Breakfast in Bongao, Tawi-Tawi

By Noel Galon de Leon

When I first arrived in Bongao, Tawi-Tawi, I did not expect to be so deeply moved by the students of Mindanao State University in Tawi-Tawi College of Technology and Oceanography. They were the kind of young people who spoke not only with confidence but also with sincerity, their words shaped by the rhythm of their islands and their strong sense of community. I was there as one of the speakers in a civic education seminar where I gave a talk titled “From Classroom to Community, Civic Learning as Cultural Work.” I shared stories about local projects in Iloilo, how we create children’s books that speak to local realities and conduct creative writing workshops in alternative spaces for marginalized groups. Yet even as I stood before them as a resource person, I found myself learning more than I taught. Their insights, their presentations, and their quiet but determined energy reminded me that teaching and learning are both acts of love and courage.

What struck me most about Tawi-Tawi was not only the intelligence of its youth but also the calm rhythm of life that surrounded them. The island breathes differently. Its pace allows people to grow and adapt naturally. It does not rush them. In Iloilo City where I work, everything moves so quickly that pausing even for a moment can make you feel left behind. But here, in this part of the country where the sea meets the mountains in quiet conversation, progress feels gentler. It is human. It is kind.

Since Sunday, I have been writing poems every day. I do not know what it is about this place, but it seems to open a door inside me where words flow like the tides. Even on my way to the airport today, I still feel the urge to write, as if the island itself whispers ideas into my ear. I have promised myself that one day I will publish a collection of poems inspired by Tawi-Tawi. There is so much to write about here. Every conversation with a Sama Dilaut or Sama Dihilaya, every smile from a Tausug mother or a Muslim elder feels like a poem waiting to happen. When you walk around with open eyes and an open heart, Tawi-Tawi will never run out of stories to tell.

The history of this place is as colorful as the fabrics its people wear and as deep as the sea that embraces its shores. Mindanao in general holds a beauty that the rest of the country often overlooks. Its islands are rich with stories that remain untold. Last night, while dining at Bihing Tahik, a restaurant whose name literally means “by the sea,” I saw that a Seaweed Conference was being held nearby. We ate under the soft glow of the moon, the stars reflected on the dark water, the sound of waves mixing with our laughter. It was one of those rare moments when you feel completely alive, aware of your smallness and your belonging at the same time. I was deeply moved when one of the waiters told me that seminars like this often take place on the island, attended by locals and visitors from Malaysia and Manila.

To be honest, I felt a little envious of the people of Tawi-Tawi. They wake up each day surrounded by mountains and ocean, by peace and poetry. They live close to the earth and the sea, nourished by food that tastes like memory, dishes that carry their culture and identity in every bite. I only hope that as modern development slowly reaches this island, it will not erase these beautiful things. May the people of Tawi-Tawi continue to preserve their languages, recipes, stories, and traditions, especially those of the Badjao who live their lives upon the sea. Their way of life is a poem the world must protect.

My greatest wish is for more Badjao children to have the opportunity to study, to graduate from universities like Mindanao State University, and to write their own stories in their own tongues. During my lecture yesterday, I began to dream of a future for this island, a future filled with teachers, doctors, and young writers proudly weaving their local languages into literature. How beautiful it would be to return one day and meet a young poet who writes in Tausug or Sama, drawing from the rhythm of waves and the aroma of coffee at dawn.

Before leaving for the airport to fly back to Iloilo via Cebu, I wrote one last poem during breakfast with my fellow teachers. It was a joyful morning, and I decided to share the piece with a Tausug professor I had met at the university, Sir Julasmin Kassim. I asked him to translate my poem into Tausug, my first time seeing my own words take shape in that language.

As I prepare to go home, I realize that these past few days in Tawi-Tawi have been more than just a work trip. They have been a lesson in humility, creativity, and connection. They reminded me that poetry does not live only in books or classrooms. It thrives in the warmth of shared meals, in laughter by the sea, in the quiet dignity of people who love their home deeply.

And perhaps that is what “Breakfast in Bongao” truly means. A simple meal shared in the farthest corner of the Philippines can heal the heart. It can make us remember who we are even when the cities we come from try to make us forget. It teaches us that history, like food, can nourish the soul when we take the time to taste it fully.