May - June 2026

Hindi biro ang magpalaki ng anak. At mas lalong hindi biro ang magpalaki ng anak dito sa Japan. Sa Pinas kasi, kahit sabihin mo pang dosena ang anak ng isang pamilya, parang nakakaraos pa rin si nanay at tatay. Siguro dahil may taga-alaga, taga-luto, taga-linis, taga-laba, taga-bantay, taga-pakyaw ng problema. At kung walang “taga,” meron namang “maki”: maki-kain, maki-tulog, maki-laba, maki-iyak at minsan pati maki-utang.

Pero dito sa Japan? Isang anak pa lang, parang apat na agad sa hirap at gastos. Kahit may kaya ka sa buhay, hindi ibig sabihin may katulong ka. Dito, si nanay ang all-in-one package: yaya, driver, cook, teacher, nurse, therapist, referee, at minsan stuntwoman pa. Tingnan mo si Mama Olive habang nagbibisikleta — tatlong anak ang naka-angkas! Hindi ko alam kung nanay ba siya o auditioning para sa Cirque du Soleil. Isang maling preno lang, pwede nang maging action movie.

Gusto kong ipakilala sa inyo ang isang Pilipinang taga-Ibaraki — si Bebelita Takayasu, na kilala bilang “Sumo Mama” dahil ang kanyang anak ay isa nang sikat na sumo wrestler sa Japan. Plano ko sanang interbyuhin mismo ang anak niya, pero alam naman natin, hindi basta-basta malapitan ang mga sumo wrestler. Mas mahirap pa silang lapitan kaysa immigration officer na walang tulog.

Buti na lang, very available si Mama Bebelita. Sa totoo lang, celebrity na rin siya sa mga sumo events. Kaya naisip ko: bakit hindi ang nanay mismo ang tanungin? Baka sakaling malaman natin kung paano magpalaki ng isang higanteng sumo wrestler — at higit sa lahat, kung paano mabuhay nang hindi sumusuko.

Nagkita kami isang gabi sa Burger King sa Roppongi, Tokyo. Kasama niya ang kanyang BFF na si Ningning Tomiyama, presidente ng fans club ng kanyang anak. Akala ko simpleng interview lang. Hindi pala. Tatlong oras kaming nagkuwentuhan at para akong nanood ng teleseryeng walang commercial break.

Sa kalagitnaan ng kwento, iyak kami nang iyak ni Ningning. Mabuti na lang unlimited ang tissue sa Burger King. Naka-ilang balik na ako sa CR, naka-apat na hot coffee, pero hindi pa rin tapos ang drama. Ang buhay ni Bebelita? Hindi lang pang-MMK. Pang Netflix limited series na may 10 seasons at reunion special.

Narito ang ilan sa mga kuwento mula sa makulay, magulo, masakit, pero nakakabilib na buhay ni Bebelita Takayasu.

“Pinanganak ako na hindi kasal ang parents ko dahil menor de edad pa sila noon. Against ang mga kapatid ng nanay ko sa relasyon nila. Hanggang ngayon, hindi ko pa nakita ang tatay ko. Lola at nanay ko ang nagpalaki sa akin.”

“Hindi ko kilala ang tatay ko. Sabi lang ni nanay, nalunod daw siya sa sabaw. Hanggang ngayon, hindi ko alam kung literal ba iyon o expression lang. Wala man lang akong nakitang picture niya kaya hindi ko ma-imagine ang mukha niya.”

“I was born in Davao, lumaki sa Bohol at Cebu. Pero kahit saan kami mapunta, dala namin ang hirap ng buhay.”

“Noong bata pa ako, maganda ang buhay namin. Marami akong damit at laruan. Pero nang mag-asawa ulit si nanay, naghirap kami. Mangingisda lang ang stepfather ko. Mabait siya pero hindi ko siya matawag na tatay noon.”

“Ang unang beses na tinawag ko siyang ‘Tay’ ay noong araw ng kasal ko. Sinabi ko, ‘Tay, kain na tayo.’ Umiyak siya. Doon ko lang na-realize kung gaano niya ako kamahal.”

Pumunta si Bebelita sa Maynila para maghanap ng trabaho. Akala niya canteen work ang mapapasukan niya. Pero parang pelikula, biglang nagbago ang eksena.

“Nakakita sa akin ang secretary ng isang opisyal at binigyan ako ng trabaho kahit hindi ako marunong mag-type. Binigyan nila ako ng Olympia typewriter at sabi nila, ‘Masasanay ka rin.’ Kaya habang nagta-type ako nang parang nag-aaway ang daliri ko at keyboard, natuto rin ako.”

Doon niya unang nakahalubilo ang mga abogado, opisyal at professionals. Isang probinsyanang babae na walang koneksyon, pero merong lakas ng loob.

At doon din dumating si Mr. Takayasu.

“Naligaw siya dahil maling ministry ang napuntahan niya. Imbes na Tourism, napunta siya sa Labor Office. Dahil marunong ako ng konting Japanese galing sa dictionary, ako ang pinatawag para kumausap sa kanya.”

Imagine mo: isang Hapon na naligaw, isang Filipina na nag-aaral ng Japanese sa diksyunaryo, tapos doon nagsimula ang love story. Kung hindi nagkamali ang taxi driver, baka walang sumo superstar ngayon.

“Makulit si Mr. Takayasu. Kinuha niya address ko sa guard at bigla siyang bumisita sa bahay. Shocked ang mga kapitbahay namin kasi first time nilang makakita ng Hapon.”

Niligawan siya nito nang matagal. Pinadalhan ng pera buwan-buwan. Tinulungan ang pamilya niya. Nakapagpatayo pa siya ng bahay para sa kanyang nanay.

“Ayaw ko talaga noong una. Hindi ko siya mahal. Pero sabi ng mga tiyahin ko, isipin ko ang future ko.”

Sa araw ng kasal niya sa Davao, umiiyak siya sa harap ng rebulto ng Virgin Mary.

“Hindi ako makakain. Laging sumasakit ang tiyan ko. Iniisip ko kung tama ba itong gagawin ko.”

Pero itinuloy niya ang kasal. At doon nagsimula ang panibagong kabanata ng kanyang buhay sa Japan.

Pagdating sa Japan noong 1987, nagtayo siya ng Philippine store sa Saitama.

“Magaling ako sa PR. Sa mga istasyon ako tumatambay at kinakausap ko ang mga Pinoy na dumadaan. Unti-unting lumaki ang negosyo.”

Lumago ang business nila. Nagkaroon pa ng restaurant at branches sa Ibaraki. Pero habang lumalaki ang negosyo, lumalaki rin ang responsibilidad.

“Minsan tatlo o apat na oras lang ang tulog ko.”

At dumating din ang pagbagsak.

Humina ang negosyo nang bumaba ang bilang ng entertainers na pumupunta sa Japan. Nahirapan sila sa pera. May mga panahong napuputulan sila ng kuryente.

“Kulang ang pera para pag-aralin ang mga anak.”

Doon pumasok sa eksena si Akira — ang anak niyang magiging sumo wrestler.

“Sinabihan siya ng teacher niya na bagay siya sa sumo. Dinala namin siya sa sumo stable. Nagustuhan agad siya ng stable master.”

Mula 15 years old, nagsimula si Akira sa matinding training.

“Maraming beses niyang gustong sumuko. Minsan umiiyak siya sa telepono. Minsan nasasaktan siya. Pero wala akong magawa kundi palakasin ang loob niya.”

Unti-unti, umakyat ang kanyang ranggo.

“Ngayon, professional sumo wrestler na siya. Hindi na siya ang batang umiiyak sa training. May assistants na siya ngayon. Hindi na siya naglalaba.”

Habang sumisikat ang anak niya, may isang tanong na bumalik sa buhay ni Bebelita:

“Sino ang tatay mo?”

“At dahil doon, sinabi ni Akira: ‘Hanapin mo ang lolo ko.’”

At parang eksena ulit sa teleserye, Facebook ang naging tulay.

“Tinype ko ang pangalan niya. Ang daming lumabas. Isa-isa kong minessage.”

Hanggang sa nakita niya ito.

“May sarili na pala siyang pamilya at nasa Canada na siya. Nang una ko siyang nakausap sa telepono, hindi ko alam kung magagalit ako o matutuwa.”

Pagkaraan ng 49 years, natagpuan niya rin ang kanyang ama.

“At naisip ko… cool pala ang daddy ko.”

Sa dami ng unos na dinaanan ni Bebelita — kahirapan, pagod, pagkalito, sakripisyo, at luha — nanatili siyang matatag. Isa siyang nanay na hindi sumuko kahit paulit-ulit siyang sinusubok ng buhay.

At siguro, iyon talaga ang tunay na sikreto ng isang “Sumo Mama.”

Hindi lang pagpapalaki ng malalaking anak.

Kundi pagpapalaki ng napakalaking tibay ng loob.

Gaijin, Fees, and Tourist Crowds: 

A Short Love Letter (with Side Eye) to Japan

There is a moment in Japan when you realize you are no longer a tourist but not quite local either. It usually happens at immigration. You are holding a number, documents stacked like a thesis, and then:

“Application fee has increased.”

Again.

You smile. Of course. This is Japan. Shouganai ne.
But inside: Aray ko po… bakit naman ganon?

The Tourist Boom

Japan is booming. From Tokyo crossings to Kyoto alleys, it feels like the whole world has arrived, camera ready and matcha fueled.

Good for the economy? Absolutely.

But while tourists enjoy tax free shopping and short stays, foreign residents are quietly dealing with rising visa fees, renewals, and the same mountain of paperwork, just more expensive now.

Parang gym. Mas mahal, ikaw pa rin ang pagod.

Resident Reality

Living here means learning the rules, sorting your garbage like a pro, and mastering the polite smile. But renewal season reminds you: you are still “foreign” on paper.

Forms. Fees. Photos with no smiling. Dame desu yo.

And just when you get used to it, the price goes up.

No drama. Just… updated.

Very Japanese. Yappari.

The Quiet Irony

Tourists come and go. Residents stay, pay taxes, build lives.

Yet when systems feel stretched, longer lines, higher fees, it sometimes feels like residents carry more of the weight.

Medyo unfair? Konti lang… pero ramdam. Chotto ne.

Still, We Stay

We joke about paperwork like it is a sport. We celebrate when we get upgrades. We laugh, because what else?

Because despite the crowds and the costs, life here still works:

Trains mostly on time.
Safe streets.
Seasons that feel like poetry.

And a simple otsukaresama desu can still make your day.

A Small Wish

As Japan welcomes more of the world, here is a quiet hope:

That those who stay, who build lives here, are seen a little more too.

Hindi naman demanding. Maybe just… fewer surprises at the payment counter?

Konting loyalty discount naman. Onegaishimasu.

And Still…

At the end of the day, we are still here.

Medyo mahal. Medyo masikip. Pero mahal pa rin natin.

Because somewhere between the forms, the fees, and the endless lines, Japan has a way of keeping us. Hindi man tayo turista, hindi rin ganap na local, pero nandito pa rin.

And honestly, that in between space?
Medyo complicated… pero medyo home na rin.

Now excuse me… I should probably check my residence card. Just in case.

In total, I presented more than a hundred works—an expansive collection that went beyond art and painting to include design, writing, and journalistic works produced over the years. Together, they formed an immersive retrospective of my creative journey, reflecting not only visual expression but also a lifelong engagement with storytelling in its many forms. If it felt like a museum takeover, perhaps it was, at least for a fleeting moment. The opening reception reflected that energy: nearly a hundred guests filled the space, creating an atmosphere that was equal parts celebration and reunion. For one afternoon, I found myself in high spirits—grateful, slightly overwhelmed, and quietly amused by the unexpected brush with a “main character” moment.

What made the exhibition especially meaningful was the return of these works to where it all began. Though created abroad over nearly 40 years, they found their way back home—closing a circle I hadn’t fully realized was still open. There is something profoundly grounding about seeing one’s life work appreciated in the very place that shaped its beginnings.

Beyond the exhibition itself, I also had the opportunity to give back to the community by conducting weekly art workshops and lectures. These sessions became meaningful exchanges—less about instruction and more about connection, dialogue, and shared creativity. In many ways, they were as fulfilling as the exhibition, reminding me that art does not only live on walls, but in conversations, in classrooms, and in the curiosity of others.

My sincere thanks go to the Clark Museum and the Clark Development Corporation for providing not just a venue, but a platform for this full-circle experience. Their support made it possible to present not only art, but a narrative—one that continues to evolve across disciplines and mediums.

Equally memorable were the people. Reconnecting with old friends—some unchanged despite the passage of decades—was a reminder of how time can stretch yet still hold. At the same time, meeting new faces who engaged with my work brought a renewed sense of purpose. Art, after all, is a conversation, and this exhibition offered many voices to listen to.

To everyone who came, maraming salamat. Your presence meant more than I can fully articulate. And to those who went a step further—supporting by collecting artworks, or even bringing home tote bags and t-shirts—thank you for carrying a piece of this journey with you. That kind of support goes beyond appreciation; it becomes part of the story itself.

In the end, what started as a “long vacation” turned into a full-blown life highlight—part reunion, part retrospective, and part cardio workout from carrying over a hundred artworks. If this is what coming home looks like after 40 years, I might need to do it more often… just maybe with fewer canvases next time.

January - February 2026

Small Wonders, Timeless Pieces: A Homecoming Christmas Art Exhibition and more

Coming home is always special—but coming home with art, stories, and memories makes it even more meaningful. Last December, my Christmas art exhibition Small Wonders, Timeless Pieces became part of the festive activities at Clark Cityfront Mall, turning the season into a celebration of creativity, friendship, and reconnection.

The exhibition was intimate in scale but rich in sentiment. Set against the warmth and sparkle of the Christmas season, the show brought together small works that carry timeless emotions—pieces created over the years, each with its own quiet story. It was deeply fulfilling to see people pause, smile, and reflect while engaging with the artworks, many of them sharing their own memories inspired by what they saw.

What made the exhibition truly unforgettable was the people. It was a great joy to reunite with old friends and, quite surprisingly, former students from my days teaching Humanities at a university in Angeles City. Some I hardly recognized at first—time has a way of reshaping faces—but hearing about their journeys and accomplishments filled me with pride and gratitude. Seeing how far they have gone, both professionally and personally, was one of the most rewarding moments of the homecoming.

The February exhibition will present a broader and deeper look into my four decades of creative work in Japan. It will feature a wide-ranging collection—from graphic design, illustrations, and cartoons to editorial writings and paintings—tracing the evolution of my artistic voice across cultures, mediums, and time.

As the year ended with Small Wonders, Timeless Pieces, I was reminded that even the smallest works can carry lasting meaning, especially when shared during the season of giving. This Christmas homecoming was not just an exhibition—it was a heartfelt reunion, a celebration of growth, and a bridge leading toward the next chapter of my creative journey. As the Christmas season gently closed, it also opened the door to the New Year—with the promise of a grand exhibition ahead.

While in the Philippines, I was also honored to be invited— for the first time— to serve as a judge at the world-famous Giant Lantern Festival in San Fernando, as well as a judge at the Lantern Parade in Magalang. Experiencing these iconic Christmas traditions from the perspective of a judge was both thrilling and deeply meaningful. It was a joyful immersion into Kapampangan culture, allowing me to rediscover, learn more, and reconnect with my own roots.

Truly, it was a Christmas filled with art, light, and heritage—one that made coming home all the more unforgettable, and set the tone for an inspiring New Year ahead.