One of the earliest stories I learned in school was the Filipino legend of the first man and woman. A bamboo splits open, and out come Malakas (Strong) and Maganda (Beautiful). The story was meant to teach that strength and beauty are important traits, but I was seven years old. So naturally, I took it to mean that men should be strong, and women should be… aesthetically pleasing.
It didn’t occur to me that this was an odd distinction. I married my first husband largely because he could flex his pectoral muscles, and I can recite all the Miss Universe winners from the Philippines in record time (unless my tongue trips over Pia Wurtzbach!).
We are a nation obsessed with beauty pageants. We don’t just watch Miss Universe; we analyze evening gowns like CSI scientists and dissect final answers as if they determine the fate of global diplomacy. (To be fair, there’s always one contestant advocating for world peace.) And we have every right to be invested—four Filipinas have won the crown (five, if we’re counting Miriam Quiambao, as we should). My own mother discouraged my sister and me from learning to ride bikes for fear of leg scratches affecting our hypothetical pageant futures. So why did I grow up practicing my pageant wave more than my deadlift form? Why did I sometimes wish I wore a sash and tiara instead of earning medals in school? And why do I still worry about how many kilos I weigh vs. focusing on how much kilos I can carry?
Then came Hidilyn Diaz, the Filipina who made history by winning our country’s first-ever Olympic gold. Not in boxing, where we traditionally pinned our hopes—but in weightlifting. A woman lifting more than double her body weight, proving that strength isn’t just for men. But her victory wasn’t just about breaking records; it was about breaking stereotypes.
We love calling women strong—but usually in the emotional, martyrdom kind of way. “She’s strong because she endured.” “She’s strong because she overcame adversity.” And while that’s more than valid, let’s also celebrate strength in its literal, physical form.
Personally, I aspire to be called strong not just for weathering life’s challenges, but for actually being strong. I want to lift heavy things. I want to be called a strong woman but also a Strongwoman—not just in spirit, but in body. Because if beauty comes from the inside out, then strength should come from the outside in. I want to be strong not to break Olympic records, but so I can lift my grandkids as they grow and carry my luggage when it’s full of pasalubong shopping.
They say, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Fine. But strength? Strength is in the effort of the doer. And that’s something we can all work toward.
It’s time we embrace a new version of the story—one where Filipinas aren’t just Maganda, but also Malakas. Where little girls grow up knowing they can be as strong as they are beautiful. Where women lifting weights are celebrated just as much as women winning crowns. Because strength and beauty aren’t opposites—they are complements. Exactly as the original legend intended.
So here’s a modern take on Si Malakas at Si Maganda: When the bamboo splits open, out comes a woman. She is strong. She is beautiful. And she is lifting that bamboo over her head—because she can. Meanwhile, the man? Well, he’s there too… spotting her and cheering her on, because real strength means lifting each other up.
Carlos Vargas Gierke
