My Bukidnon Life

07/04/2026

Local Sounds Take the Night at ‘Amulanan’: A Grassroots Movement Gains Traction in Bukidnon

Malaybalay City, Bukidnon — On April 4, 2026, near the Capitol Grounds, Bukidnon’s homegrown musicians transformed a simple gathering into a vibrant celebration of the province’s authentic musical roots during the ongoing Kaamulan Festival season.
The event, organized under the banner “Amulanan: Movement of the Local” and supported by Proud Lumad and Taga Bukid at venues like Hiatus Coffee Shop, brought together a strong lineup of local talents committed to sounds drawn from the land, indigenous traditions, and everyday mountain life.

Headlined by respected singer-songwriter D Datu Alimuwan — known for heartfelt originals such as “Idana” — and the reggae bandSouthside Iration from Maramag, the night featured powerful collaborations that blended folk roots with laid-back reggae rhythms. Joining them on stage were other standout Bukidnon acts including Jayson In Town, Kitaotao Tribes, Talampas Official, Kulabu Tribu, The Outsiders, The Farmer, and Rebel Day.

These artists, many of whom have energized previous grassroots events and Bukidnon Roots Rock Reggae nights, delivered a mix of original compositions, reimagined folk songs, and pieces echoing tribal chants and traditions. Native instruments occasionally wove through the sets alongside guitars, drums, and heavy basslines — presented not as relics, but as living expressions of identity and community.

“Differing sounds, different stories, one shared space. Artists showed up. People stayed,” -Proud Lumad, capturing the spirit of the evening.

The gathering stood in contrast to the main Kaamulan Festival activities. While the broader festival — running from March 19 to April 23, 2026 — features grand ethnic street dancing, and tradition honoring Bukidnon’s seven indigenous tribes, but many of the tribal events are held offsite away from the Festival itself by various groups and organizations. The Kaamulan grounds feature LGU’s, food vendors, and souvenirs. Smaller offsite and community-driven events like Amulanan created intimate spaces for purely local voices. The main Capitol Grounds stage remained focused on bigger productions with fenced VIP sections, leaving room for these unpolished, deeply resonant gatherings.

Attendees described the Amulanan night as raw and genuine — music born from the red soil and cool highlands rather than tailored for mass commercial appeal. Songs touched on love for the land, community struggles, personal stories, and cultural pride, delivered with the energy of artists who live these realities.

“It’s not about going backward,” one observer shared, reflecting a sentiment echoed throughout the crowd. “It’s about carrying forward what has always been here — the arts, the tribal traditions, the missions — and giving them space to speak in today’s voice.”

This grassroots focus highlights a quiet but growing movement in Bukidnon: a push to amplify regional and indigenous-inspired sounds amid the province’s expanding cultural calendar. On April 18, the main festival grounds will host a dedicated slot for Bukidnon local bands, yet nights like Amulanan demonstrate that the most authentic connections often happen in smaller, community-led settings without heavy production or outside curation.

For those who experienced the evening in Amulanan, the message was clear: this kind of music doesn’t need to scale or travel widely to matter. It lives here — rooted deep in Bukidnon’s mountains — and continues to gain quiet traction among those who value sounds that truly belong to the place.

16/12/2025

The sunset was obscured here! So check out this cool photo!

02/12/2025

Aswang: The Night the Manananggal Unhooks Her Shadow

Dusk slid over the barangay like a slow exhale. Children were called home, dogs began their nightly choir, and a lone rooster crowed as if warning the moon not to rise too fast. From somewhere down the dusty road, an old man’s voice drifted through the air:

“Ayaw gawas gabii… not tonight.”

Mira heard it through the thin bamboo walls of her home. Superstitions again, she thought. It was nearly holy week—people always spoke carefully this time of year. She lit her small table lamp, its warm glow brushing her face as she combed her hair. The day had been long; the quiet hum of nighttime felt like a balm.

But the mirror in the window wasn’t behaving.

Her reflection lagged a heartbeat behind her movements, as though something inside that glass had just woken up. Then came the tapping—soft, uncertain.

Tok… tok… tok.

Maybe just a tree branch. Maybe not.

Mira set the brush down. The air felt too still. Even the geckos hiding in the rafters had gone silent.

Outside, behind the wide leaves of the banana trees, something stirred.

A woman—no, the shape of a woman—stood with her back to the moon. Then, with a slow, dreadful grace, her upper body rose from her waist as if pulled by invisible threads. Wings, dark and veined, unfurled from her shoulders, catching the moonlight like polished bone.

The lower half—motionless, empty—remained standing in the shadows like a forgotten statue.

The creature’s eyes glowed, searching. Hunger had hollowed out her breath. She drifted upward, scanning the clustered homes below.

In another yard, a different pair of hands moved with purpose. Someone—Mira never saw who—sprinkled a tight circle of salt around a dark shape. The salt landed softly:

Tsss.

A boundary. A trap. A final line between the living and the devouring.

Mira sensed rather than saw the shift in the air. A tension, like the world holding its breath. She stepped back from the window, unsure why the hairs on her arms had risen.

Above, hovering in the folds of night, the Manananggal froze. Something was wrong. Something essential to her return—her grounded half—was no longer hers.

She let out a low hiss, a sound that barely carried but made the leaves tremble.

Mira didn’t know the full story of what happened next. Only that the night grew long. That strange cries echoed far from her home. That, for the first time in years, the barangay rooster crowed before dawn.

And when the sun finally crept over the hills, warm and steady, it carried a kind of hush with it—a shared relief, a secret unspoken.

The elders would say the sky had been kind.
The children would say a monster had been chased away.

Mira, brushing her hair again in morning light, simply felt grateful for sunrise.

And somewhere behind the banana trees, the salt still glimmered.

Note: This is a fictional story based on Filipino traditions and folklore. Any similarity to characters or events portrayed is pure coincidence.

26/07/2025

This is why I Love Bukidnon! Breathtaking and beautiful!

Day Break, Good Morning ☕

23/07/2025

Good night!

15/07/2025

𝘿𝙞𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙞𝙩?

𝙀𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙦𝙪𝙖𝙠𝙚 / 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙜