The storybooks I wanted most as a child were the ones I could never afford. Years later, I found myself writing them—not only for today’s children, but also for the little boy who once borrowed every book he wished he could own.
As a public school pupil, I eagerly borrowed Filipino classics such as Ang Alamat ni Mariang Makiling, Ang Huling Puno, Si Pilandok at ang mga Buwaya, and Si Emang Engkantada at ang Tatlong Haragan. They introduced me to environmental lessons and the wonder of nature, but none was rooted in our locality. Without stories about Palawan’s forests, wildlife and communities, conservation issues often felt distant and abstract.
Even borrowing those books reflected our circumstances. My mother was then a full-time homemaker, while my father peddled household goods in remote villages across Palawan. Buying a children’s book meant spending money better used for rice and our daily viand. So I borrowed from classmates whose families were better off, read each book several times before returning it, and hoped that one day I would own books of my own—including stories featuring Palawan’s nature and communities.
I never imagined that, two decades later, I would not only own children’s storybooks—I would write them.
That opportunity came through Project FOREST (Fostering Outdoor Reading and Environmental Stewardship Together) in November 2023. With support from Forest Foundation Philippines through the USAID Sustainable Interventions for Biodiversity, Oceans and Landscapes Project, and in partnership with the City Government of Puerto Princesa through the Puerto Princesa Subterranean River National Park (PPSRNP) Management Office and the Department of Education Puerto Princesa City Division, our team developed four illustrated children’s storybooks inspired by the protected area’s forests, wildlife and communities.
Children often learn about forests, wildlife, rivers and oceans through textbooks filled with facts and definitions. Those lessons are important, but information alone rarely inspires stewardship. Stories can. A child may forget a species’ scientific name but remember the turtle that found its way home or the mangrove forest that protected a village from a super typhoon. And what children remember, they may eventually learn to value—and protect.
Writing those books turned out to be much harder than I expected. Every manuscript went through rounds of review by teachers, environmental practitioners, park managers, and Indigenous community partners. Scientific details had to be accurate. Cultural references had to be respectful. Sentences had to be simple enough for children without becoming simplistic. More than once, I found myself rewriting entire sections after realizing that adults and children do not always see the world the same way.
The experience reminded me that writing for children demands patience and humility. Adults often assume we know what children need, but good stories begin by listening—to teachers who understand how children learn, to communities whose stories deserve to be told accurately and to young readers whose questions are often wiser than we expect.
The books were introduced in six public elementary schools through storytelling and outdoor learning activities. Months later, our partner researchers from the Palawan State University College of Arts and Humanities Extension Office helped administer a post-test that showed improved environmental knowledge among the pupils.
Project FOREST eventually received the 2025 Puerto Princesa City Mayor’s Award for Youth Development and the 2025 PPSRNP Environmental Advocate Award.
More meaningful than the awards is that the books continue to be used beyond the project. Teachers can now download the books as supplementary learning materials from the DepEd Puerto Princesa City website. English and Cebuano editions have also been distributed by Forest Foundation Philippines in parts of the Visayas and Mindanao, allowing stories rooted in one Palawan protected area to reach children elsewhere in the country.
Every protected area has its own stories waiting to be told. My hope is that more landscapes and communities will tell theirs, because when children see their own forests, rivers, wildlife and communities in books, conservation becomes less abstract and more personal. They are more likely to protect what they first learn to know, love and call their own.
When Project FOREST ended in 2025, I thought it might be my last chance to write children’s books. I was already grateful that a childhood dream had become four environmental storybooks. Then UNDP Philippines invited me to write a fifth—this time about circular economy, including proper waste management and the responsible use of resources.
Looking back, I have come to realize that writing the books was only half the work. The other half is making sure children can actually read them. A story stored in a computer folder changes little. A story placed in a classroom can travel from one child to another, from one generation to the next.
I hope more organizations will treat children’s environmental books as long-term investments in stewardship. Because these charitable materials may be reproduced without fees, companies, foundations and civic groups can support their reprinting and distribution through CSR programs, with proper acknowledgment of the original partners. Through this, thousands more children discover stories that deepen their understanding of—and commitment to protecting—the natural world.
The cost of printing books is small compared with the cost of restoring forests once they are gone. People often ask whether storybooks can really make a difference against deforestation, biodiversity loss or climate change. By themselves, no. Storybooks cannot replace sound policies, effective governance or science-based conservation.
But every environmental policy ultimately depends on people making better decisions, and people make better decisions when they care. Sometimes, caring begins with a story read in Grade 1. Sometimes, it begins with a child meeting a mangrove, a turtle or a forest for the first time through the pages of a book.
When I look back now, I realize I was not simply writing storybooks. In many ways, I was creating the books my younger self once wished someone had placed in his hands. Perhaps that is one way of healing my inner child—not by returning to the past, but by placing in the hands of today’s children, especially those from underprivileged backgrounds, the books I longed to have when I was young.
By themselves, these stories cannot restore forests, enforce environmental laws or protect threatened wildlife. But they can help children understand and love the natural world—not merely as something to admire, but as a gift that points to the One who created it and entrusted it to our care.
In healing something in me, the books may also nurture a generation capable of healing its relationship with nature
