Interview Patrick Kasingsing
Images Emerging Islands (Dennis Bato, Judd Figueres,
Choice Israel, Hannah Reyes Morales, Gab Mejia,
Karlo Salazar, and Ria Sebastian)
Hello Nicola and Sam! Welcome to Kanto! I really enjoyed your presentation for the Once Upon A Place segment of the Design Center of the Philippines’ International Design Conference, where you introduced us to the concepts of islandness and archipelagic thinking with beautifully penned prose. We’ll revisit those concepts later in the conversation.
I would now like to discuss design and how it relates to islandness. How can design—as a mode of storytelling—give voice to places and cultures where local identities are often overshadowed by globalization and homogenization?
Nicola Sebastian, writer and co-founder of Emerging Islands: That’s a great question.
In any project, especially in design, you have to ask, “Who are you centering? What story or content are you communicating?” It’s about taking intentional steps to subvert the traditional or mainstream approach, which is often the easiest route. But creativity isn’t about taking the easy path. It’s about challenging the norm and solving problems in ways that haven’t been done before. If you’re copying what’s already been done, you’re not innovating. Copying has its place, but pushing against your grain and questioning assumptions often creates space for something new.
That’s what a bottom-up approach means. It’s not about imposing your idea onto a project. It’s about listening, finding the stories or voices that aren’t being heard. Too often, people are excluded, sometimes out of complacency, sometimes through a deliberate effort to marginalize them. It’s a political act. But when you focus on those overlooked perspectives, you uncover content that can disrupt heavy, existing systems. Look at hip-hop. It became a global force because it came from people who were systematically oppressed. Their stories speak to the system in a way that those inside it can’t. It’s about finding what isn’t visible or obvious.
Sam Zarandin, communications and creative strategist, co-founder of Emerging Islands: Exactly. And when you’re designing, I think it’s crucial to keep asking, “Why?” Why am I focusing on this narrative? Why am I making this choice? That line of questioning often leads to more questions but also opens the door to new stories. For me, I’m always worried I’m missing something. That mindset helps keep me open, knowing I’m not always right. We’re almost never entirely right. We’re always leaving someone out. By questioning, you can accept when you’re wrong and adjust. It keeps the process dynamic and makes the story more complete, diverse, and inclusive.
Sebastian: Yeah, it stems from this fundamental state of uncertainty.
Zarandin: Exactly! What don’t I know? What am I not seeing? That’s where the fun is—you never know where you’ll end up.
Sebastian: Right. That ties into what we said earlier about world-building. We’re always building and rebuilding.
Zarandin: Yes, constantly, just by living!
Sebastian: And farting, too. (laughs)
Zarandin: (laughs) True! As designers, though, we often get caught up trying to reach a point where there are no more questions—where the client is satisfied and the brief is fulfilled.
Sebastian: Exactly. Sometimes, design co-opts our creativity for the market. The brief gets done, but we forget that designers aren’t just suppliers. We’re people with creativity that goes beyond design. When you look at design more holistically, it improves your work. Specialization has its beauty, but over-specializing puts us into a box.
Zarandin: Yeah, and no one wants to be in a box, right?
During the session, you spoke about “islandness” as a space and a feeling. How does that shape your approach to design and your creative expressions? And how does it help create more authentic, rooted identities?
Zarandin: Islandness, for me, is a way of relating to the world. Nicola writes beautifully about this, but for me, it’s about understanding that being from an island—an archipelago—means knowing you’re connected to everything. At one point, these islands were connected and then separated. That shift carries a certain beauty. It makes me realize that I’m not so different from others. It makes me curious and makes me want to know more. There’s this sense that all the stories we tell are interconnected. And that makes me want to do better by those stories.
If I’m from an island in Africa or the Philippines, I see how we share the same problems, like climate change. This common experience makes our stories more relatable, even across different geographies. That’s what I love about the idea of islandness; it erases the feeling of being “other.” It’s about being part of a shared narrative.
Sebastian: That’s beautiful, Sam. For me, islandness spoke to something I didn’t even realize I was grappling with…this feeling of being small. Filipinos often carry an unspoken insecurity about being small, which shapes how we see ourselves, whether at home or abroad. Islandness gave me an alternative narrative for smallness that counters the obsession with bigness and solidity often imposed by colonial narratives. We want to be seen as serious, legitimate, and solid. Those are words tied to size and strength—continental thinking. But a continent isn’t bigger than the ocean.
Islandness gave me a way to connect beyond myself. Archipelagic thinking is rooted in the history and geopolitics of small island states like those in the Caribbean, but can also apply to archipelagic nations like the Philippines, both of which have faced colonization, disasters, and globalization. But it’s also a way of relating to the world that anyone can adopt. We’re all fragmented, not part of some grand, unshakable whole. That’s the postcolonial position, recognizing that what seems solid is always shifting. When we accept that, we can play in the movement.
Zarandin: Exactly. Once we stop striving for solidity, we can move with the shifts.
Sebastian: That’s why we say islandness is both a space and a sensibility. The space is literal, an island, but the sensibility is about embracing paradox. As someone mentioned during the Q&A, people often want to leave their islands, yet we choose to stay. Both can be true at once. The Filipino story has always been global, even before colonizers arrived. We’ve always been moving in and out. So, it’s not about telling people they must stay or leave. It’s accepting that both realities can coexist.
Islands have always been points of contact and exchange. They’ve never been isolated. So when we break down the world to the scale of an island, we create more room for paradox and multiplicity.
Zarandin: Édouard Glissant, whose book we’ve been discussing and poring over lately, envisioned the world as a global archipelago. Look far enough, and we’re all islands in the sea, some big, some small. Even continents have their islands: mountains, forests, and isolated communities. Islandness, then, is not just geographical but a way of relating.
I see, and it’s also about taking the time to pause and listen, taking it all in, embracing the complexities of being Filipino, living in the archipelago, and finding wholeness in the fragments
Sebastian: Yeap, and being comfortable with the cacophony and the mess.
Zarandin: Yeah, like when you visit the beach after being in the city for so long, and there’s this deep breath of connection to nature that you don’t feel in Manila. That feeling of islandness can guide how we design and tell stories. It reminds us that there’s so much more beyond our immediate world.
Sebastian: What you’re paying attention to matters. You go to the beach, and suddenly your body just lets go. You feel that feeling, and it guides you, not just how you tell stories but how you relate to people. Eventually, that feeling doesn’t go away. You don’t need to be at the beach to feel it anymore. The islandness becomes part of you. It fosters attentiveness.
Yeah, it’s like returning to your natural state. What we’re doing here in cities…does not seem natural. Not something we were really created for…almost as if they have become monsters of our own making.
Sebastian: I’d argue that cities aren’t unnatural, though. The whole idea of islandness is about breaking down dualities. So instead of saying cities are one thing and nature is another, it’s all part of the same system. When we create these divides—city versus province, human versus nature—that’s when the problems start.
I see what you mean. The challenges of humanity feel amplified in cities, though. They’re diluted in rural spaces. Maybe that’s what I really meant.
Sebastian: Exactly! Cities can amplify certain problems, but we shouldn’t think of them as outside of nature. Cities are small compared to the scale of nature and deep time. They’ll eventually fall apart. We saw how quickly nature reclaimed cities during the pandemic.
Right, it’s important to remember that. What we build with our hands…it’s still part of nature.
Sebastian: Yes, and not making that distinction helps us avoid privileging wilderness spaces over others. The idea of wilderness is a colonial construct. Take Payatas or Smokey Mountain in Manila—what was once a garbage dump is now a forest of vegetables cultivated by people living there. Nature reclaims, and humans adapt. Édouard Glissant talked about this too. He believed that the beach, like Sam mentioned earlier, is the edge between land and sea. It’s not here versus there…it’s all edge. We’re always meeting the sea around us.
Zarandin: Yeah, it’s like, everywhere is edge. That idea is crazy, but it makes sense.
Sebastian: Yes, and the image of an archipelago fits our modern world. Glissant said that things are moving faster, and instability is becoming the norm, and that’s something the Philippines has always dealt with. The world is just catching up to us. The instability we live in can teach the world how to navigate climate change and economic pressures—it’s an adaptive way of thinking.
So, with the rise of digital tools, how do you see the balance between traditional ways of telling stories and using technology? Can technology enrich these stories, or does it risk distorting them?
Sebastian: It’s tough. The idea of “authentic” storytelling makes me uneasy because it creates this false binary. Authenticity suggests that if something doesn’t fit that mold, it’s inauthentic or impure.
It “others” the things that don’t conform.
Sebastian: Yes, it’s an idea built on assumptions of purity, which are problematic. From the research I’ve done with Indigenous communities, I’ve learned that they’re often romanticized as “first” or “last” peoples or as having some essential, unchanging quality. But that’s a simplification. They’re just people who are deeply attuned to their environment. Their connection gives them wisdom, not some inherent authenticity. They are humans rooted in a place.
Maybe “rooted” is a better term than “authentic.” It speaks to the deep connection without implying there’s some kind of pure essence.
Sebastian: Precisely! Rooted and connected are better terms. Authenticity feels like an attempt to lock something into place, while reality is constantly shifting and evolving. We’re part of that messy, ever-changing reality, building it as we go. So yeah, I try not to get stuck on authenticity, but I do think we need to strive for spirit and soul in our work.
Spirit and soul are old-fashioned terms, but they still resonate. People now use words like “intention,” but it’s the same idea, right?
Sebastian: Absolutely! And I’m finding myself drawn back to using the word “spirit” in a non-ironic way. It’s about alignment, when something inside you resonates with something outside, like a rhythm you’re following. It’s like dancing with what you see.
Zarandin: It’s like trying to find a rhythm. Technology can be helpful in many ways, but we’ve started focusing too much on technological advancement alone. We don’t think enough about how our relationship with technology affects our relationship with the land. For example, we talk about the most developed countries, but if they’re destroying their environment to get there, are they really advanced?
Sebastian: Yeap. It’s like development is seen purely in terms of technology, but if it’s destroying the future, how is that progress?
Zarandin: Technology can be used for good, but we’ve started demonizing it too. Even the speaker who spoke after us (Ana Kanada) at the event said she felt daunted talking about AI after our session. I told her, no, AI is beautiful! It can do amazing things. It’s not the technology itself that’s bad; it’s how we use it. We make the technology, and it reflects us.
Exactly. Technology is just a tool to tell our stories and to push things forward.
Sebastian: Yes, but I’m also cautious. There’s this initial wave of technological innovation that’s full of hope—like when GMOs were developed to feed the world. But quickly, those tools get co-opted by capitalism.
Zarandin: Like plastic bags…they were invented to save trees, but now they’re part of the problem.
Sebastian: Exactly. We shouldn’t trust technology unconditionally, just like we shouldn’t always trust ourselves. We’re capable of both good and evil, and the same goes for technology. If we’re not careful, it can get away from us, like our own actions sometimes do. The internet is a prime example; social media algorithms created by corporations are literally shaping how we think. They’re insidious.
Zarandin: Yeah, that’s why we need pushback. We must constantly push and pull, just like with storytelling or rituals. It’s about finding balance.
Sebastian: And part of that balance is creating boundaries. Sometimes, protecting something requires keeping other things out. That’s true of communities, and it’s true of technology. If we set stronger boundaries, we can have safer, deeper connections.
Right. It’s about designing a space open for dialogue and balance…and recognizing that these questions of balance never really stop. Thanks to you both for your time and the inspiring work you do at Emerging Islands! •
Kanto.PH is a media partner of the International Design Conference 2024, organized by the Design Center of the Philippines
