EDITOR'S LETTER
Written by Maria Elise C. Bugge / June 2026
I am my mom's only daughter. In fact, I am my mom's only child. I remember she once asked me if it was okay if she had another baby, and I said no. Which now feels selfish looking back because I think she always wanted more than just one.
She herself grew up with 7 siblings in Gibon, Philippines. A small and quiet town where the only things you heard were hens and kids playing basketball in flip-flops. She used to tell me how she and her siblings would wake up at five in the morning to go fishing so their family would have something to eat for dinner, and then walk one hour straight to school afterward because education meant possibility. The hope was always that one of them would eventually get a job and help provide for the rest.
As a child, I dreaded going there. I didn't appreciate nor see the beauty in a place like that. And I want to apologize. Likely because it was a culture I didn't fully understand, and so far from how I grew up. My dad is Norwegian, and I grew up spending most of my childhood in my grandparents' house, with a daily intake of boiled potatoes and snow.
My mom's culture felt unfamiliar compared to that. But one thing I noticed pretty early was how Filipino people could survive almost anything as long as there was cheap rum and a karaoke machine involved. Heartbreak? Sing. Natural disaster? Rum.
Last year, I spent eight months on Boracay Island to learn more about my mom's culture. About time. My parents have a charming beach resort there named Nirvana. The island is smaller than Heathrow Airport in London, but super touristy. Most of my days were spent at hostels, playing pool in bikini with backpackers, and adopting local street cats (literally).
I didn't realize my love for orange came from sunsets and papayas until then. My mom taught me to squeeze calamansi over it when I was younger. Sour and sweet. Refreshing. This is why the orange papaya became the cover of this issue, beautifully captured by photographer Rui Faria, with whom I had the pleasure of working on this project, together with Kyinat Motla, who helped with the still-life setup.
This September issue is a love letter to all forms of mothers around the world- but maybe a little extra to the Filipina ones: My mother. My mom's mother. My dad's mother. My friends' mothers. Your mother. Mother Earth. Mother Teresa, and motherhood itself.
Motherhood can be complicated, whether you are one or have one. Some relationships are close, some are difficult, and some exist somewhere in between. But mothers shape the way we understand care, sacrifice, chaos, anger, jealousy, strength, and softness, whether we like it or not.
Filipina women are fascinating. They are funny, free-spirited, temperamental, resilient, and somehow able to make everybody around them feel comfortable immediately. Exactly the kind of motherly instinct. No wonder they are among the world's largest exporters of nurses, with hospitality, pageant queens, and ube-icecream as close seconds.
One of my all-time favorite actresses, Meryl Streep, once said in a speech about women and child refugees: "Man works from sun to sun. Women's work is never done." It is such a simple phrase, yet it has stayed with me for years. And honestly, no wonder mother-daughter relationships can feel so complex. We expect so much from mothers while rarely acknowledging how much they already do.
Despite their strength, women still need softness, care, and love from a loved one. Yet for many Filipina women, having the freedom to choose their partner or what their future looks like is not always guaranteed. Many marry young or become mothers early, often due to financial instability, limited access to birth control, or traditional expectations placed on them from a young age.
On top of all of this, the Philippines still remains a country where certain ideals around beauty continue to shape how women are treated today, as journalist Anya Greyes and myself write about in this issue's opinion piece.
Traditional gender expectations still shape everyday life, although younger generations are beginning to reshape what womanhood looks like. We explore this further in an intimate interview with Filipina-Australian model Tash Knox, as she reflects on identity, queerness, and what motherhood means to her.
As creative industries in the Philippines and fashion media across Southeast Asia continue to write about motherhood, let's not forget the humanity beneath polished smiles, flawless skin, beautiful visuals, and picture-perfect relationships.
Thank you to all mothers out there. Let us never take them for granted.
