Love Was Beyond Romantic: Indigenous Filipino Ways of Caring

In the quiet rhythms of our daily lives, love is often treated as a sentimental declaration—a heart-shaped symbol or a verbal affirmation. Yet, if we look back to our ancestors, love wasn’t always confined to these limited expressions. It wasn’t always about saying “I love you” or offering material gifts. Instead, it was felt, shared, and woven through every action, every gesture, and every relationship. This love was community care. It was collective. And it continues to be deeply rooted in the way we live and create today.

The Western world teaches us that love must be verbal, that it must be materially demonstrated, that it’s something you say or buy. And while modern love languages are celebrated, there's a deeper layer of meaning that’s often lost in translation. Love, in its purest, most ancestral form, is not about receiving a thing; it’s about giving of ourselves in ways that go beyond the physical. This is where Indigenous Filipino wisdom breaks down the colonial construct of love—shifting our understanding of care and affection.
As I reflect on this in my work at Elle Karayan, I draw inspiration from the love our ancestors shared—not in things, but in acts.

They gave music to express what words could not, singing songs under the stars to heal and connect. They carved affection into bamboo, a permanent reminder of their feelings. And they hit gongs to communicate emotions that could not be spoken aloud. These forms of expression show us that love was never just about what was said—it was about how we felt and gave. Love was a living, breathing act of care.

In modern times, many of us misunderstand this. We mistake giving for material possessions or words we are conditioned to speak. But the true essence of pakiramdam—the Filipino sense of shared feeling—reminds us that love, care, and connection are sensed, not just spoken. Actions, often unspoken, have always been our love language. When a mother sends you off with a “baon” (a packed meal), or when a lover serenades you with a “harana” (a traditional love song), that’s ancestral love at its core. It’s the way we felt love before it was commodified. It’s the tangible presence of care through songs, food, and shared experiences.

This is where we decolonize. We decolonize our understanding of love and reject the narrow, materialistic view we’ve been taught. Love is not about purchasing affection, nor is it about simply saying the words. It’s about how we feel, how we care for one another in ways that are not tied to the capitalist idea of value. Love is felt in the collective action of the community, in the way we show up for each other without the need for excessive words.

This philosophy carries into the way we approach community care, both in life and in my designs at Elle Karayan. It’s no coincidence that the Filipino concept of bayanihan, or community spirit, resonates so deeply with Hawaiian values like kuleana—the sense of responsibility to one another and to the land. These words signify not just individual affection, but the communal love and responsibility we all share. It takes a village to raise children, and it takes a village to nurture a marriage or a family. We are all caretakers of each other, bound by the threads of collective care.

In both Filipino and Hawaiian cultures, there’s a shared sense of responsibility—whether it’s to the land or to one another. The idea of kuleana in Hawaii or ayuwan in Kalinga speaks to this collective responsibility. We are called not just to care for ourselves, but for each other and for the world we inhabit. In this light, love becomes an active process of stewardship, where we honor one another, our communities, and our ancestral legacies.
In the spirit of this, my designs at Elle Karayan are rooted in the same values of communal care and collective love. They are modern silhouettes that embrace our ancestral roots, merging contemporary expression with the wisdom of our elders. Every piece created is not just fashion—it’s a statement of how we care for our culture, our people, and ourselves. It’s a reclaiming of what was once lost, an honoring of the love that was always meant to be shared, not just said.

As we continue to navigate these challenging times, let us remember that love was never meant to be transactional. It was meant to be felt. It was meant to be shared. And it was meant to be lived. Love, in all its forms, is the collective force that binds us to one another, to our histories, and to the land. This is how we care, how we love, and how we heal.
May we continue to honor that love, not with words alone, but with every action, every gesture, and every moment we share.

With Aloha,
Elle Karayan