Yvette Tan, the Queen of Philippine Horror Stories, sees herself as an “open-minded skeptic.” “I don’t want to believe: I really don’t,” Tan tells Rolling Stone Philippines. “I know that 95 percent of what people ‘encounter’ can probably be explained scientifically. But I’ve seen too many things to discount what isn’t real. I know that these things exist because I’ve encountered them.”
Tan goes on to describe some of the most unexplainable experiences she’s had with the supernatural. There is a matter-of-fact tone to the horror writer’s voice as she nonchalantly talks about the one time her third eye was accidentally opened. “I was in New Orleans when it happened,” says Tan. “A friend and I decided to take a tour of the plantation in the French Quarter. Nothing happened on the tour, but on the bus ride back to the hotel, I heard a voice say to me in Tagalog, ‘Magpagpag ka.’ I don’t think in Tagalog, so I thought this was strange. That night, I couldn’t turn off the lights because whenever I tried, the room would start to be super maingay. Even my friend complained she could hear everything. When I got back to the Philippines, I was sensitive. I don’t claim to have any power of sorts, but now I walk into rooms and feel strange presences.”
For Tan, there is always a “germ” of real life that creeps into her fiction, and vice versa. She first made her mark as a horror writer in 2003 when she won the prestigious Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for her short stories Kulog and Sidhi. As early as then, readers could already identify Tan’s signature style of setting her horror stories in mundane Filipino life. “The supernatural is just a part of Filipino reality,” says Tan.
Since then, Tan has published four books, including several acclaimed short story collections. Her most recent anthology, Insect Hag and Other Stories, has further cemented her reputation in contemporary horror. In this latest work, Tan continues to explore the possibility of ancient folklore bleeding into real life. The stories include characters such as three boys who steal something they shouldn’t have from a sari-sari store, a family consumed by the destructive pull of hoarding, and a woman willing to go to supernatural lengths to avenge a lover lost in the drug war. “I wanted them to be believable,” says Tan, “to make you think that these are stories that could have happened to your neighbors, cousins, dentists, daughters, fiances, and brothers.”
Oh, to Be a Woman
On the subject of womanhood, Tan easily pinpoints the horrors that come with existing as a woman in the Philippines. “Being a woman alone is a challenge!” Tan laughs. “But in this country? Oh my goodness.”
Growing up as a Filipino-Chinese Evangelical Christian, the eldest daughter of her family, and as a disabled woman, Tan has long been acquainted with the difficulties of navigating multiple minority identities. “It’s like I couldn’t pick one!” Tan jokes.
“I know a lot of people think that women in the Philippines have a lot going for them, but they really don’t,” says Tan. “We’re always in danger of something. We’re always taught to protect ourselves. The fact that we even have to think about protecting ourselves, that’s a big indicator that something’s wrong.”
“I envy men, because they don’t think — they just do,” continues Tan. “They don’t have to think about what to wear to avoid getting harassed. We’re policed all the time. You can’t wear this because you’re going to attract attention. You can’t wear that because you’re going to fade into the wallpaper. You can’t be too smart, either. You can’t be too anything.”
Tan also stresses how her Filipino-Chinese upbringing made it doubly difficult for her to uphold the expectations placed on her as a woman. The Filipino-Chinese community has long been viewed as strictly conservative and traditional, and for Tan, this meant navigating a complex web of roles. Tan recalls one incident when her mother, upon meeting an old friend, mentioned that Tan would be pursuing a master’s degree. “You know what was the first thing that friend said?” Tan asks. “She said, ‘Oh, don’t do that. You’re going to get too smart and you won’t find a husband.’”
As a Filipino-Chinese woman, Tan still feels the judgment that comes from members of her own community. “There are certain sectors of the community that don’t like talking about me because what I do… it’s just not done,” says Tan. “For a while, everyone thought I would be nothing. I could see how they thought that: I was sheltered. I was quiet. I was insecure. I could have easily been nothing. I’m so lucky to be where I am right now. I’m not religious, but I believe in a higher being because I could not be where I am today without the grace of God.”
The horror genre has seen a surge in popularity in Philippine fiction in recent years. As more readers seek out stories from Filipino horror writers like Tony Perez, Karl R. de Mesa, and Douglas Candano, among many others, the genre continues to thrive, despite how the genre historically performed poorly among Filipino audiences. “I didn’t think I’d be alive to see a Philippines where readers want horror,” says Tan, “or really any type of fiction that isn’t literary. I grew up with people dismissing this kind of thing. In fact, I was even dismissed a lot when I was starting out.”
Tan is hopeful that the genre will continue to evolve and gain recognition across the country. However, when asked which horror stories to look out for, Tan chooses not to recommend any works of fiction. “Read a book on Philippine history,” Tan says. “Reality can be scarier than fiction. Thankfully, we have a hand in how our history unfolds.”
