The Lady of the Nightbloom

When brilliance meets community pressure, what blossoms—and what withers? This episode retells the Filipino folk-inspired myth of Evangelina, a prodigious artist who withdraws from the glittering buzz of social expectations. Gifted but suffocated by gossip, envy, and “crab mentality,” Evangelina seeks solace in solitude, only to transform into the nocturnal bloom known as Dama de Noche.

This retelling of the "The Legend of the Flower Dama Noche" is a cultural commentary and a reflection on how modern creatives navigate praise, pressure, and personal peace. This episode explores how talent, communal politics, and the quest for authentic selfhood intertwine—illuminating why some flowers choose to open only after sunset.

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lady of the nightbloom by nathalie de los santos

Evangelina was known as the gifted daughter of a prominent family that had immigrated to a new world. She didn’t study at a prestigious private school, but she excelled effortlessly in arts, academics, and music. At first, her parents wanted her to get married, but soon they saw her destined for greatness in society’s eyes.

As her popularity grew, Evangelina was invited to gatherings, clubs and groups to help organize community events. But in rooms full of people, Evangelina felt an emptiness in these social gatherings. Behind glittering parties, protest posters and curated social media posts lay gossip, envy, and competition. Evangelina lost track of who liked who, and who hated who. If she didn’t take a side, she would hear no end of it. And if she was given an award, while many praised her, she would lose a few friends each time. “I did the same thing as you. It’s because you’re younger,” a colleague once scoffed. Even if the envious stayed in her life, their response to her success was always “If only we could all have what you have.”

She knew these friends wouldn’t be there if she hadn’t any skills or prestige, so she felt the ever present need to keep up. She learnt to never fully talk about what she could do, in case it came across as bragging. When she talked about being proud of her work, her friend said, “How can I compare to you?” and Evangelina felt bad for making her friend feel this way. Evangelina tried to continue the conversation, but the spark had faded from the discussion. Evangelina wanted to connect with people when she shared her inner world. She wanted a good conversation, where two imaginations could connect. But there were so few people who didn’t see her as an ideal or threat or someone to use. And her inner world was very small, a sanctuary of her beliefs. It only became smaller when people made it bigger than what it seemed. Evangelina quickly grew weary of this crab mentality, drained by the constant pressure to participate in social politics.

Yearning for authenticity, she gradually withdrew from public life. She chose to spend her days immersed in books, honing her skills in solitude, embracing her art, writing, and music. Her withdrawal only increased her mystique; her carefully curated social media posts of beautiful paintings and art, insightful essays, and hauntingly beautiful songs became eagerly anticipated events, each drawing admiration from thousands who never truly knew her but adored her from afar. The artists she highlighted alongside her art loved her for understanding their work with the deepest part of her heart and soul.

Each evening, Evangelina sang from her balcony, softly but powerfully, her voice floating gently through the night air. People would gather quietly below, recording snippets and sharing them widely online, touched by the pure emotion in her voice. Though suitors and admirers frequently sought her attention, Evangelina politely declined their advances, preferring the peace she had carved out for herself. 

But her messages flooded with demands to sing in all sorts of venues, from agents wanting her talent for themselves, rather than give her light to the world for free. Even community members, who only wanted her to show up and sing to soothe their hearts, would be offended if she picked one event over the other, showing any preferential treatment to another community member. Understanding this, she declined all requests. Her explanation to each suitor, each community member was: “If I chose one, I’ll cause sorrow to all.” 

Her parents expected her to marry and have children, to one day commit all her time to her family and leave this wheel of the world behind. While this route was a viable exit, Evangelina didn’t want to exist for one person either, and she thought day and night how she could remain free, as her own person, without hurting the people she loved. Evangelina felt guilty for taking up so much space. She stopped posting photos of herself online. Everything tasted like ash, so she also stopped eating. She wanted to play small in order to survive. Hunger became a dull ache in her body and her mind emptied into nothingness. Her art became a mindless motion to pull through. Slowly, her sanctuary was infiltrated with a chorus of external voices and her soul became the size of a grain of sand.

One quiet night, overwhelmed by the demands and expectations from others despite her attempts to distance herself, Evangelina realized she was tired of testing the limits of her mind, and filling her days with restless busywork. She longed to spend more time with her divine creators. Evangelina whispered a heartfelt wish to Bathala himself: “Let my legacy live in the hearts of others without losing myself in their storms. Let me exist gently, cherished from afar but untouched by their chaos.”

In a flash of fire, she disappeared without a trace. In the place where she often stood, singing beneath the moonlight, a lush plant sprouted rapidly. It bloomed into delicate, fragrant white flowers that only opened after sunset, their fragrance spreading peace and gentle sleep to all nearby. Her parents wept over her disappearance, and the townspeople mourned her loss. They named the flowers “Dama de Noche”, a flower that would grant sleep to the restless, allowing anxious folks to be at ease in their darkest hours. Evangelina remained forever beloved, remembered fondly as the elusive talent who had chosen peace and solitude over the noise and turmoil of the world.

Warrior Spirit Through Sacred Kali and Mayari

Imee Dalton (she/her) understands what it’s like to walk the world as someone disconnected from her roots. She has been dedicated to her own healing and remembrance journey for decades. Known as “the Mayari Moon”, Imee is a kali instructor, content creator and one of the hosts of the Babaylan Bruha Book Club Podcast. She lives on the ancestral lands of the mound builders that are the Hopewell and Adena. I interview her today on the podcast!

Seven years ago, she started training in kali, a Filipino martial art (FMA). Since then, it has ignited a passion within her to help others like herself to start to gain the confidence they need to walk the world without fear, remembering their truest selves. Kali is an ancient martial art form from the Philippines, that involves bamboo sticks, swords, knives and empty hand techniques. Kali, arnis, and escrima are different names for the practice of Filipino Martial Arts.

What Imee offers in her kali circles has been given to her by her guides, ancestors and the Tagalog and Kapampangan goddess of the moon, Mayari. Imee uses the energy of kali to heal from colonial trauma. She asks her students to sit with their shadow and confront where colonization still lives within them. Her book club podcast focuses on Filipinx spiritual books which are also inclusive of diverse spiritual practices across cultures, world history and lived experiences.

“I started practicing kali 7 years ago. My partner, who is half Filipino, had been training for a few years already. He kept asking me to join the gym where he was training FMA, saying I'd really like it. At the time, physical hobbies weren't my thing, so I kept declining his invitations,” Imee recollects. “Finally, on a whim, I decided to come to the FMA gym. I fell in love immediately. Once I picked up kali sticks, I never put them down."

The first step of decolonization is remembering who you are and to look to the past so you can move into the future. One life lesson I learned in joining Imee’s class is not to leave half of yourself at the door. There is a constant you across all energies, from the ages of your life and to the shapes of your body. The exploration of solar and lunar practices in her class set me on this unique path of healing.

“One of my main inspirations is Mayari. Looking back, both the moon and the lunar goddess have always been on the edges of my life calling to me,” says Imee. “It wasn't until I started training in kali that I stumbled across Mayari's story. She was a moon goddess who looked like me and had kali sticks like me! The representation healed something in me from childhood. With her being the goddess of the moon and a warrior, it called to a deep place in me that felt disempowered and disconnected.”

In a modern tale, the Tagalog worshiped Mayari, who had two sisters, Hanan, the goddess of the morning, and Tala, goddess of the stars. They were daughters of the supreme god, Bathala. Mayari also had a brother named Apo Laki, the god of the sun and war. He is a part of Tagalog, Pangasinan and Kapampangan mythology. In a Kapampangan myth, Mayari fought against her brother for equal rulership over the world. During the battle, Apo Laki strikes Mayari and blinds her in one eye. He immediately regrets his violence upon his sister and the two rule equally together. Mayari rules the night and her brother rules the day.

Bathala, Bathalismo and the Infinite God

Let’s uncover the ancient tale of Infinito Dios, the Infinite God. Bathala is the supreme deity in Tagalog mythology, but he was turned into ‘God’ when the Spanish came. One story that has endured is the story behind the Bathalismo, the Infinite God, who refused to be baptized. 

Please read 'Back from the Crocodile's Belly'. The essay I reference is: "Bathala is Anting-Anting or why Bathala Hides inside the Stone by Nenita Pambid Domingo".

Rosa Mistika

Once upon a time, there was an old woman named Magda, who lived in a barrio in Bulacan. She was very wealthy. She had no husband or children to pass on her wealth, and her time was coming.

Indeed, her illness became worse. She sent for all the best doctors in the land, but despite the fortune she spent, none could cure her. After some time, she decided to call upon Pari Garcia, and confess her sins to the church. Her sins were serious and unpardonable. Pari Garcia and Tandang Magda took a lengthy amount of time to go over her confession.

Pari Garcia returned one day with a crystal box, inside the box was a mystical rose. He said, if God had pardoned her sins, the rose would appear fresh. When she looked inside, it appeared dull. Even as she confessed more and more of her crimes, it remained dull. Pari Garcia and her concluded they should put a sign on her door, in which her neighbors could read how she cheated them when she sold rice to them. Despite this display of honesty and the ire of her neighbors, the rose still remained dull in the box.

Pari Garcia then suggested she buy a new pot and stove, and for firewood, she would have to burn the most expensive silks she could buy. Tandang Magda demurred this would cost her everything, but Pari Garcia had no other solution. Tandang Magda did as he asked, and after countless times buying silks, she had to sell her home. She even had to ask the new owners to burn the silks for her.

She asked God for his forgiveness through Pari Garcia, but Pari Garcia said he could not give it to her. Downtrodden and weeping, she asked God directly. And lo and behold, the rose became fresh! Tandang Magda lived for a while longer, but no longer was rich. Charitable and kind people helped her through the last years of her life.

The Black Ant

There once lived a boy named Ernani. He was so small that other boys did not want to play with him. Even his family members did not want to play with Ernani because he was an odd boy. He was quiet and kept to himself. Ernani preferred being alone.

One activity his siblings liked doing was crushing ants. Ernani watched in disdain at this. One black ant passed him and he stroked its back instead. “I will not harm you! How can others be so careless and take so many lives as they play?”

The black ant didn’t scuttle away. Ernani looked at it, “On you go, I didn’t kill you.”

 “I’m very grateful you didn’t, Ernani.”

Ernani jumped, “You spoke!”

“You can hear me because you have a gift. Everyone thinks you’re weird, but I know you’re a good child.”

Ernani and the ant became playmates. Even if his family made fun of him, Ernani went out to play with his black ant every day. One day, Ernani’s father fell ill. A doctor came to their house, who told their mother that the father would die.

Ernani wept in the garden and the ant asked him what’s wrong. Ernani explained that his father would die. 

The ant pondered for a moment then asked, “Bring me a spoon, Ernani.” The child did so, and the ant sat on its tip. “On the tip of this spoon, I’ve left liquid that will help your father. Go to him.”

Ernani went into his father’s room. His mother told him to leave, but Ernani did not listen. He put the spoon into his father’s mouth, and his father sat up as if he woke from a dream. He was back to his health, and no longer bed-ridden. His family asked what he had done, but because Ernani was strange, he did not speak.

In the future, the queen became very sick. Ernani and the ant adventured to her realm and cured her. His family was rewarded a place as workers in their palace, and him and his siblings were sent to school. His life was made better by the kindness of the little black ant.

The Golden Pump

There were two boys, Nilo and Liko. Their mother died after the youngest, Liko was born. Shortly after, their father died as well. Nilo and Liko only had each other, and became very close.

They tended a farm, in which they grew many vegetables and beautiful flowers. Many people bought their produce. However, their farm work was hard because they had to get water from a faraway river. They had an old pump on their land, but it no longer worked.

One day, Liko was coming from the river with two pails of water, when he heard barking. He glanced around for the source but did not see anything. It stopped eventually. Liko went to rest under a tree, and the barking resumed. He pushed through the bushes and found a dog that was injured. Poor dog, Liko thought. He washed its wounds, tore pieces of his clothes and wrapped its wounds. The dog licked his hands in thanks. Liko turned to leave, but the dog said to him, “Can I have some water? I’m very thirsty.”

Liko jumped, in shock. The dog asked again. So Liko gave him some of his water.

The dog wagged its tail and smiled at Liko, “You are a kind boy. I shall give you a gift. You must tell no one, absolutely no one.” Liko agreed, and the dog explained, “Use the old pump at your home each night and your gift shall come forth.”

Liko walked away excited, but as he was almost home, he regretted not telling the dog he had to tell his brother this secret. Liko went to the pump and used it, and a gold bar dropped into his pail. The same happened the second day. Liko wanted to tell his brother, but he could not. Maybe he could keep the secret longer.

On the third day, his brother Nilo noticed Liko wasn’t talking to him much.

“Are you okay?” Nilo asked, “I can go fetch water if you’re not feeling well.” 

“I’m okay,” Liko replied, but still felt guilt-stricken.

When Liko tried to pump and it produced more gold, he thought of how to tell his brother about where this came from. Or if he tried to sell it, he knew he would be asked questions. How could he do anything with this gold if he couldn’t tell others?

He went to his brother with the pail full of gold and explained everything to Nilo, and how the old pump now produced gold. Nilo went to the pail, but it was filled with water instead. Liko saw the dog’s words were true.

“No Liko, this is even better!” Nilo ran to the pump and from it water gushed forth instead. “This is better than gold, Liko!”

Nilo and Liko were able to gather water for the crops much easier, and lived together in prosperity.

The Duplo and the Balagtasan

The duplo is a debate in verse. Those who planned to do the duplo did a lot of practice in the rice fields or resting under the tree. The participants usually searched for verses from nearby towns, and gave up their fighting roosters or dumalagas in exchange for verses. 

The duplo was held during the prayers said for the dead. It was also held during the first anniversary of the death of a person. The widow or survivors of the deceased would usually invite some young ladies and gentlemen from their barrio or neighboring ones to perform the duplo.

The male participants were called belyako, female were belyaka, and there was a king called hari, who acted as a judge who announced punishments to those who made mistakes.

The duplo would follow this format. They would say the Lord’s Prayer, Hail Mary, Glory be to the Father, then, it would go something like this:

King: Ready?

All: Ready!

King: Ladies and gentlemen, the elders and youth who are here now, I greet you one and all, at the start of the duplo game

The kingdom has a rose in its garden which in the morning and afternoon is often sprinkled, with holy water that cures the sick because of its extraordinary smell.

The garden is fenced with strong iron railings, and an iron gate is at the entrance, that rose aforementioned disappeared and was lost, its said the belyakos stole it 

Belyako: we didn’t steal it

King: who did

Belyako: the king did

And so forth. If you’d like to read the entire passage, you can find it in the lecture of Teodoro E. Gener, Institute of National Language, Manila, Philippines, March 29, 1944.

The Balagtasan is a modified form of the duplo. It is a poetic joust between two poets. The first balagtasan was held on April 6, 1924, at the Instituto de Mujeres, a school for young women located on the Tayuman Street in Manila. The two poet combatants were Jose Corazon de Jesus and Florentino T. Collantes, two young poets then. The former represented Paroparo, Butterfy, and the latter, Bubuyog (Bee). The question was “Which one does the kampupot (name of flower) like better: the butterfly or bee?” Each poet gave his argument clothed in beautiful words and phrases much to the delight of the listeners.

You can find the full script from another lecture of Tedoro e. Gener which was in June, 1948.

Here is a section. You can see it in its original language as I will post screenshots.

The bee:

Nevertheless, Butterfly, you should realize

That even at the start

You have never been loved;

The kerchief with which she covered you

You yourself declared was tainted with poison

To that the butterfly responded:

That was a wrong premise I kept in my heart,

For my thoughts were kept off the truth

I realize it was really not poison

Instead on that kerchief was love’s potion

The Legend of the Straight Dike in the Rice Field

There was a beautiful maiden who lived in San Mateo. Many men came from across the land in hopes to win her hand in marriage. Her response to the many proposals was that she was too young but she would think about it.

Some men retrieved water for her bath from the batis nearby. Others would offer katmon for her gugo as shampoo. Men came with their sickles to help during planting season. Her response was, “Why do you all this hard work? I won’t be able to repay you for your favours.”

Years passed, suitors dropped out of the race and her mother and friends would ask her when she would get married. Her answer was always, “Whenever God wills it.”

One day, there was only one suitor left and he asked her what would prove his love for her. He said he would do anything, even die for her.

She said, “No, not that. Tomorrow I will join the salubong procession. When I go down from my home, I would like to walk on a pilapil that is hard, has no mud and no wet grass. It should also go straight to the road which leads to San Mateo, for I shall wear my new pair of shoes. Can you do it?” 

He agreed, and she went to bed at ease. The next day, she woke and saw the very straight pilapil. “The time for me to marry has come,” she said, seeing the pilapil.

When she dressed up and got ready to walk on the pilapil, she asked where he was. A villager said that he must have been working all night, because the villagers found him at the end of the pilapil face down, with an unlighted candle in his hand, dead.