(Editor’s Note: In celebration of Women’s Month, Marlene G. Estorosas has submitted to us this article with events beautifully woven into the title, “LILAS”. With an M.A. in English degree, the author is presently a Master Teacher II (English) for the Senior High School learners of Dr. CecilioPutong National High School, Tagbilaran City.)
When I was a little girl, I would often visit my lola’s house in Mabini, Bohol. Her home was surrounded by many Romblon plants. Their long, thorny long leaves graciously open up to the sun. Those plants were not just part of the landscape; they were the source of something meaningful. Their leaves were used to make native mats called banig, a craft that was both practical and beautiful.
I still remember vividly how the process began. First, we carefully remove the thorns from the edges of the leaves. Using a knife, we slice them slowly and gently so the leaf would not tear. After that, the leaf was cut in half to make it easier to handle. Then came the step that required patience and skill. Using a tool called a laran, the leaves were split into thinner strips. These thin strands were called lilas, the small, divided parts that would later be woven together.
Once the leaves were prepared, they were hung outside to dry under the warm sun. When they were dry enough, we stretch them carefully to straighten them. This made them firm and smooth, ready for weaving. Each strip seemed simple on its own, but together they would become something much greater.
Inside the room where the weaving took place, the women of the community gathered. It was more than just work— it was a time for sharing stories, laughter, and companionship. They helped one another patiently. One woman would weave from one side, another from the opposite side, and slowly their work would meet in the middle. Watching them was mesmerizing. The rhythmic movement of their hands, the quiet conversations, and the colorful patterns emerging from the strips made the whole process feel almost magical.
As a child, I watched closely and learned from them. What seemed like a simple craft was an actual lesson in patience, cooperation, and creativity. Each lilas — each thin strip of leaf—played an important role. Alone, it looked small and fragile. But when woven together with many others, it formed a strong and beautiful banig.
Now that I look back on those memories, I realize that we are much like those lilas. Each of us may seem small and ordinary on our own, but together we have the power to create something meaningful and strong. Just like the women weaving the banig, we must work side by side, meeting in the middle, helping one another.
Perhaps that is how a nation is truly built — not by a single hand, but by many hands patiently weaving together the lives, talents, and dreams of its people.
And just like the banig made from the humble leaves of the romblon plant, our strength lies in our unity.
As I grew older, I began to understand that the weaving of the banig was more than a simple household craft. It was a quiet lesson about life and about the making of a nation.
The lilas— thin, fragile, and seemingly insignificant — could easily break when held alone. But when woven together with patience and care, those delicate strips formed a mat that was strong, durable, and beautiful. The strength of the banig did not come from one strip alone; it came from the harmony of many pieces carefully interlaced with one another.
In the same way, a nation is not built by a single person, nor by a single voice. It is built by countless individuals, each contributing their own strength, skill, and story. Like the women who sat across from each other weaving from opposite sides, citizens must learn to meet in the middle — working together, supporting one another, and respecting the role each person plays.
The Laran that divided the leaves into lilas reminds me of how life prepares us. Through experiences, struggles, and challenges, we are shaped and refined. At times the process may feel difficult, just like the careful slicing of the leaves. Yet these moments prepare us to become stronger strands in the larger weave of society.
And just as the leaves needed to dry under the sun before they could be woven, people too need time, patience, and growth before they can fully contribute to something greater than themselves. Nation-building is not instant; it is a slow, deliberate process—much like weaving a banig, strand by strand, row by row.
When I remember those afternoons in my lola’s house in Mabini, Bohol, I now see them with a new meaning. The women who gathered there were not only making mats; they were quietly demonstrating the power of community. Their hands moved with purpose, their voices shared stories, and their work created something lasting.
Today, I realize that we are the lilas in the great weaving of our nation. Each of us may seem small, but together we form the patterns of our collective future. When we work with unity, patience, and shared purpose, we create a nation as strong and enduring as the banig woven from the humble leaves of the romblon plant.
And like the weavers who always meet in the middle, our greatest strength as a people lies in our willingness to come together.
Looking back now, I realize that those quiet afternoons in my lola’s house were more than childhood memories. They were lessons woven gently into my heart.
The women who gathered in that small room were not famous leaders, yet in their patient hands lived strength, wisdom, and resilience. With every lilas that they wove, they were silently teaching that greatness is built not by power, but by perseverance, cooperation, and care for one another.
Like the banig, our nation is formed by many humble strands. Each life, each story, each act of kindness and sacrifice becomes part of the greater pattern. And just as the women weavers meet in the middle to complete their work, we too must meet one another with understanding, respect, and shared purpose.
This Women’s Month, I remember those quiet weavers of Mabini, Bohol — my lola and the women beside her. Their hands carried tradition, their patience created beauty, and their unity showed the true strength of a community.
They may have been weaving mats, but in truth, they were weaving the values that hold a nation together.
And perhaps that is the greatest lesson they left us: that a strong nation, like a beautiful banig, is created by the patient hands, courageous hearts, and enduring spirit of women working together.
Happy Women’s Month, mgaLilas! Cheers!
“BANIG”