions, capital, language, geography, and cultural legitimacy.

For this reason, I would also resist the idea that the reader is simply the final destination of publishing. The reader is part of the production of literary meaning, but the reader is also shaped by the publishing system. What people read depends partly on what is available to them. Availability influences familiarity. Familiarity influences interest. Interest influences readership. Readership then influences publishing decisions. This creates a cycle. If publishers consistently produce what they believe the market already wants, readers may have fewer opportunities to encounter unfamiliar genres, languages, forms, and perspectives. We therefore need to think beyond the simplistic relationship between supply and demand. Literature can also expand the imagination of the market by introducing readers to books they did not know they wanted.

I particularly appreciate the article’s argument that writers should not necessarily flatten the specificity of their stories in order to make them universally accessible. I strongly agree with this. The idea that literature must become culturally generic before it can travel internationally is deeply limiting. Regional specificity can be a source of literary power. A particular landscape, language, ritual, memory, food, history, or community can create the very details through which readers from elsewhere begin to recognize something human and shared. But this principle should not become an excuse to ignore the work of mediation. Specificity can invite readers into unfamiliar worlds, but access to those worlds may still require translation, contextualization, teaching, editorial framing, and cultural exchange. Trusting readers does not mean abandoning readers. It means respecting their capacity to encounter difference while also building the structures that allow that encounter to happen.

I think the article opens a much more important debate than the question of whether Filipinos read enough. The real issue is what kind of literary culture we are building and for whom we are building it. Are we building a literary culture primarily for those who already possess the economic resources, educational background, geographic proximity, and cultural capital to participate? Or are we building one that actively expands access across class, region, language, age, and community? If we genuinely want more readers, then readership development cannot be reduced to campaigns encouraging people to read. It has to involve libraries, schools, publishers, bookstores, local governments, universities, cultural agencies, teachers, writers, translators, and communities working together to create a sustainable reading infrastructure.

So, I agree with the article that readers matter. They matter enormously. But I would push the argument further and say that the reader should not be treated as the crisis. The deeper crisis is the system that determines whether a person has the opportunity to become a reader at all. Before we ask where the readers are, we should ask where the books are, who can afford them, who can access them, which languages they are written in, where they circulate, who teaches them, who preserves them, and who has the cultural authority to declare them valuable. Before we say that we need to “create readers,” we should examine the structures that create, enable, exclude, and regulate readership. The provocative question, then, is no longer “Why are Filipinos not reading?” It is “What kind of literary system have we built that makes reading easier for some and harder for others?” That, to me, is the more uncomfortable question, and perhaps the more necessary one.

Presenting the fellows, panelists, and organizers of the 10th Cordillera Creative Writing Workshop.We extend our sincere...
07/10/2025

Presenting the fellows, panelists, and organizers of the 10th Cordillera Creative Writing Workshop.

We extend our sincerest gratitude to Partners for Indigenous Knowledge Philippines - PIKP, the UPB College of Arts and Communication, as well as our friends and collaborators within the Sagada community who sustained us and welcomed us under both sun and rain.

Until the next CCWW! Agbiag kayo amin!

~

The FELLOWS for this CCWW 2025 are:
Nene Cadiog (La Trinidad, Benguet)
Krystle Coral-Reyes (Sagada, Mountain Province)
Myra Garing (Bayombong, Nueva Vizcaya)
Charles Gollayan (Cabagan, Isabela)
Milliscent Lucio (La Trinidad, Benguet)
Klarc Padawag (La Trinidad, Benguet)
Xian Patricio (Baguio City)
Althea Poserio (Umingan, Pangasinan)
Sheryl Sacla (Buguias, Benguet)
Benj Sumabat (Alcala, Cagayan)

The PANELISTS:
Padmapani L. Perez
Larissa Suarez
Rachel Pitlongay
Rommel Rodriguez
Carissa Pobre
Rommel Bonus
Faye Olayo
Allan Cariño

The WORKSHOP STAFF:
Friedrich Aquino
John Rey Dave Aquino
LA Piluden

The WORKSHOP DIRECTOR:
Rai Salvador

Oct 4 | Awarding of Certificates to Panelists and FellowsUnder a single lightbulb and warmed by a bonfire somewhere in D...
07/10/2025

Oct 4 | Awarding of Certificates to Panelists and Fellows

Under a single lightbulb and warmed by a bonfire somewhere in Dogo, Sagada, Mountain Province

📸 Rommel Bonus

Smoke and fire and poetry into the night. A glimpse of the concluding night of the CCWW through the lens of its staple p...
06/10/2025

Smoke and fire and poetry into the night. A glimpse of the concluding night of the CCWW through the lens of its staple panelist Padmapani L. Perez.

4 October 2025 | Dogo, Sagada

📷 Padma Perez

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