Land That Refuses Erasure 

The stories of Bangsamoro have been whispered too long in silence, treated as an afterthought in the history of this nation. I write mainly because the term Bangsamoro is still associated with fear and wrong assumptions, and also because our lives, our struggles, our aspirations are quite often misinterpreted or completely ignored. Writing about a place is very important because it is the soil that nourishes memory. Words without place are like souls that roam around without a body to honor them. For me, my lugar lang in writing is the land that I grew up in, the winding rivers, the crowded markets, the tranquil mosques, and the tough hills of Bangsamoro. In my case, my lugar lang, my right unloading area, is the land of Bangsamoro itself. That is the place where I can easily go out of the borrowed narratives and talk for my people.

The words of Mr. Errol Merquita were enlightening and indeed shocking to me, "You must write about your native place, because if you do not, then who will?" His statements were as if lightning that flash over the marshes of my past. Literally, from that point, I have recognized that writing is not merely a craft or a hobby but rather a responsibility. Our stories, our conflicts, our plead for self-identity and self-determination demanded to be told. They are not just abstract ideas but the very truth and realities of every Bangsamoro. Each mountain that has suffered violence, every market that is active with trade, and every night that has been full of fear of losing one's home all carry our truth. Writing is thus resisting the act of being erased, of asserting that our lives are significant in the narratives that often ignore us.

My lugar is where memory and belonging meet.  It is in those places, where our culture lives and flourishes, that I find my compass and my anchor. It is the laughter in the corners of our homes, the songs of mothers in the rice fields, the prayers in the mosques that have witnessed the rise and fall of generations. Writing from this place means that my words are walking along with the Bangsamoro people’s heartbeat. It is here that I can move out of the borrowed narratives, take my rightful place in storytelling, and say that our voices should be at the center and not on the margins. It is through the particularity of our Bangsamoro land that the universality of our humanity appears. I write because our voices cannot remain silent. I write because our stories deserve more than footnotes. I write because lugar lang, this space of rightful unloading, is where truth meets pen, memory becomes narrative, and the world is invited to step down into the heart of Bangsamoro land and feel the rhythm of lives too often ignored. Sense of place is important in creative writing, and to reclaim this space is to insist that our stories belong not in the margins but at the center of human understanding. This is why place is essential in creative writing and my lugar lang will always be the land that raised me, the land that demands I speak, and the land that waits for its story to finally be heard.