More Than Words: Why Philippine Literature Belongs on the World Stage

Words by Mye Mulingtapang | Photos courtesy of Felipe de Leon Jr. and Fidessa Literary

A translator is often the second person to read a novel more slowly than its author. Where readers follow the story, translators follow every sentence. They pause over words that seem ordinary but carry centuries of history. They wrestle with expressions shaped by geography, community, and memory. Their work is not simply to replace one language with another, but to recreate an entire way of seeing the world.

That challenge has become increasingly significant as contemporary Philippine literature reaches new international audiences. Among the most anticipated projects is the forthcoming English translation of Genevieve L. Asenjo's Lumbay ng Dila, to be published as The Melancholy of the Tongue. The translation represents more than the arrival of another Filipino novel in English. It raises larger questions about how Philippine literature can travel globally without losing the cultures embedded within its many languages.

For Prof. Felipe M. de Leon Jr., former Chairman of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA), translation is both an opportunity and an immense responsibility.

Rather than seeing language as a barrier, he believes it reveals the extraordinary richness of Philippine culture—and reminds translators that every successful translation is an act of cultural stewardship.

The Strength of a Multilingual Nation

The Philippines is home to more than 180 living languages, each carrying its own worldview, history, and literary tradition.

This diversity is one of the country's greatest cultural strengths. Yet it also explains why Philippine literature presents unique challenges to international readers.

De Leon believes that increasing the global visibility of Filipino writing requires both stronger literary confidence and exceptional translation.

"One important reason for the paucity of Filipino literature in the international scene is its over-reliance on Western literary models and the formulaic treatment of stories, plots, and characters—often because of pecuniary motives. Nationalism, poverty and corruption, family dynamics, societal struggles, and the diaspora are significant themes found in many writings. But they often lack the vibrance and authenticity that come from direct, concrete experience connected to these themes."

His observation is not a dismissal of Filipino literature but a challenge to embrace what makes it unique. The more deeply stories are rooted in local realities, languages, and lived experience, the more universally they can resonate.

Some Words Carry Entire Worlds

Even the most authentic novel, however, faces another challenge once it crosses into English.

According to De Leon, the greatest obstacle is not vocabulary but culture itself.

"I think a more serious problem is the difficulty of translating any local language into English."

Many Filipino concepts have no true English equivalent because they emerged from different ways of understanding relationships, responsibility, and community.

One of the clearest examples is utang na loob.

"Utang na loob is often misconstrued as 'debt of gratitude' or contractual obligation. It is not. It is actually inner responsibility."

The difference is profound. While "debt of gratitude" suggests repayment, utang na loob reflects an internal moral responsibility rooted in conscience, reciprocity, and shared humanity.

Another example is paliguy-ligoy.

"Paliguy-ligoy is translated as 'beating around the bush.' But this actually means considerateness."

What appears indirect from one cultural perspective is, in another, an expression of empathy and respect.

De Leon points to many other Filipino words that resist direct translation—kapwa, kabiyak, bahala na, lambing, tampo, and hiya. Each carries meanings accumulated through generations of history, relationships, and social practice. They are reminders that language is never merely a collection of words; it is a way of understanding the world.

Translation as Re-Creation

Because of this, De Leon believes translation demands much more than linguistic competence.

"Translating into English is rather risky because of this problem. At best, translation is re-creation. Otherwise you lose the peculiar identity, local color, and beauty of the original. The translator must have mastered both the native language and English to be able to do this."

His description of translation as "re-creation" finds a compelling example in the work of translator Ana Margarita Nuñez, whose English translation of Lumbay ng Dila will introduce Genevieve L. Asenjo's acclaimed novel to an international audience as The Melancholy of the Tongue.

Readers naturally celebrate authors, yet translators quietly make hundreds of creative decisions that determine how another culture will be understood abroad. Every page demands a balance between fidelity to the original and accessibility for readers unfamiliar with Filipino traditions.

Nuñez recalls one of the novel's most emotionally important scenes.

"In Chapter 5, the main character meets her grandfather, who is something of a legend. It's a very important scene. I had to translate the word mano, which every Filipino understands."

Many translators might simply render the gesture as "asking for her grandfather's blessing," but Nuñez believed that translation erased what Filipino readers immediately recognize.

"It seemed inadequate to translate it as 'asked for her grandfather's blessing.' To ask for an elder's blessing is universal across cultures, but it's done in many ways—kneeling, bowing, touching the feet. That phrase doesn't really convey what the main character actually does, which is to touch the back of the older person's hand to their forehead."

Instead of replacing the cultural practice with a familiar English expression, she chose to preserve the Filipino word.

"I used 'made mano,' the same way you would use 'made a curtsey' or 'made obeisance.' During editing it became 'made mano, the sign of the cross,' which explains a bit more and emphasizes its social and spiritual significance while keeping the original word."

In that single decision lies the philosophy De Leon describes. Translation succeeds not by making Filipino culture disappear into English, but by inviting readers to encounter it.

Nuñez encountered similar challenges when translating the poetry embedded within the novel. Because Asenjo's protagonist is herself a poet, the translation required preserving metaphor, rhythm, and layered symbolism rather than simply conveying literal meaning.

One poem, Ang Pagsukob sa Laman ng Baso at Pinggan, demanded particularly careful interpretation.

"I translated the title as The Plate and the Cup Become One. Sukob means to come under the same covering, to be united. Laman means contents, but it can also mean viscera—the contents of the human body—and by implication, lust is called tawag ng laman, a visceral impulse, a call from inside the body."

Within the poem itself, another difficult choice followed.

"I translated Ang pagsukob sa laman ng pinggan at baso as 'what's in the plate mingles with what's in the cup,' together with the slightly matrimonial metaphor in the title, to preserve the sense of physical, carnal union contained in the original figurative language."

These examples illustrate why translation is not mechanical substitution. Every sentence becomes an act of interpretation. Every retained Filipino word becomes an invitation for readers to enter another cultural imagination rather than remain comfortably within their own.

Different Languages, Different Ways of Seeing

For De Leon, the challenge extends beyond vocabulary.

"Focus is a distinct feature of Tagalog and other Philippine languages. But English only has active and passive forms of speech. Lastly, how do you capture the predominantly verb-oriented character of Philippine languages using a noun-biased language like English?"

This is more than a grammatical distinction. Verb-oriented languages naturally emphasize relationships, movement, and interaction. English often organizes experience through nouns and fixed categories.

Translation therefore becomes not only the movement of words across languages but also the meeting of different ways of thinking.

Carrying Philippine Literature Forward

Despite these challenges, both De Leon and Nuñez ultimately point toward the same conclusion: translation is an act of possibility.

Works such as The Melancholy of the Tongue demonstrate that regional Philippine literature is finding new audiences precisely because of its cultural specificity—not in spite of it. Rather than flattening Filipino experience into familiar English expressions, thoughtful translation allows readers to encounter ideas that have no direct equivalent in their own languages.

The future of Philippine literature on the world stage will depend not only on more translations but on translations courageous enough to preserve what makes Filipino writing distinct.

English may never carry every shade of meaning contained in kapwa, utang na loob, or mano. Yet in the hands of translators who approach their work as cultural interpreters rather than linguistic technicians, it can carry something equally important: an invitation to understand another way of seeing the world.

As De Leon reminds us, translation is ultimately "re-creation." And when it is done with care, what crosses linguistic borders is not merely a story, but the Filipino imagination itself.