Best 54 quotes in «filipino quotes» category

Ang magagandang panaginip, walang karugtong, walang katapusan. Kaya dapat, hindi dinudugtungan, para habambuhay na lang na maging isang napakagandang panaginip.

Our opponent [Cory Aquino] does not put on any make up. She does not have her fingernails manicured. You know gays. They are for beauty. Filipinos who like beauty, love and God are for Marcos.

The only thing I can really offer the Filipino people is my sincerity.

We have blacks and whites, Jews and Arabs, Serbs and Croats, and Filipinos and Vietnamese here. At the end of the day, everyone is each other's brother.

Ang lalakeng nakikinig sa magulang, masunurin. Ang babaeng nakikinig sa magulang, baka maging old maid

Ang pag-ibig pala ay hindi makikita sa sweet na eksena, sa mahihigpit na yakapan, o sa maiinit na kissing scene. Minsan ang tunay na pagmamahal ay naroon sa kagustuhan mo na palayain ang taong mahal mo para sa ikaliligaya nito at ng mga tao sa paligid mo, maging sariling kaligayahan mo man ang maging kapalit.

Ang relationship, parang flappy bird... Hindi mo ito pwedeng basta-basta nalang bitawan.

Fifteen is an appropriate age to test for seasoning. It is not a complicated ritual, but it is an unusual rite of passage and not for the fastidious. It's a prick of a finger. It's five drops of blood. It's drizzling the blood onto sinigang- a heady soup of tamarind broth, with a savory sourness enhanced by spinach and okra, tomatoes and corms, green peppers for zest. Lola Simeon prefers stewed pork, and so that was chopped into the broth, a perfect medley of lean meat and fat.

But your lolas took offense at being called witches. That is an Amerikano term, they scoff, and that they live in the boroughs of an American city makes no difference to their biases. Mangkukulam was what they styled themselves as, a title still spoken of with fear in their motherland, with its suggestions of strange healing and old-world sorcery. Nobody calls their place along Pepper Street Old Manila, either, save for the women and their frequent customers. It was a carinderia, a simple eatery folded into three food stalls; each manned by a mangkukulam, each offering unusual specialties: Lola Teodora served kare-kare, a healthy medley of eggplant, okra, winged beans, chili peppers, oxtail, and tripe, all simmered in a rich peanut sauce and sprinkled generously with chopped crackling pork rinds. Lola Teodora was made of cumin, and her clients tiptoed into her stall, meek as mice and trembling besides, only to stride out half an hour later bursting at the seams with confidence. But bagoong- the fermented-shrimp sauce served alongside the dish- was the real secret; for every pound of sardines you packed into the glass jars you added over three times that weight in salt and magic. In six months, the collected brine would turn reddish and pungent, the proper scent for courage. unlike the other mangkukulam, Lola Teodora's meal had only one regular serving, no specials. No harm in encouraging a little bravery in everyone, she said, and with her careful preparations it would cause little harm, even if clients ate it all day long. Lola Florabel was made of paprika and sold sisig: garlic, onions, chili peppers, and finely chopped vinegar-marinated pork and chicken liver, all served on a sizzling plate with a fried egg on top and calamansi for garnish. Sisig regular was one of the more popular dishes, though a few had blanched upon learning the meat was made from boiled pigs' cheeks and head.

A smell hit me- sharp, garlicky, vinegary. Pulling out all four flaps revealed a casserole dish, the clear glass lid resting atop plain white rice. The condensation on the lid indicated this had been made very recently. Valimma, my grandmother, stepped onto the driveway behind me. "That is Simeona's food, moleh. She just called to say her son dropped it off on the driveway." Valimma spoke her English slowly but surely, with a lilt that was the result of years socializing with neighbors from a variety of backgrounds. "Simeona can't come to Thursday Club today but still wanted to send her delicious shrimp adobo." "This is just rice, Valimma." I pointed at the casserole dish. "Check under. The tasty mix, the bountiful flavor, must be below." Sure enough, under the rice container was another, shallower dish housing large shrimps coated in dark brown sauce. Yup, sharp, garlicky, vinegary.

First, I placed the clean snapper on a bed of aluminum foil sprinkled with sea salt and olive oil. I then stuffed the tomatoes, garlic, onions, and coriander into the belly of the fish before sewing it shut. The first time I'd tasted this, the snapper was skewered and turned over open flames. To accompany it, I'd drunk the sweet juice from young coconuts cut with machetes, taken off the very trees above us. Now that I was back to apartment living, I had to modify the recipe and grill the fish in a closed packet. The texture of the skin wouldn't be as crisp, but the flesh would be even more tender. If I had thought Celia preferred the crisp texture, I would have fried it with the stuffing mixture served on the side. The fish was ready to be baked. I prepared sinanag, Filipino garlic fried rice, to accompany the fish: jasmine rice, smashed garlic cloves, sea salt, and a sprinkle of vegetable oil.

I am a Filipino, not a FilipiDont-know. Resourcefullness is in our culture

He was the old breed of Filipino, almost extinct, who required that he deserve what he received; who would feel guilt, not only shame or embarrassment; who accounted for each day in the office and observed public trust as if it were a word of God. But even God was nowhere. The new theology proclaimed him dead. Long live Man! Love live Me!

Ganoon siguro talaga ang pag-ibig, masasaktan ka pero tatanggapin mo. Alam mong wala namang pag-asa pero aasa ka. Iiyak pero susubok uli. Dahil ang pag-ibig ay isang bagay na sulit ipaglaban.

He fidgets. Thinks. Observes his fellow passengers. Judges everyone, in the traditional Filipino sport of justifying both personal and shared insecurities.

Hindi achievement ang tawag ko sa gano'n. Suwertihan lang 'yong ipinanganak ka nang maganda. Ang achievement e something you work hard to attain.

Klik! Anak ko 'yon! Hahahaha! Mga kaibigan, si Maya ko 'yon! Klik! Narinig n'yo ba? Anak ko 'yon! Klik! Klik! Anak ko sa labas. 'Yong batang konti ko nang tinunaw no'ng araw. Kundi ko lang naisip na lahat ng bata'y kailangang bigyan ng pagkakataong maging tao.

It's funny how love can fit inside a brown cardboard box. With relationships, people often think that things pile up. But when it ends, they're surprised how few these things turn out to be. Or at least, how few things they are willing to let go of.

Look what's happening around us: war, hunger, poverty, epidemics... tapos, ang iniisip natin, pagandahan? My God, Pilar; ang importante sa tao'y ang kabuuan niya bilang tao... hindi kung maganda ba ang mukha niya o makinis ba ang kanyang binti!

Inevitably, though, there will always be a significant part of the past which can neither be burnt nor banished to the soothing limbo of forgetfulness— myself. I was and still am that same ship which carried me to the new shore, the same vessel containing all the memories and dreams of the child in the brick house with the toy tea set. I am the shore I left behind as well as the home I return to every evening. The voyage cannot proceed without me.

I lived in a big bunkhouse of thirty farm workers with Leroy, who was a stranger to me in many ways because he was always talking about unions and unity. But he had a way of explaining the meanings of words in utter simplicity, like "work" which he translated into "power," and "power" into "security." I was drawn to him because I felt that he had lived in many places where the courage of men was tested with the cruelest weapons conceivable.

Nakayanan n'yang bumangon, hindi ko pagdududahan ang kakayahan n'yang lumipad.

Me quota ang pag-ibig. Sa bawat limang umiibig, isa lang ang magiging maligaya. Ang iba, iibig sa di sila iniibig. Iibig nang di natututo. O iibig sa wala. O di iibig kailanman.

Moonlight streamed through the uncovered bedroom window, reflecting off the glass and touching my legs. My skin emitted a caramel radiance. I absorbed the warmth and privately thanked Bathala and my ancestors for their guidance.

My tongue was handed down to me by datus and katipuneros. The truth is my mouth is a battlefield that you wouldn’t know how to fight in.

Nasasaktan ako dahil sa kabila ng lahat, mahal ko ang Pilipinas.

Mahal nga pala kita. Mahal pa rin pala kita. At sa wakas, hindi na kasing sakit ng dati, pero mahal, masakit pa.

Sa buhay na ito tayo'y manatiling huminga ng malalim.

People are like stars in the Milky Way. There are millions of them. There are big, small, dead, and dying stars out there. Hindi ikaw ang nag-iisang bituin d'yan sa langit, kaya hindi sa'yo umiikot ang mundo. Puweding makinang ka ngayon, pero asahan mong parating may darating na mas makinang pa sa'yo. Malaki ang posibilidad na mawala sa'yo ang atensiyon ng iba, pero tandaan mo ang isang bagay. "Whatever happens, you're still a star. There will still be people looking at you, admiring your beauty, and wishing for great things to happen to them with your help. You can't let them down, so you have to continue shining for them. You have to show them directions. That's what stars are for.

Pero ipinapangako ko, alam mo, pag naabutan kita, hindi na kita pakakawalan. Yayakapin kita, hahalikan sa buong katawan, pagsasawain ko talaga ang mga labi ko. Tapos ikukulong kita sa aking matagal ding naghihintay na mga palad. Nanamnamin ng bawat daliri ko ang bawat balahibo mo. Hahaplusin kita nang hahaplusin. Pagkatapos, dahan-dahan kong pipilipitin ang leeg mo. Pipilipitin ko ito nang pipilipitin hanggang sa mapugtuan ka ng hininga. Buong poot kong isisiwalat sa mundo: hayop kang kuneho ka. Hayop.

Practice, Ami. There is no talent without practice." And practice you did. You hacked at livers and pig brains for sisig, spent hours over a hot stove for the perfect sourness to sinigang. You dug out intestines and wound them around bamboo sticks for grilled isaw, and monitored egg incubation times to make balut. Lola didn't frequent clean and well-lit farmers markets. Instead, you accompanied her to a Filipino palengke, a makeshift union of vendors who occasionally set up shop near Mandrake Bridge and fled at the first sight of a police uniform. Popular features of such a palengke included slippery floors slicked with unknown ichor; wet, shabby stalls piled high with entrails and meat underneath flickering light bulbs; and enough health code violations to chase away more gentrification in the area. Your grandmother ruled here like some dark sorceress and was treated by the vendors with the reverence of one. You learned how to make the crackled pork strips they called crispy pata, the pickled-sour raw kilawin fish, the perfect full-bodied peanuty sauce for the oxtail in your kare-kare. One day, after you have mastered them all, you will decide on a specialty of your own and conduct your own tests for the worthy. Asaprán witches have too much magic in their blood, and not all their meals are suitable for consumption. Like candy and heartbreak, moderation is key. And after all, recipes are much like spells, aren't they? Instead of eyes of newt and wings of bat they are now a quarter kilo of marrow and a pound of garlic, boiled for hours until the meat melts off their bones. Pots have replaced cauldrons, but the attention to detail remains constant.

Sa winikang nanulay na Sa panulat o hininga Ay wala nang hahapis pa Sa salitang “sana”… sana

Para kay Lea, maruming tingnan ang isang batang naka-make up at lipstick. Imbis na makaganda'y sinisira nito ang kalinisan ng isang batang mukha. Nilalagyan ng anyo ng kamunduhan at karanasan.

Pilipino ako, sapat nang dahilan `yon para mahalin ko ang Pilipinas.

Picking up my spoon, I dip it into the broth, making sure to get pieces of the small, fatty meat. I close my eyes and eat my spoonful, marveling at the rich, savory flavors. It's like beef broth, only heartier, and the meat has this really interesting texture. Before I know it, I've devoured half the bowl. "You like Soup Number Five?" I look up to see Lola Simeona, the old woman from earlier, standing by my table, watching me. "Oh, yes," I say, patting my mouth with a napkin. "It's delicious! What is this meat? It's like nothing I've ever tasted. And I feel more... energetic already, sort of like I can take on anything." Like Prem. She smiles knowingly. "Yes, yes, Soup Number Five is magical." After a pause, during which her smile morphs into what I can only be described as a mischievous grin, she says, "The meat is bull testes." I stare at her for a long moment as her words filter into my brain. I set my spoon down carefully and take a sip of water. "Bull... testes?" I ask in the most neutral way I can. "Yes! It's an aphrodisiac!" She pats my shoulder and walks off to another table. I think I can hear her cackling. I look down into my bowl. I just ate a bunch of chopped-up bull balls. For a moment I wonder, in a very detached way (is this what being in medical shock feels like?), if I'm going to throw up. But then the moment passes, and I realize they're really delicious. And Soup No. 5 works. I can feel the potent mixture wending its way through my system, infusing my blood with confidence and desire. I eat another big spoonful.

Sabi ng nanay ko, 'yan daw totoo... di raw dapat ikahiya!" "E kung magnanakaw ka, di mo ikakahiya?" "Sabi ng nanay ko, kung ikakahiya mo... h'wag mong gagawin!

She showed you how to make her special adobo recipe- proper adobo, with soy sauce and vinegar and spices- and it tasted exquisite, better than any other grandmother would have made. She offered both meals for free to the carinderia's clientele that day, much to their delight. Sampling your casserole brought them no perceptible changes; eating Lola's adobo left them fresh, eager, and thrumming with energy, exhaustion falling away like a cloak.

The various units of Philippine guerrillas, their tactics, military resources, and vigor to survive and end the Japanese maltreatment of the Philippine people paint the Pacific Theater from 1941-1945 as desperate, dark, and bloody for Asian communities throughout East and Southeast Asia

The foil packet sighed as I pulled it open, hissing as it yielded its bounty. Clouds of steam puffed upward, releasing the tantalizing aroma into the air. The fish's reddish skin had a beautiful overlapping pattern that looked as if it had been painted by some wayward mermaid. My sharp scissors snipped the stitches in its belly, spilling the filling onto the plate. I scooped us both two helpings of the garlic fried rice and portioned the desirable parts of the fish, the head and the belly, for Celia, while I took the tail. The piece of fish on my fork bore the sign of perfect execution: moist, milky translucence, and a silky texture that sprang to the touch. Infused with the fragrant stuffing, the tender fish melted in my mouth, dissolving in a mélange of delicious flavors- the trio of boldness from the coriander, garlic, and red onion tempered by the sweet tanginess of the tomatoes. Success.

Totoong mahal pa rin ang galunggong at wala pa ring makain ang mga nagtatanim ng bigas. At iyon mismo ang dahilan kaya patuloy ang pagtatanim ng mga pangarap... patuloy ang pagsulong ng mga adhikain. Pero hindi isang lipunan ng mga desaparesido ang nalikha ng lahat ng pakikipaglaban... kundi isang buong magiting na kasaysayan.

When you're doing something that you love, it's never work. It's just you being you.

We cannot move forward if we allow the past to pull us back.

I eat the same foods almost every day. I have my favorites like Filipino beef broth, chicken soup with lots and lots of rice.

You did your best to be a good student. You chopped and cooked and measured and served according to her wishes. But sometimes you wondered if the stall could stand to be upgraded with modern comfort food. With pandan ensaymada instead of the increasingly popular but also growingly common ube, the fresh bread from the oven and the cheese still melting, sweetly fragrant from the infusion of those steeped leaves and as simple as a summer morning. Or chopped watermelons in bulalo soup to replace tomatoes, for that extra tang. Or even pork adobo, but with chili and sweet pineapples. You had so many ideas.

Filipinos are called to be outstanding missionaries of faith in Asia

Filipinos don't wallow in what is miserable and ugly. They recycle the bad into things of beauty.

I am so proud and so happy to be Filipino.

If it's needed for me to have a drop of Filipino blood, I am willing to get it from Makati Med. My heart really belongs here.

Filipinos everywhere are known for their love of God, their fervent piety and their warm devotion to Our Lady and her rosary

I grew up in a predominantly Caucasian neighborhood, but my mom is Filipino-Spanish and my dad is Irish.