Q&A: Author Gabriella Buba on Filipino pride, ‘romantasy,’ and queerness

MANILA, Philippines – Since her grandparents’ departure from the Philippines during the Marcos dictatorship, Gabriella Buba had a long time coming before setting foot in the country again in 2022.

Diving into what her family had left after being forced to leave, she drew inspiration from her own history when she started putting the Stormbringer Saga together.

She has always been honored to share her heritage to anyone, despite the societal pressure of wanting to put an authentic Filipino story on paper. Statements like “you’re not Filipino enough” and “you’re not queer enough” lingered in how she saw herself as a queer, mixed Filipina just trying to write stories.

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Her first book, Saints of Storm and Sorrow, is dedicated to “girls swallowing down their fury like broken glass.” Released in June 2024, the book talks about women’s behavior in a patriarchal society and how such pressure builds up, causing it to burst at the last second.

Her launch for the second book was an upgrade from the first, as she had the opportunity to debut Daughters of Flood and Fury in London in June this year. The sequel tackles breaking trust, narrow-minded rivalry, and testing loyalty as the characters find their ways to stand up against a more powerful evil.

Rappler had a chance to sit down with Filipina-Czech author Gabriella Buba for an intimate talk about her journey as a writer, embracing her bisexuality as a woman, and promoting Filipino culture.

What do you think is considered authentic bisexual representation to you, and how did you incorporate this view in the Stormbringer Saga?

There was this moment where [I was] writing very unique personal experience stories. And [I wasn’t] questioning if, “Maybe that’s not my experience of queerness, or maybe not my experience of being Filipino,” but there are so many ways to be Filipino and to be queer.

And there was this space, and then I think we reacted badly to it as a society. A lot of people were like, “Oh, you’re not Filipino enough.” “You’re not queer enough.” “You shouldn’t be telling that story.” It’s not what I think of my identity.

I think, what I hope to do is really to just write from my own personal perspective, and maybe that resonates with someone else, but maybe it doesn’t, and maybe it’s just a window to a wider world for them.

In your current and future works, how do you approach bisexuality not just as an identity, but as a lens in challenging world views?

I really like to approach writing with a queer lens. Because so much of our world is built around patriarchal and western social structures, ideas, and religions, I like to peel back those layers, especially Filipino like, before Western influence.

There was so much more openness around gender and sexuality, and there weren’t these hard boxes that, like, Westerners like to put around people. And I really like to bring that back and take a look at our stories and our history, keeping that openness in mind.

You drew inspiration from Filipino folklore and the history of Spanish colonization in the Philippines. How did these folklore and historical events shape your perspective on our culture despite being away from it physically?

For me, it was about kind of unpacking the generational trauma and the generational stories that came with my family. My grandmother was a poet and a big storyteller as well, and she had all of these stories.

My grandmother lived a very hard life. They weren’t all good stories, but they needed to be shared. And I think for me, writing these books was a way of unpacking that grief and anger at the things that forced my family to leave the Philippines and feel like they couldn’t go back.

My grandparents left right before the Marcos regime and really didn’t go back until 2022. That was the last time they went back so they really were not a family that went back and forth so I kind of really wanted to unpack the kind of generational trauma that like my family has and reconnect it with history and the beautiful parts of their family and their story that they shared.

Their house was full of beautiful Filipino mother of pearls and Filipino cultural items. My grandmother collected seashell art and the statues. And my grandfather was a woodcarver. He was from Laguna, and he did beautiful work.

How did you balance paying homage to Filipino cultural elements while making them accessible to those unfamiliar with the culture?

This is a funny one. I wanted to put a glossary — but my editor, who is an English woman, said, “They can Google.” And I replied, “Are you sure? I mean, I have the glossary.” [My editor says] “I think it’s very clear from context.”

[The] number one thing that white readers tell me, they’re like, “I wish there was a glossary,” and I’m like, my editor says you don’t need one. It’s hard when you’re trying to provide for your readers and the editor is holding you back.

I think my editor really believes that these worlds stand on their own, and she is such a deep reader of fantasy that for her they do, I think there’s a type of reader that wants more things handed to them on a plate. But there’s also a type of reader that wants to work for it. They want to find that story, that hidden gem that makes them work for it and makes them really think and experience new things.

That’s who I’m writing for. I’m not writing for someone who wants to be spoonfed the history of the Philippines. That’s not what this book is.

When one writes, it’s as if you dedicate your pieces to this specific reader. In your mind, who are you writing for?

When I write, I’m taking something that I’m struggling with and I’m pinning it down on the page for myself.

I wrote Saints of Storm and Sorrow for all the girls swallowing down their fury like broken glass. I really feel like… especially for women in modern society, we have to be poised. You can never lose your temper, you can never raise your voice, you have to be professional. And you live like that [for years] but they build up, and at some point you can’t keep bottling it up.

And I think at some point, you need to reach in there, pull it out, and make it other people’s problems. I mean that in a nice way, but I also mean it in a not nice way.

Sometimes that has to come out. And if that’s ugly, so be it. And that’s what I wrote Saints of Storm and Sorrow about. Whatever it is that you’ve got tangled up inside, in order to fix it, you’re never going to untangle it inside.

You’ve got to get it out. You have to find community and find the place where you can begin addressing and healing that kind of feeling inside. – Juliana Chloe Gonzales/Rappler.com