Many times, when you question people who describe LGBTQIA+ people as “sayang,” they don’t know what they mean either
I watched my best friend unfurl her hair from her usual sporty ‘do to a gentle tumble of waves down her back. I had always thought she was beautiful, no matter what she looked like, and though she was forced to wear a dress to prom and she wasn’t so excited about it, it was just another one of those countless moments I had appreciated her.
Unfortunately, it was run by the kind of overtly Catholic school that had guidance counselors snitching on students who confided in them about navigating their sexuality—parents were called, and girls were punished. Years later, my own high school barkada and I found out that when two girls who came to prom together won prom royalty, the school gave them a serious talking to and threatened to rescind their crowns, which seems superficial now but was a great pain to a pair of starry-eyed 16-year-olds just trying to find themselves and being denied that.
Suffice it to say, my school continued to view the world draconically: boys wear suits, girls wear dresses. So my best friend had to wear a dress, which she rocked anyway, even if she didn’t feel totally comfortable.
A flock of our classmates suddenly surrounded my best friend, all of them craning their necks to “look at the lesbian.” Many of them ooh-ed and ahh-ed at how different she looked—to me, she was the same, with just another shine—and some even felt it was unfair that she looked so beautiful that night. They were even shocked she brought a date and picked everything about her apart—like a zoo animal.
“Alam mo,” they told her. “Sayang ka.”
I sat there, taken aback. She waved it off as well, reluctant to indulge the comment. She was eager to get some dinner and enjoy the night—all of us 16 and wanting the night of our teenage dreams to go well. That wouldn’t be the only instance she would hear that, nor would it be the only instance where she would feel uneasy about it.
When we grew up, we talked about it. She said it made her feel incomplete or broken, even if she had just been doing the same thing everyone else was: yearning. The object of it notwithstanding, we had all been crushing and giggling behind our notebooks, writing names in the margins of our notes, and daydreaming. Still, because it was not what Catholic school had drilled in us to be the default, it was a waste and it was sinful.
I learned later that this was more common than any of us thought.
A backhanded compliment
For many in the LGBTQIA+ community, growing up in conservative, Catholic Philippines was often awkward at best and hostile at worst. It was commonly riddled with questions and accusations. Even earnest attempts at understanding were sometimes dressed with ignorance that, when pointed out, turned into anger and a doubling down on ignorance or hate.
Many who grew up queer or navigated their sexuality were often met with the word “sayang.” The people who called them this often didn’t even know what they meant by it, adhering to some heteronormativity and expectation to reproduce, even if we were growing up in a world where choosing not to have kids was more and more common (even heterosexual couples were choosing this, but for some reason, the word was not levied at them as often).
For many in the LGBTQIA+ community, growing up in conservative, Catholic Philippines was often awkward at best and hostile at worst
Still, it persisted. From fledgling schoolmates to conservative colleagues at work, the comment seemed to follow many queer people everywhere they went. They were called “sayang” because they weren’t attracted to the biological opposite sex despite what the overarching “norm” dictated.
Kayle, a corporate employee and performer who identifies as a gay man, says, “I’ve been subjected to the phrase ‘sayang ka’ several times by friends and family… Initially, it took a toll on me. I felt like I was lacking, that I had little to no space in the world. This phrase became a kind of fuel for me albeit in the worst way. It drove me to do better, study harder, be more creative, and explore new talents because I felt like I needed to compensate for the ‘loss’ that I supposedly was.”
“Whenever I received this ‘sayang’ remark, I would usually just smile and take it quietly. I didn’t know how to respond, and I internalized the feeling of being a waste,” he continues.
Kayle grew up in a very traditional household in the province where awareness of different gender identities and sexualities wasn’t so prevalent. However, he was able to find himself in his college years. When he moved to Manila to live independently, he was able to honor his most authentic self and discover who he was. Still, he recounts how uncomfortable it was to receive this remark, even when his identity was more accepted by those around him.
This backhanded comment was present in all kinds of environments: at home, at school, at work—anywhere. Many faced it from their families, while others experienced it from peers.
“It left a bad taste in my mouth because what do you mean I’m ‘sayang’? Are you saying that my looks are wasted because I’m not into men, and I could care less what they think?”
Yuri (not her real name), a graphic designer who identifies as a lesbian woman, says, “The times I have been called ‘sayang’ were all in high school. Once, my class had the unfortunate assignment of doing a Moulin Rouge number for a class, requiring us to wear little black dresses and heels. I had to borrow from one of my aunts and mom, and once the clothes were on and my long hair was down from its usual ponytail and brushed evenly, the comments were unstoppable.”
“It made me incredibly uncomfortable—not just because, at the time, I still wasn’t too fond of wearing anything feminine—but it was also annoying. I used to just roll my eyes when people would say that or shrug and go, ‘Oh well, whatever.’ It left a bad taste in my mouth because what do you mean I’m ‘sayang’? Are you saying that my looks are wasted because I’m not into men, and I could care less what they think?” she continues.
Dissecting “sayang”
Many times, when you question people who describe LGBTQIA+ people as “sayang,” they don’t know what they mean either. It’s indicative that many of them have not really dissected what they mean or believe in when they say these things or that they believe that everyone around them adheres to the belief that heterosexual relationships are the default while being queer is some kind of aberration or an exception to the rule and is wasteful because it doesn’t conform to what they believe in.
It also implies that queer people’s genes are “wasted” on queer relationships because they can’t conceive children in the same way heteronormative couples do and can’t pass those genes down (even though many new methods of conceiving continue to become more accessible). This is incredibly shallow, as it also implies that relationships should center around procreation—which many of them, queer or otherwise, don’t.
There are also the very real problems that heteronormative couples face that can be viewed as even more harmful or wasteful than the reduced potential of conceiving children.
Luci (not his real name), an LGBTQIA+ advocate who identifies as a trans man, says, “The ‘sayang’ comment is so unfair because who defines what is ‘sayang’ if not the majority of straight people with toxic compulsive heteronormativity? I think there are so many other things that many straight people do to hurt each other even more. It’s just taught by society that these things are “normal”—toxic masculinity, the pressure of marriage and children, the threat of violence and abuse. These are things that need to be unlearned by everyone for the sake of loving freely and safely.”
The ‘sayang’ comment is so unfair because who defines what is ‘sayang’ if not the majority of straight people with toxic compulsive heteronormativity?
Yuri agrees, acknowledging the hurtful connotation behind the word. “A queer person is not ‘sayang’ and will never be ‘sayang.’ To the people who say that, it does not bring about whatever effect you think it’s going to have. Queer people will just continue to look good for themselves and for the people they are attracted to and not whoever you think they should be presenting to or for,” she adds.
The inherent backhandedness of this comment is problematic. It tells a queer person that despite anything and everything about them, the fact that they cannot have children in the heterosexual sense deems them unworthy, a waste—that their worth boils down to whether they can make babies who carry their genes, like some cruel medieval expectation.
The role of religion and conservative tradition
Religion and the conservative nature of the Philippines was a huge factor in the guilt that a lot of queer people experienced growing up, or the lack of education around it that caused it to be more of a spectacle than just a regular identity. It caused many to retreat into themselves and deny their self-expression in favor of blending in to avoid being picked apart.
“I spent my formative years in a quiet, conservative province where the concept of being LGBT was often met with curiosity and hushed conversations rather than outright hostility. It was an environment where traditional values and societal norms held sway, and any deviation from the expected norms would inevitably raise eyebrows. Growing up, I internalized these unspoken rules, always mindful of how others perceived me.
“The occasional jokes and whispered discussions about LGBT topics fueled my apprehension even more. I feared standing out or being judged, so I kept my true feelings and identity guarded. It was a time when conformity seemed safer than authenticity,” admits Kayle.
Yuri was also raised by a strict, overly religious family and remarked that it was tough. “That made me realize how crazy I felt growing up—and sometimes still feel now—because it’s like I’m two different people. Once I’m at home, I’m a ‘perfectly normal’ daughter. But once I step out that front door and I’m away from family, I’m a tomboy, a lesbian, a queer woman,” she says, acknowledging how a lot of conservative ideology and religion played a part in her complex feelings towards the “sayang” comment.
“That made me realize how crazy I felt growing up—and sometimes still feel now—because it’s like I’m two different people”
Yuri had only one parent at home, and that parent had an idea of her sexuality but lived in quiet denial. Yuri often “got in trouble” in school because of the feelings she was wrestling with but couldn’t verbalize, fearing being shamed. It became a tension that lasted a long time and was emphasized by her family’s intense religious upbringing.
Luci adds, talking about his own Catholic school experience, “High school was where a lot of the anti-queer education happened, and I think it mixed quite strongly with the conservative nature of parents who did their best to nose their way into the students’ lives. I have no love for [his school], and I have less love for the way we were told that queer people would only be accepted in the eyes of God if ‘they didn’t act upon their desires.’ It felt wrong to be told that a desire to love and be loved was immoral.”
Fighting back against the mindset
Thankfully, with more awareness and education around LGBTQIA+ identity, it’s become easier to rally against the stereotypes and the bigotry that sometimes comes with forced heteronormativity. Many queer people have been able to emerge from the guilt they felt growing up and accept themselves.
Support systems and family and friends who are better educated about queer identity have become instrumental in the fight for inclusion.
Kayle recounts when a friend of his stood up for him when he received another iteration of the “sayang” comment: “I heard one of my good friends respond with so much conviction and strength to someone who called me ‘sayang’: ‘Bakit siya sayang’ Wala na ba siyang kwenta? Eh ang galing niyang tao? Wala naman siyang hinamak.’ His response caught the person off guard. The person then tried to clarify that she only meant we were ‘sayang’ genetically—implying that we could have had children with good genes, and so on.
“Still, to me, it wasn’t a full compliment. However, my friend’s defense made both of us realize something important: ‘That’s right! I’m not a waste. And it’s my choice if I want my genes to continue. Besides, why would I bring a child into a world that seems to be going to a dark place?’ That moment was pivotal for me. It helped me understand that I’m not a ‘waste’ and that the value of a person isn’t determined by their ability or choice to reproduce,” says Kayle.
“I think that compulsive heteronormativity is more ‘sayang’ because it locks people out of the chance to explore and understand themselves more”
If anything, this obsessive mindset that sees heterosexuality as the norm can be considered the wasteful one, as it only hurts those who are queer by making them think there’s something wrong with them, which can lead to repressing themselves, a lack of self-love and self-compassion, and a denial to explore themselves.
Luci emphasizes this, saying, “I think that compulsive heteronormativity is more ‘sayang’ because it locks people out of the chance to explore and understand themselves more.”
Saying goodbye to “sayang”
While many queer people have been lucky enough to discover who they are, sever ties with anything that was holding them back from their authentic selves, and overcome a lot of guilt and pain, not everyone is as lucky. Some still believe that they are a waste, that they cannot contribute—but this is simply not true.
“LGBT people, like everyone else, have dreams, talents, and the capacity to make significant contributions to society. Their worth isn’t measured by their ability to reproduce or fit into a conventional mold but by their unique qualities, achievements, and the love and kindness they share,” says Kayle.
“Instead of viewing someone as ‘sayang’ because they are different, celebrate their individuality and recognize the strength it takes to be true to oneself in the face of societal pressure. Understand that everyone has their own path in life, and respect their choices and the contributions they make. And these apply to everyone, not just the LGBT community,” Kayle adds.
When it comes to dealing with those who question or even resist the identities that queer people have discovered for themselves and feel most comfortable occupying, it can be difficult. However, it’s important to acknowledge that these people probably shouldn’t be in your life, even if their questioning and hatred aren’t always conscious or deliberate. Often, their ignorance is a result of being unable to overcome overly conservative ideals they’ve lived with all their lives.
Still, if they don’t serve you and your truth, no matter how well-intentioned they are, you don’t have to feel they should occupy a space in your life.
“Instead of viewing someone as ‘sayang’ because they are different, celebrate their individuality and recognize the strength it takes to be true to oneself in the face of societal pressure”
Yuri echoes this, saying, “Sometimes, the loudest detractors to your own identity and self are the ones who don’t actually care. People will think it’s okay to degrade someone just because they’re true to themselves. They’ll cause a ruckus and do anything to bring you down, but only because it makes them uncomfortable due to their ignorance or misplaced hate and not because they’re actually thinking about you and your well-being. Sometimes, this will come from those closest to you, but as cliché as it sounds, have a little patience. All it takes is some educating and care in letting other people understand. Sometimes that doesn’t work and that’s okay because you know you tried your best. It takes a lot of courage to put yourself first. And when you do, you have to be kind.”
Luci agrees. “Discovering myself meant finding people who could accept me and help me grow. My friends are my community, and I am so grateful for their presence in my life. I may have lost people in the process, but at this point, I don’t mind as much. I don’t know if I could have been my authentic self if I had to stay with my family or be in an environment that left me feeling unsafe.”
No one else measures your value
It’s important to remember that nobody can gauge your worth for you—and that their word is not law. There is inherent value in everyone, ability or choice to conceive children notwithstanding. You know your authentic self best and can choose to honor that. You don’t have to live by someone else’s rules.
“When someone says ‘sayang ka,’ remember that your worth isn’t determined by their narrow views. You are valuable just as you are. It’s easy to let comments like that affect your self-esteem, but try to understand that these remarks often come from a place of ignorance or a lack of understanding. Their opinion doesn’t define your reality. Always respond with kindness and information—and with a wink, tell them, ‘You’re welcome for the color and fierceness we bring to the world. We are not ‘sayang’ because we are a blessing,'” says Kayle.
It’s important to stay true to yourself. No matter how you identify, you must know that you deserve to love and be loved.
Luci echoes this, saying, “Everyone is worthy of love, and being queer doesn’t exempt anyone from that. People will change, they’ll come and go, but there will always be room for love, whether it be self-love or a shared one. Love is love is love.”
