Filipino Quotes

Me quota ang pag-ibig. Sa bawat limang umiibig, isa lang ang magiging maligaya. Ang iba, iibig sa di sila iniibig. Iibig nang di natututo. O iibig sa wala. O di iibig kailanman.

Nakalimutan na ng tao ang kabanalan n'ya, na mas marami pa s'yang alam kesa sa nakasulat sa Transcript of Records n'ya, mas marami pa s'yang kayang gawin kesa sa nakalista sa resume n'ya, at mas mataas ang halaga n'ya kesa sa presyong nakasulat sa payslip n'ya tuwing sweldo.

Obligasyon kong maglayag, karapatan kong pumunta sa kung saan ko gusto, responsibilidad ko ang buhay ko.

Give me ten thousand Filipino soldiers and I will conquer the world.

It is ironic that many Filipinos learn to love the Philippines while abroad, not at home.

The identity of the Filipino today is of a person asking what is his identity.

It's like a bad joke over here: a black woman, a Filipino transvestite, and a Korean ex-stripper walk into a gay man‟s house. All that's missing is a priest and a talking dog.” - Bobby Dawson

Pilipino ako, sapat nang dahilan `yon para mahalin ko ang Pilipinas.

Maybe he was Filipino. Was that in Asia? Probably. Asia's out-of-control huge.

Meron bang taong walang itsura? Anu yun, abstract?

Hindi lahat ng tama, totoo.

Kung ibibigay mo sa akin ang puso mo, paano ka?" "Hahatiin ko ito para sa ating dalawa. Ang kalahati ay para magmahal ka. Ang matitira ay para mahalin kita.

Mabuti na nga siguro yung ganito, na papaniwalain ko sya na hindi ko sya mahal at baka sakali, sa ganitong pamamaraan ay minamahal nya ako.

Nasasaktan ako dahil sa kabila ng lahat, mahal ko ang Pilipinas.

Pukang ama talaga, sa karami-ramihan ng pwedeng siksikan nya, bakit sa isip pa.

Mas sumaya nga lang nang dumating sya. Pero bakit nung umalis sya, hindi na ako naging kasinsaya gaya ng dati bago pa sya dumating?

Sabi ng nanay ko, 'yan daw totoo... di raw dapat ikahiya!" "E kung magnanakaw ka, di mo ikakahiya?" "Sabi ng nanay ko, kung ikakahiya mo... h'wag mong gagawin!

Hindi achievement ang tawag ko sa gano'n. Suwertihan lang 'yong ipinanganak ka nang maganda. Ang achievement e something you work hard to attain.

Before 1521 we could have been anything and everything not Filipino; after 1565 we can be nothing but Filipino.

In typical Filipino fashion, my aunt expressed her love not through words of encouragement or affectionate embraces, but through food. Food was how she communicated. Food was how she found her place in the world.

Kakabog ang dibdib mo, kikilig ang kalamnan mo, at kikirot ang puso mo. Kabog, kilig, kirot. Kapag naramdaman mo ang tatlong K, ... umiibig ka!

Don't say Fili, sister. Say Pili. In Tagalog, pili means to choose. Pino means fine. Pilipino equals 'fine choice.

Kung hindi malaya ang bagay na may buhay, dapat man lang sana ay malawak ang kinalalagyan nito," sabi ko. "Pero kulungan parin ang kulungan, gaano man ito kalaki," sagot n'ya.

There was tartle, a Scottish word for the panicked pause you experience when you have to introduce someone, but you don’t remember their name. There was backpafeifengesicht, a German term for a face you’d love to punch. There was gigil, a Filipino word for the urge to squeeze an item because it is unbearably cute.

Kung pareparehas kaming special, sino pa ang special?

Nakayanan n'yang bumangon, hindi ko pagdududahan ang kakayahan n'yang lumipad.

Filipinos are not a reading people, and despite the compulsory course on the life and works of Rizal today, from the elementary to the university levels, it is accepted that the 'Noli me Tangere' and 'El Filibusterismo' are highly regarded but seldom read (if not totally ignored). Therefore one asks, how can unread novels exert any influence?

I am a Filipino born to freedom, and I shall not rest until freedom shall have been added unto my inheritance—for myself and my children and my children’s children—forever.

English is a language, not a measure of intelligence. (Howard Gardner would argue the otherwise.) Filipino/Tagalog is a language, not a measure of patriotism.

Sa winikang nanulay na Sa panulat o hininga Ay wala nang hahapis pa Sa salitang “sana”… sana

He fidgets. Thinks. Observes his fellow passengers. Judges everyone, in the traditional Filipino sport of justifying both personal and shared insecurities.

Kahit nga ang buhay sa mundo, matapos di umano ang katapusan ng mundo, magsisimula uli ang tao sa bagong paraiso. Wala pa ring closure.

Our forefathers were heroes. But why were they heroes? Because they fought for democracy. They fought for the life and liberty of the Filipino people. They fought for our independence, our freedom. They fought against tyranny, totalitarianism, and dictatorship. They fought for us and that is something we must be grateful for.

Truly the Filipino rises to his finest self during trying times, the more trying the times, the finer the rising. Or it is in times of disaster that the Filipino ceases to be a disaster, thinking of others first before self.

Paano mo malalaman kung hindi ka magtatanong? Pero andami-dami nating nalalaman kahit hindi tayo nagtatanong. Paano ka pa magtatanong kung alam mo na ang sagot. Pero paano ka magtatanong kung hindi mo alam kung ano ang iyong itatanong? Paano mo sasagutin ang tanong sa iyo kung hindi mo alam ang isasagot? Paano ka sasagot kung hindi mo alam ang tanong. (Kunsabagay, sa buhay na ito, madalas, tama ang sagot, mali nga lang ang tanong).

Para kay Lea, maruming tingnan ang isang batang naka-make up at lipstick. Imbis na makaganda'y sinisira nito ang kalinisan ng isang batang mukha. Nilalagyan ng anyo ng kamunduhan at karanasan.

Perhaps, this is what love has always been, whether it is for a woman of for a cause -- the readiness to give and not ask for anything in return, the unquestioning willingness to lose everything, even if that loss is as something as precious as life itself.

...cause it was hard... so much harder... when I couldn't live with me.

I dream of a morning when Filipinos can wake up from the centuries-long sleep that took them from their past and denied them their destiny as a people.

Philippine culture was clearly different. It wasn't the fan's duty to remain aloof in the presence of stars; it was the player's responsibility to show gratitude to the average Filipino.

Look what's happening around us: war, hunger, poverty, epidemics... tapos, ang iniisip natin, pagandahan? My God, Pilar; ang importante sa tao'y ang kabuuan niya bilang tao... hindi kung maganda ba ang mukha niya o makinis ba ang kanyang binti!

Totoong mahal pa rin ang galunggong at wala pa ring makain ang mga nagtatanim ng bigas. At iyon mismo ang dahilan kaya patuloy ang pagtatanim ng mga pangarap... patuloy ang pagsulong ng mga adhikain. Pero hindi isang lipunan ng mga desaparesido ang nalikha ng lahat ng pakikipaglaban... kundi isang buong magiting na kasaysayan.

Oh my God, you look like Bruno Mars!” There were small tears forming in my eyes. Daniel frowned. “Bruno Mars is of Puerto Rican and Filipino heritage, not Korean, so that’s incredibly offensive.

I am a Filipino, inheritor of a glorious past, hostage to the uncertain future. As such, I must prove equal to a two-fold task -- the task of meeting my responsibility to the past, and the task of performing my obligation to the future.

In a world grown dark with deceit there there are many who are blinded and few who can hold up a light so that we can see the way. More important, so that we can look at ourselves, as well as others, and know how similar we are to the herd.

The role of the Filipino historian must be the role of all historians. There is, of course, [Filipino history], but as rule, the role of the historian is to tell the truth-- in so far as documents are concerned.

Filipinos have an aversion to blank walls.

Maria Clara did not faint, simply because the Filipinos do not know how to faint.

Filipinos don't realize that victory is the child of struggle, that joy blossoms from suffering, and redemption is a product of sacrifice.

It’s easy to romanticize a place when it’s far away,” he goes on, making this officially the most I’ve heard him speak at once in a long time. “Filipino Americans have a tendency to do that. Even me. Sometimes I miss it so much. The beaches. The water. The rice paddies. The carabao. The food. Most of all, my family.” He closes his eyes, and I wonder if he’s imagining himself there right now. After a few moments, he opens them again, but he stares at his hands. “But as many good things as there are, there are many bad things, things not so easy to see from far away. When you are close, though, they are sometimes all you see.

It’s easy to romanticize a place when it’s far away. Filipino Americans have a tendency to do that. Even me. Sometimes I miss it so much. The beaches. The water. The rice paddies. The carabao. The food. Most of all, my family.

The sense of urgency in finishing this work was also goaded by the thought that Marcos does not have eternal life and that the Filipino people are of unimaginable forgiving posture. I thought that, if I did not perpetuate this work for posterity, Marcos might unduly benefit from a Laurelian statement that, when a man dies, the virtues of his past are magnified and his faults are reduced to molehills.

Ang lalakeng nakikinig sa magulang, masunurin. Ang babaeng nakikinig sa magulang, baka maging old maid

Ang magagandang panaginip, walang karugtong, walang katapusan. Kaya dapat, hindi dinudugtungan, para habambuhay na lang na maging isang napakagandang panaginip.

We cannot move forward if we allow the past to pull us back.

To THOSE who want to lift this nation from the dungheap of history, the past does not matter — only the present, the awareness of the deadening rot which surrounds and suffocates us, and what we must do to vanquish it.

As for loving America or not loving America, those aren't your problems, either. Your word for love is survival. Everything else is a story that isn't about you.

We may be half-Filipino, but the other half is pure, unadulterated racist.

My father was a Filipino contortionist who was known as the Manilla Folder.

If you're not a flaming Filipino dancing queen, they never, ever expect the Asian guy to be asking about gay sex. They always figure you want to talk about math. Or the violin.

The Filipino houseboy was conscious now

Filipinos were famous for their garrulousness. They were the Irish of Asia, it was sometimes said—warm, openhearted, story-loving, with unslakable appetites for the latest rumor or fact.

[Theodore] Roosevelt referred to [Emilio] Aguinaldo as a "renegade Pawnee" and observed that Filipinos did not have the right to govern their country just because they happened to occupy it.

Inevitably, though, there will always be a significant part of the past which can neither be burnt nor banished to the soothing limbo of forgetfulness— myself. I was and still am that same ship which carried me to the new shore, the same vessel containing all the memories and dreams of the child in the brick house with the toy tea set. I am the shore I left behind as well as the home I return to every evening. The voyage cannot proceed without me.

To American ears, the Filipino pronunciation of the word "evacuate" sounded more like "bokweet." They soon further Americanized it to "buckwheat," which would become guerilla slang meaning to place as much distance between oneself and the Japanese as possible.

Sa buhay na ito tayo'y manatiling huminga ng malalim.

I die without seeing the dawn brighten over my native land. You who have it to see, welcome it ... and forget not those who have fallen during the night!

Klik! Anak ko 'yon! Hahahaha! Mga kaibigan, si Maya ko 'yon! Klik! Narinig n'yo ba? Anak ko 'yon! Klik! Klik! Anak ko sa labas. 'Yong batang konti ko nang tinunaw no'ng araw. Kundi ko lang naisip na lahat ng bata'y kailangang bigyan ng pagkakataong maging tao.

I sometimes wish I could fine people every time they use black street slang to prove how hip they are.” “Yeah, I know what you mean.” “Just charge them a residual. White people, Chinese people; even those boho Obamanegroes with their braided hemp necklaces, you understand me? … Except for dirt-poor white people surviving the life in some hood somewhere. And those Filipino prisoners you see on YouTube dancing to Michael Jackson songs. I figure those guys have earned the right to drop the occasional ‘homie’ now and then …

Nevertheless we laughed as best we could Because we are helpless while we are loved.

There are mercies, and there are mercies.

History does not repeat itself. It is men who never learned from the past who repeat history.

Hindi naman eksklusibo ang kabutihan sa kahit na anong nilalang. Kung hindi tayo hinahamon na magpakabuti araw-araw, baka hindi natin maramdaman kung bakit natin kailangang magpakabuti nga.

Jelle, if you really love Guji, you’d be willing to let him go and allow him to be happy with the woman he loves. Walang problema kung nais mong ipaglaban ang feelings mo pero dapat alam mo rin kung paano sumuko lalo na kung alam mong talo ka na.

Consider the fate of Filipino soldiers who fought the Japanese during World War II. With the promise of U.S. citizenship and full veteran benefits, more than 250,000 Filipino soldiers fought under the American flag, playing a crucial role in achieving victory. Shortly after, the Rescission Act of 1946 retroactively took away these soldiers’ status as U.S. veterans. The message was clear: your service didn’t matter. It took more than sixty years to rectify the injustice.

When you're doing something that you love, it's never work. It's just you being you.

Mahal nga pala kita. Mahal pa rin pala kita. At sa wakas, hindi na kasing sakit ng dati, pero mahal, masakit pa.

You want to know, companions of my youth, How much has changed the wild but shy young poet Forever writing last poem after last poem; You hear he’s dark as earth, barefoot, A turban round his head, a bolo at his side, His ballpen blown up to a long-barreled gun: Deeper still the struggling change inside.

Money from taxpayers in Wichita and Denver and Phoenix gets routed through the Pentagon and CIA and then ends up here, or in Baghdad or Dubai, or Doha or Kabul or Beirut, in the hands of contractors, subcontractors, their local business partners, local sheikhs, local Mukhabarat officers, local oil smugglers, local drug dealers—money that funds construction and real estate speculation in a few choice luxury districts, buildings that go up thanks to the sweat of imported Filipino and Bangladeshi workers

I lived in a big bunkhouse of thirty farm workers with Leroy, who was a stranger to me in many ways because he was always talking about unions and unity. But he had a way of explaining the meanings of words in utter simplicity, like "work" which he translated into "power," and "power" into "security." I was drawn to him because I felt that he had lived in many places where the courage of men was tested with the cruelest weapons conceivable.

He was a son of the revolutionary movement when he and the revolutionary movement were still pristine. It was a special time for Filipino activists—a time when a hundred flowers bloomed and a thousand thoughts contended in a movement that did not know yet the price of betrayal from within. But flowers wilt and thoughts give way to rancor with the passing of years. And so some may grieve not his passing, while others fall to the ground in tears./FOR HORACIO BOY MORALES, JR. (September 11, 1943 – February 29, 2012)

Jump there with me - on top of the stretcher, the man between your legs, your hands pumping his heart. Do not fear the clatter of wheels, the bumps and slopes in corridors. It is only turbulence.

Countrymen: I have given proofs, as well as the best of you, of desiring liberty for our country, and I continue to desire it. But I place as a premise the education of the people, so that by means of instruction and work they may have a personality of their own and that they may make themselves worthy of that same liberty. In my writings I have recommended the study of the civic virtues, without which there can be no redemption. I have also written (and my words have been repeated) that reforms, to be fruitful, must come from above, that those which spring from below are uncertain and insecure movements. Imbued with these ideas, I cannot do less than condemn, and I do condemn, this absurd, savage rebellion, planned behind my back, which dishonors the Filipinos and discredits those who can speak for us. I abominate all criminal actions and refuse any kind of participation in them, pitying with all my heart the dupes who have allowed themselves to be deceived. Go back, then, to your homes, and may God forgive those who have acted in bad faith.

Kapag punuan ang jeep at nagkataon na sinungaling ang driver sa pagsasabing "Lima pa, maluwag na maluwag pa yan", merong bagong sakay na pasahero ang bigla nalang tutuwad sa harap mo, sa pag-aakalang uusog ka, upang siya'y makaupo. Napaka awkward ng feeling, habang pinagmamasdan mo siya sa ganun posisyon pero wala ka namang magawa dahil puno na nga ang upuan. Doon mo nalaman kung anong feeling ng isang arinola.

Iyan ang hirap sa usapang ito. Ano ba naman ang kamuwangan ng mga pipituhing taon sa mga beauty contests? Laro lang ang tingin nila sa lahat ng bagay at komo laro, gagawin lang nila pag gusto nila. Pag nasa mood sila. Karaniwan na ina lan ang may gustong mapalaban ang anak nila, masabing kabilang ito sa magaganda maging ang pinakamaganda kung maaari. Baya'n mo Baya'n mong mabilad siya sa init, mapagod siya, lagnatin siya, sipunin siya. Gusto ng nanay ang tropeo, gusto ng nanay ang karangalan.

Anu't anuman, dito naganap ang mga unang pangamba ko, na ang anak ko'y hindi na isang estudyante sa loob ng kampus...unti-unti'y nagiging bahagi na rin siya ng mas malawak at balisang lipunan, ng mga bagong tao ng ngayon na siyang magpapasiya ng bukas: isang malinaw na mata at tainga at tinig ng kanyang panahon.

Here, then, happiness is obviously a form of strength, a subversion even, a modus of survival, even if at times it appears superficial and misplaced. Besides, for all of boxing's brutality, there is lyricism in its rhythm, too, something that dreamy, romantic Filipinos perhaps recognize. It is almost too facile to ascribe too much significance in this metaphor, but this incongruous combination of lyrical violence is default in Manila, where beauty is scarce, and which flourishes side by side with the hideous. There is pride in that stubborn independence, I think, whether it is on the canvas of a boxing ring or history. How did that killer song end again? The record shows I took the blows and did it my way.

Life is a continuous feeling wherein something you work for it to be happy in terms of your soul.

No, I promised him I wouldn’t fight a giant.” “So you obey the letter of the law and not the spirit,” she said. “Yes.” My teeth finally stopped chattering. I loved my turtleneck. I loved my jacket. I loved my boots. Mmm, wonderful warm boots. “How come when I do that, you chew me out?” “Because you don’t do it well enough to get away with it.” Julie blinked. “What kind of move was that, at the end?” “It’s from Escrima, a Filipino martial art. I’ll show you when we get a minute, but you will have to practice, because it has to be done really fast for it to work.

BUT, alas, the heart forgets; the heart is distracted; and Maytime passes; summer ends; the storms break over the rot-ripe orchards and the heart grows old; while the hours, the days, the months, and the years pile up and pile up, till the mind becomes too crowded, too confused: dust gathers in it; cobwebs multiply; the walls darken and fall into ruin and decay; the memory perishes...

It is wrong to declare that we do not have a culture of our own. Natabunan lang o submerged ng napakaraming impluwensiyang banyaga ang ating magagandang pagpapahalaga. Ang epekto: hirap na hirap tayong unawain kung sino ba talga ang tunay na tayo. Para malaman ang ating tunay na pagka-Pilipino, ang daming kailangang hukayin at tanggalin sa ating isipan at gawi. Para kang nagbabalat ng sibuyas. AT habang nagbabalat, hindi mo maiwasang maiyak dahil maraming masasakit na pagbabago ang kailangang gawin.

Readers of this memo will be disappointed to know that Bong-Bong Gad (sic), designer/owner/driver/proprietor of the vehicle, anticipated the inevitable "there but for THE GRACE OF GOD go I" witticism by unloading same on Yours Truly while we were still shaking hands (Filipinos go in for long handshakes, and the first party to initiate termination of a handshake—usually the non-Filipino—is invariably left with a nagging feeling that he is a shithead)

People are like stars in the Milky Way. There are millions of them. There are big, small, dead, and dying stars out there. Hindi ikaw ang nag-iisang bituin d'yan sa langit, kaya hindi sa'yo umiikot ang mundo. Puweding makinang ka ngayon, pero asahan mong parating may darating na mas makinang pa sa'yo. Malaki ang posibilidad na mawala sa'yo ang atensiyon ng iba, pero tandaan mo ang isang bagay. "Whatever happens, you're still a star. There will still be people looking at you, admiring your beauty, and wishing for great things to happen to them with your help. You can't let them down, so you have to continue shining for them. You have to show them directions. That's what stars are for.

Filipino people, the people of Tacloban, and Samar, and Cebu, and all these places where so many have died, they are strong not just to have survived this storm, but they are strong to have survived the aftermath of this storm. They have survived for a week now, often with very little food, with very little water, with very little medical attention. Can you imagine the strength it takes to be living in a shack, to be living, sleeping on the streets next to the body of your dead children?

The hidden master of the Filipino-style Chinese donut is Benito Taganes, proprietor and king of the bubbling vats at Mabuhay. Mabuhay, dark, cramped, invisible from the street, stays open all night long. It drains the bars and cafes after hours, concentrates the wicked and the guilty along its chipped Formica counter, and thrums with the gossip of criminals, policemen, shtarkers and shlemiels, whores and night owls. With the fat applauding in the fryers, the exhaust fans roaring, and the boom box blasting the heartsick kundimans of Benito’s Manila childhood, the clientele makes free with their secrets. A golden mist of kosher oil hangs in the air and baffles the senses. Who could overhear with ears full of KosherFry and the wailing of Diomedes Maturan?

First World countries may have great infrastructure, material comfort and modernity, but these cannot compare with the way the homeland speaks to a Filipino’s heart. There may be potholes in the street where I live but they ’speak’ to me in a way that a flawless highway in a developed foreign country cannot. I may be upset by the potholes, but the feeling is a familiar one, and it is easier to endure than alienation in a foreign land. The things that upset me about the country ’speak’ to me in that same familiar language. In fact, it is so familiar that my sense of humor can run circles around the very things I complain about. But that is precisely the problem: because these have become too familiar, I am no longer moved by them - at least not enough to be able to change things. Indeed, they have become ‘my’ potholes. Life in the Philippines may be hell at times, but it remains our home.

Pero ipinapangako ko, alam mo, pag naabutan kita, hindi na kita pakakawalan. Yayakapin kita, hahalikan sa buong katawan, pagsasawain ko talaga ang mga labi ko. Tapos ikukulong kita sa aking matagal ding naghihintay na mga palad. Nanamnamin ng bawat daliri ko ang bawat balahibo mo. Hahaplusin kita nang hahaplusin. Pagkatapos, dahan-dahan kong pipilipitin ang leeg mo. Pipilipitin ko ito nang pipilipitin hanggang sa mapugtuan ka ng hininga. Buong poot kong isisiwalat sa mundo: hayop kang kuneho ka. Hayop.

Would the behavior of the United States during the war—in military action abroad, in treatment of minorities at home—be in keeping with a “people’s war”? Would the country’s wartime policies respect the rights of ordinary people everywhere to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? And would postwar America, in its policies at home and overseas, exemplify the values for which the war was supposed to have been fought? These questions deserve thought. At the time of World War II, the atmosphere was too dense with war fervor to permit them to be aired. For the United States to step forward as a defender of helpless countries matched its image in American high school history textbooks, but not its record in world affairs. It had opposed the Hatian revolution for independence from France at the start of the nineteenth century. It had instigated a war with Mexico and taken half of that country. It had pretended to help Cuba win freedom from Spain, and then planted itself in Cuba with a military base, investments, and rights of intervention. It had seized Hawaii, Puerto Rico, Guam, and fought a brutal war to subjugate the Filipinos. It had “opened” Japan to its trade with gunboats and threats. It had declared an Open Door Policy in China as a means of assuring that the United States would have opportunities equal to other imperial powers in exploiting China. It had sent troops to Peking with other nations, to assert Western supremacy in China, and kept them there for over thirty years.

During forced exercise one day, Louie fell into step with William Harris, a twenty-five-year-old marine officer, the son of marine general Field Harris. Tall and dignified, with a face cut in hard lines, Harris had been captured in the surrender of Corregidor in May 1942. With another American,* he had escaped and embarked on an eight-and-a-half-hour swim across Manila Bay, kicking through a downpour in darkness as fish bit him. Dragging himself ashore on the Japanese-occupied Bataan Peninsula, he had begun a run for China, hiking through jungles and over mountains, navigating the coast in boats donated by sympathetic Filipinos, hitching rides on burros, and surviving in part by eating ants. He had joined a Filipino guerrilla band, but when he had heard of the American landing at Guadalcanal, the marine in him had called. Making a dash by boat toward Australia in hopes of rejoining his unit, he had gotten as far as the Indonesian island of Morotai before his journey ended. Civilians had turned him in to the Japanese, who had discovered that he was a general’s son and sent him to Ofuna. Even here, he was itching to escape.

FOOD Adobo (uh-doh-boh)---Considered the Philippines's national dish, it's any food cooked with soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, and black peppercorns (though there are many regional and personal variations) Almondigas (ahl-mohn-dee-gahs)---Filipino soup with meatballs and thin rice noodles Baon (bah-ohn)---Food, snacks and other provisions brought on to work, school, or on a trip; food brought from home; money or allowance brought to school or work; lunch money (definition from Tagalog.com) Embutido (ehm-puh-tee-doh)---Filipino meatloaf Ginataang (gih-nih-tahng)---Any dish cooked with coconut milk, sweet or savory Kakanin (kah-kah-nin)---Sweet sticky cakes made from glutinous rice or root crops like cassava (There's a huge variety, many of them regional) Kesong puti (keh-sohng poo-tih)---A kind of salty cheese Lengua de gato (lehng-gwah deh gah-toh)---Filipino butter cookies Lumpia (loom-pyah)---Filipino spring rolls (many variations) Lumpiang sariwa (loom-pyahng sah-ree-wah)---Fresh Filipino spring rolls (not fried) Mamón (mah-MOHN)---Filipino sponge/chiffon cake Matamis na bao (mah-tah-mees nah bah-oh)---Coconut jam Meryenda (mehr-yehn-dah)---Snack/snack time Pandesal (pahn deh sahl)---Lightly sweetened Filipino rolls topped with breadcrumbs (also written pan de sal) Patis (pah-tees)---Fish sauce Salabat (sah-lah-baht)---Filipino ginger tea Suman (soo-mahn)---Glutinous rice cooked in coconut milk, wrapped in banana leaves, and steamed (though there are regional variations) Ube (oo-beh)---Purple yam