A decade ago, the mere mention of “Maguindanao” is enough to strike fear, its name inseparable from the grim headlines of 2009. But as justice has taken its course and the political climate has begun to settle, the province is emerging from the long shadow of its past. Today, a shift is underway: toward its culture, its stories, and the landscapes that have remained largely unseen. Maguindanao may not appear on the usual tourist itinerary, but it is a place that rewards those willing to look beyond reputation and toward discovery.

Despite expecting Maguindanao's blue lagoon to be concealed deep in the forest, reachable by at least an hour or two of trekking, I had still anticipated a good old surprise. When I stepped out of our van and saw a few kids dripping wet, I simply figured they had come frolicking from a nearby stream. Our friend Jeff told us, “I think these kids came from the lagoon.” I was already standing at the mouth of a wide trail on the elbow of the Shariff Aguak Road when I heard him. “You mean, the lagoon is just nearby?” Claire asked. Jeff’s reply sounded like music to my ears—as I was in no mood for a lengthy hiking activity that day—“Just less than two hundred meters ahead.”

“Life is a loom, weaving illusion” [1] and in Mindanao’s storied sundry of woven heritage, a diverse weaving art scattered across the region abounds with dream-like patterns and fascinating backstories. Anecdotes encompassing historical origins and local legends shape the roots of the various cloth creations of the Dreamweavers’ T’nalak of South Cotabato, the Langkit of Maranao, the Dagmay of the Mandayas, the Tausugs's Habul Tiyahian, the Inabal of Davao del Sur’s Bagobo-Tagabawa tribe, among others—and in this case, ushering a festivity called the Inaul Festival.