Naratibô: Becoming more visible

By Noel Galon de Leon

On Monday, March 23, 2026, in celebration of National Women’s Month, Det Neri, the author of the well-known book “Ang Ikaklit sa Aming Hardin,” is currently here in Iloilo, and her presence feels both rare and deeply meaningful. She came to the city to deliver a lecture and hold a book signing for her latest work, “Naratibô,” published in 2025 by UP Press, which is a collection of stories that explore the narratives and lived experiences of lesbians. The event took place at the beautiful Taohay NCCA Cultural Center and Regional Hub, located in the historic district of Jaro, a place that seems fitting for conversations that aim to reshape and enrich cultural understanding.

Being part of the team that helped organize her program was both an honor and a responsibility that I carried with excitement and care. Together with Dulce, the president of our writers’ group, and Sol, the vice president of Hubon Manunulat, we worked through the details to make the event possible. There was a shared sense of purpose among us, as if we all understood that this gathering was not just another literary event, but something more significant and long overdue.

The anticipation we felt was rooted in the rarity of moments like this, because writers like Det Neri, who focus on lesbian experiences, do not often visit Iloilo. There is a hunger in the literary community here for stories that reflect diverse identities, and yet such voices remain scarce. This made her visit feel like a gift, something that needed to be embraced fully and remembered long after the event ended.

In the broader context of Philippine literature, lesbian writers are still few, and their works are often underrepresented. Here in Iloilo, Sol is the only openly lesbian writer I personally know who continues to write about her experiences with courage and honesty. There were younger writers before who showed promise and began telling similar stories, but for reasons that remain personal and complex, they eventually stopped and did not continue their literary journeys.

This reality raises an important question that deserves careful thought and reflection, which is why lesbian literature matters in the first place. For me, lesbian literature matters because it finally gives space to voices I have rarely heard growing up, voices that feel both unfamiliar and deeply human at the same time. It allows stories to exist without apology, stories that speak of love, struggle, silence, and longing in ways that feel honest and unfiltered.

Lesbian literature is important because it challenges dominant narratives that often exclude or misrepresent marginalized groups. It allows readers to step into perspectives that they may not have encountered before, building empathy and understanding in ways that statistics or theories alone cannot achieve. Through storytelling, it humanizes experiences that society has historically reduced to stereotypes or dismissed entirely.

Another reason it holds significance is that it preserves history and lived experiences that might otherwise be forgotten. The stories told in lesbian literature are not just fictional constructs, but are often rooted in real emotions, struggles, and triumphs. These narratives become part of a larger cultural memory that future generations can look back on and learn from.

Lesbian literature also empowers those who identify with its stories by affirming that their experiences are valid and worthy of being told. For many readers, encountering characters who share their identity can be both comforting and transformative. It reassures them that they are not alone, that their feelings and realities are not invisible.

In addition to personal empowerment, it plays a role in social change by opening conversations that challenge prejudice and discrimination. Literature has always been a powerful tool for shaping thought, and when it includes diverse voices, it becomes even more impactful. It invites society to reconsider long-held beliefs and to move toward greater inclusivity.

This leads to another important question, which is why lesbian literature should be included in the curriculum in the Philippines. Education is not only about imparting knowledge, but also about shaping perspectives and values. Including such literature ensures that students are exposed to a wider range of human experiences, fostering empathy and critical thinking.

When lesbian literature becomes part of the curriculum, it helps normalize discussions about gender and identity in a respectful and informed way. It allows students to engage with these topics in an academic setting where guidance and context are provided. This reduces ignorance and helps prevent the spread of harmful stereotypes.

It also gives students who identify as part of the LGBTQ+ community a sense of belonging within the educational system. Seeing their identities reflected in what they study can make a significant difference in how they view themselves and their place in society. It sends a message that their stories matter and deserve recognition.

Integrating lesbian literature into education encourages a more inclusive national narrative. Philippine literature is rich and diverse, and it should reflect all voices that contribute to it, not just the ones that are most visible or most accepted. By including these stories, we begin to tell a more honest version of who we are as a people.

In recent years, there has been a noticeable increase in lesbian stories being written and adapted into visual media. During and after the pandemic, many people turned to these narratives for comfort and connection, leading to the rise of what is now commonly referred to as girls’ love, or GL, stories. These often focus on the experiences of young women discovering their feelings for other women.

These stories have found a growing audience, particularly among younger generations who are more open to exploring different identities and relationships. They reflect contemporary realities and resonate with viewers and readers who are seeking authenticity in storytelling. This shift suggests that there is a demand for more inclusive narratives.

Listening to Det Neri’s lecture yesterday was an experience that left a lasting impression on me. She spoke with clarity and conviction about the complexities of naming and labeling literature and identity. According to her, while labels like lesbian literature can be useful, they should ultimately lead us toward a point where such distinctions are no longer necessary.

She shared her vision of a future where literature is simply called literature, without the need to categorize it based on gender or identity. It was a hopeful and thought-provoking idea that challenged us to rethink how we approach storytelling. Her words carried both idealism and a deep understanding of the realities we currently face.

That perspective stayed with me as I read her book “Naratibô” later that night before going to sleep. The stories felt layered and vivid, filled with emotions that were both specific and universal. Each narrative offered a glimpse into lives that are often misunderstood, revealing their depth and complexity.

As I read the first three stories, I found myself reflecting on how much we need writers like Det Neri in this country. Her work does not only tell stories, but also opens doors for others to share their own. It creates a space where voices that have been marginalized can finally be heard.

The experiences depicted in her stories go beyond the label of being lesbian. They are about being women, about being Filipina, and about being human in a world that does not always make space for difference. They remind us that identity is multifaceted and cannot be reduced to a single aspect.

These stories also call for respect and compassion, urging readers to see beyond prejudice and to recognize the shared humanity in all of us. They ask us to listen more carefully and to understand more deeply. In doing so, they contribute to a more empathetic society.

After reading, I could not help but hope that more young lesbian writers will emerge and begin to tell the stories of their own generation. There is so much yet to be said, so many experiences that remain untold. The future of literature depends on the courage of new voices willing to speak their truth.

I also found myself wishing that Det Neri would continue to be blessed with strength and inspiration. Her work is not easy, and it requires both resilience and passion. It is my hope that she continues to write and to share her vision with the world.

Another moment that brought me joy during the event was seeing the students from the Creative Writing class at U.P. High School in Iloilo in attendance. Their presence added a sense of continuity, as if the next generation of writers was quietly observing and learning.

I could see in their faces a mix of curiosity and inspiration as they listened to the lecture and met the author. These are the kinds of experiences that stay with students long after the event is over. They shape how they think about writing and about the stories they want to tell.

I am certain that they carried valuable lessons with them, lessons that will surface again when they return to our class next week. Perhaps some of them will begin to explore themes they had never considered before. Perhaps some will find the courage to write stories that are deeply personal.

Moments like this remind me why literature matters and why events like these are worth organizing, despite the challenges. They create connections between writers and readers, between past and present, and between different ways of seeing the world.

What I am bringing home from this experience is something I cannot easily name, but I know it has changed the way I listen to stories and the way I understand people. It is not just about having attended a lecture or helped organize an event, but about witnessing voices being spoken and received with care. As I move forward, I carry with me a quiet responsibility to keep making space for these stories, to keep listening, and to refuse any moment that asks me to believe that these lives, these voices, and these truths do not belong.

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Noel Galon de Leon is a writer and educator at University of the Philippines Visayas, where he teaches in both the Division of Professional Education and U.P. High School in Iloilo. He serves as Secretary of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts-National Committee on Literary Arts.