‘Forgotten Island’: Filipino American stories are Filipino stories

Guia Abogado/Rappler

'Forgotten Island' is definitely an achievement worth celebrating, but Filipino storytelling does not begin nor does it end here. We have to take it upon ourselves to add to the narrative and tell the story of the Filipino as we know it.

AT A GLANCE

• The film 'Forgotten Island' is celebrated for its representation of Filipino culture, despite some criticisms regarding American influences.
• The film resonates with themes of family separation and the emotional struggles faced by Filipinos, particularly those affected by migration, highlighting the shared experiences of Filipinos both in the Philippines and abroad.
• The author emphasizes the importance of self-representation in Filipino storytelling, encouraging individuals to contribute their narratives rather than relying solely on Hollywood for validation.

This is AI-generated. Read the article for full context. Report any errors.

October is Filipino American History Month. 

And when award season rolls around in early 2027, I hope Filipinos back home, Filipino Americans, and others all around the world will be cheering for DreamWorks Animation’s Forgotten Island. It was a feat — and feast — for the senses. It was a fast-paced film, packed with ’90s nostalgia, provincial life, and filled to the brim with food, cultural nuance, music, and karaoke singing.

It captured everything that makes us Filipino: from our hospitality, love of family, and respect for elders to the underlying tension that comes with all that is deeply ingrained in the Filipino story.

As a Filipino American who lived in the Philippines for 10 years as a journalist — learning to speak Tagalog and improving my Cebuano to near fluency — I also noticed the Americanisms of the film, but I was not bothered by them, unlike some criticism I saw on social media. In my opinion, it did not diminish the Filipino-ness of the work.

When I used to go on Twitter, I would often see the “Filipino vs. Fil-Am” discourse, which inevitably surfaced again when this film came out, although to a lesser extent than I had seen in previous years. 

But to me, nitpicking a character’s accent, scrutinizing the authenticity of folklore, or quibbling over “tayo na” vs. “tara na” misses the point entirely. (Both terms are accurate anyway, and anyone who thinks “tayo na” is wrong just needs to listen to more OPM.) 

Because folklore isn’t even the most relatable part of the film to Filipinos.

The film’s true resonance lies in the parts of the story that take place outside of the mythical island of Nakali. It is Jo’s dad calling to say he isn’t taking her to America — a painful reality for millions of Filipino children left behind by migrating parents. And it is a story I sought to highlight when I was Rappler’s overseas Filipinos editor over a decade ago. 

It is the immense pressure Raissa faces from her family to leave the Philippines because success so often dictates leaving home behind. 

It is the overwhelming grief of leaving behind your friends and community once you board that flight, knowing that the move is likely for good.

An American colleague of mine was shocked to learn that the Philippines has entire government institutions built specifically to address overseas Filipino issues, driven by the country’s reliance on overseas remittances. Whether it intended to or not, this film may have been a first window, or conversation starter, for millions of non-Filipinos, who may not have realized there are countries like the Philippines where not being able to see your children grow up is just…life. 

For me, the Filipino story here is not just one of creatures, spirits, magic. It is one of leaving, and returning — we even have a word for that: “balikbayan.” And, once you do leave, it is about never forgetting where you came from, navigating a new world that expects you to change, but never being able to fully leave behind the place and the people you came from. So you always return.

I won’t dig into the deep-seated disconnects between Filipinos in the motherland and those in the diaspora. Instead, I choose to focus on what binds us.

I don’t see the story of Filipinos in the Philippines and the story those abroad as two separate stories — they are one. A Filipino is a Filipino wherever they are  — whether or not they speak fluent Filipino, and whether the last time they stepped foot home was a year ago, a decade ago, or 40 years ago. The through line of our collective story emanates from the cities and provinces, stretches out across oceans to the diaspora, and, for many born overseas like me, finds its way back again.

I understand the frustration or disappointment of viewers who may not see their exact representation as a Filipino in a single movie. But, for me, the amazing thing about living today is that we don’t have to put all our hopes for representation in one piece of work. Nor do we need Hollywood to tell or to validate our story. 

While it is exciting to see our stories distributed to a massive global audience — and I will be loudly cheering for this film to win an Oscar — hopefully with all the other Filipinos. Respectfully, seeking validation from Hollywood is tired and overrated.

Yes, Forgotten Island is definitely an achievement worth celebrating, but Filipino storytelling does not begin nor does it end here.

If you want true representation, I say we have to take it upon ourselves to add to the narrative and tell the story of the Filipino as we know it. Write it. Speak it. Sing it. Paint it. Draw it. Tell it however you can — with whatever platforms you have. Neither Hollywood, nor any other big machine in the west, is the validator of our experiences as Filipinos. We are. – Rappler.com

Ryan Macasero is a reporter for the Mercury News, covering the city of San Jose, California. He is a former Rappler multimedia reporter and editor of the #BalikBayan section.