I have been dating Carol since the summer of 2017. What began as a fleeting affair in the Iloilo countryside soon developed into a genuine connection that shattered all my former conceptions of what creatures like her are truly like. After a year of long-distance (I had to return to Metro Manila for my collegiate duties), we agreed that it would be best for our relationship if she moved to the city to live with me, and the rest is history.
In the nearly-six years me and Carol have spent together, I have slowly but surely garnered a deep appreciation for Manananggalian culture and tradition. So, as a lifestyle writer, I thought it would be appropriate for me to impart to the world all the benefits of having one of these exotic, erotic creatures as your lifetime companion.
Walking down the crowded streets of Binondo is always frightening, especially for a certified probinsyana like me. However, ever since Carol and I moved in together, I have never felt more secure and assured of my personal safety. Despite their diminutive frame, the strength of a manananggal far exceeds that of the average man. Carol knows I dislike violence, but there is something so cathartic about seeing her, in the shape of a slender, beautiful woman, slice through the wrist of a creepy jackass letching after us as we pass. Despite their reputation, manananggal are actually very protective of those close to them and are willing to kill to keep their partners safe.
Just like a witch would have her black cat, manananggal are often accompanied by small, dark-feathered avians colloquially known as tiktik birds. Though disheveled and frankly unattractive in appearance, their intelligence is nonpareil and they have complete understanding of human speech. We named ours “Manyak”. It’s always convenient to have Manyak guard the house when we’re not around. In fact, I’m certain that his presence has single-handedly reduced the crime rate in our neighborhood, as word got around that a hideous bird would disfigure anyone who tried to break into a home there. This is false, as he only disfigures those who break into ours, but I keep my mouth shut.
During the pandemic, Carol and I decided to mess around and create our own TikTok account, cheekily called mananang.gals (please follow!). When I wasn’t busy with work, we would create stupid skits about what it was like living with a manananggal. At first, our videos weren’t getting much positive attention, and multiple people tried to expose us for being “fake”. However, after our video where we recreated a scene from Shake, Rattle & Roll IV a little too realistically, our account gained hundreds of thousands of followers overnight. Since then, multiple paranormal investigators have tried to dox us and break into our household, but after the first few were permanently marred by Manyak, they eventually gave up. We don’t post very frequently anymore.
While a manananggal in her “true” form is bound to elicit looks of horror whilst walking among humans, they have the ability to circumvent this by taking the shape of a regular human girl. In this form, they are basically indistinguishable from their human cousins. The pointed, elven ears are the only real giveaway, which are often obscured anyway by their thick, dark hair.
Carol first came to me in this form, dressed in an elegant floral duster, as I was bawling my eyes out beside the chicken coop at my uncle’s farm. Who cries beside a chicken coop? Me, apparently. Anyway, for reasons I prefer to remain undisclosed, I was in a very vulnerable state at the time, mentally and physically bruised, and just when it seemed like nobody else would, Carol sat down and listened to me. She then introduced herself as a harvester at my uncle’s farm. That seemed about right, as I recalled seeing her in the fields, interacting with the other workers, so I kept speaking with her as a normal human. It was only when I confronted her with the information that my uncle had never hired anyone named Carol that she was forced to reveal to me her true identity.
One night when I came home from work so exhausted that I looked almost as monstrous as my living partner, she swiftly offered to take me for a ride on her back to help clear my head. My jaw dropped in shock; at that point, unless it was for videos, Carol rarely ever presented herself to me in the form of a manananggal, but it sounded like a sweet offer, so I accepted. As she promised, Carol shapeshifted into her natural form, bisected herself, and gestured at me to hop on.
Growing up in the province, I never cared for the hustle and bustle of city life, but in that moment, thousands of feet above the surface, tightly embracing the only woman that has ever shown me genuine care, it was beautiful. Even now, whenever I look back at it, the image of the landscape permeates my memory just as vividly. After that experience, I honestly would have been content to live the rest of my life without another fantastical sky excursion, but to my delight, we did it again. Then again. And then again.
Somehow, after that series of ravishing nights above the Metro Manila cityscape, a switch flipped in our relationship. From thereon, Carol would assume her human form less and less, instead opting to remain as a manananggal when we were at home. Furthermore, she began to open up to me about the hardships that her kind faces in modern human society. For example, illegal logging in the Visayas region has resulted in their habitats being destroyed, forcing the manananggal to have to integrate themselves among the human populace. She also mentioned how they face discrimination due to the traditions of their ancestors, which are no longer seen as ethical by the species’ youth. It took some time, but I finally felt like Carol had given me her full trust, which I value greatly.
While manananggal aren’t commonly regarded as social beings, they actually have ties to other Philippine-endemic creatures. When we got the chance to retreat to Iloilo for the holidays, Carol introduced me to her childhood friends: an agta, an engkanto, and two other manananggal. As the only human in the group, of course I was intimidated at first, but after a few drinks, we really began hitting it off! In truth, I was a reclusive child and I never exactly belonged to a “group of friends”, even in my adolescence. But for whatever reason, this odd bunch of pariahs made me feel welcomed like no human ever has. Who knew that dating a manananggal could increase your social capital?
During our days in the city, Carol often satiates herself with grilled chicken livers and pork intestines, but when we last went back to the countryside, she wanted to treat herself to something more… authentic. See, it turns out that modern manananggal no longer prefer to eat pregnant women’s unborn fetuses for a meal. Instead, they feed on society’s most depraved—rapists, torturers, the like—murdering them in their own homes. I had obviously never tasted human meat before then, but I was surprised to find that when roasted, it has a flavor comparable to that of a beef tenderloin: lean, buttery, and practically melts in your mouth. Due to their fatal dietary restrictions, they cannot prepare it with salt or garlic, but a squeeze of citrus usually does the trick. What makes it all the more satisfying is the knowledge that the source of the meat had done things to justify their mutilation. What did chickens and pigs ever do to deserve that?
While returning to Iloilo is a welcome break from the clamor of Metro Manila, I’m not going to pretend that being there does not conjure up memories which I wish would have stayed repressed. Given that I spent sixteen years of my life there, it shouldn’t come as a surprise where, or more importantly, who my trauma stems from.
My uncle was a peculiar man. He remained unmarried for the entirety of his life, and the townspeople would often gossip about how he gave them the creeps (looking back, that’s probably part of the reason people avoided me as well). I can’t blame them. Despite being the only parental figure I’ve ever had, my uncle always made me uncomfortable, and that was before he began encroaching on my private space. I continued to return to his farm during the holidays because I had nowhere else to sleep. I’ll give him credit, he maintained a beautiful and prosperous farmland, but I always imagined how better the place would be without him.
One night, during a drinking session with Carol and the gang, I said “I think I know of a man who fits your criteria.”
Recently, Carol told me about a special procedure that could end up changing both of our lives forever. Apparently, if one recites a specific incantation, anoints themself with oil, and obtains an egg containing a black chick, a human woman may be transformed into a manananggal. As extreme as it sounds, this decision is a no-brainer for me. If I were a manananggal, I could soar the night sky alongside Carol instead of having to cling to her back. I would have the ability to defend myself against harm without needing to rely on others. I wouldn’t have to work or worry about living expenses because I would be able to hunt for my own food. On top of all that, I could still walk amongst men as a human girl by shapeshifting. Is there even a drawback to this?
I no longer wish to be human. What has being human ever gotten me? Certainly not the love and respect of other human beings. Besides, humans are weak, frail, and vulnerable. Weak. Frail. Vulnerable.
For transparency, this might very well be the last article I write for this website. Carol and I are still in the process of acquiring a black chick egg, but with her connections, that shouldn’t take very long. Either way, we hope that this article will inspire at least one of you to consider looking for a single manananggal in your area to take on your next date. And perhaps, like me, you will eventually feel compelled to become one of us yourself.
Thank you for reading! - Steph and Carol