Between Worlds: Moro writer releases collection of short fiction

 

After 15 years of quiet gestation, acclaimed filmmaker and essayist Gutierrez “Teng” Mangansakan II steps fully into the world of fiction with his new collection, Closing Party and Other Stories.

Comprising thirteen stories that weave together the personal, the political, and the mystical, the collection is a layered exploration of the persistence of tradition in a rapidly changing world.

We sat down with Mangansakan to discuss his journey from non-fiction to fiction, the Bangsamoro as both subject and setting, and what it means to tell stories from a place of complex identity.

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Yadu Karu: You’ve been known primarily as a nonfiction writer and a filmmaker. What made you finally take the leap into fiction?

Teng Mangansakan: I never really thought I’d end up writing fiction. For the longest time, I considered myself a non-fictionist. I didn’t have any formal training in fiction, and I felt like that disqualified me somehow. However, fellow writers and editors would often point out that my essays were already employing the tools of fiction—imagery, character arcs, and narrative tension. 

The switch happened almost subconsciously. Since I was already writing screenplays for my films—completely fictional stories—it felt natural to try my hand at short fiction. I think I just needed to give myself permission to do it.

YK: Fifteen years is a long time. Why did it take that long to complete this collection?

TM: Part of it was hesitation. Part of it was life getting in the way—filmmaking, editing anthologies, other projects. But mostly, it was because I wanted the stories to breathe. Some of these pieces began as vignettes or fragments and only found their full shape years later.

YK: What can readers expect from the thirteen stories in Closing Party and Other Stories?

TM: They cover a wide range of subjects: from female genital mutilation to the COVID-19 pandemic, from cinema to social taboos and superstition. If there’s a common thread, it’s the persistence of old customs in contemporary society and the tension we feel as we navigate between the two. 

I’m drawn to that space where tradition and modernity collide, sometimes violently, sometimes quietly. It’s the same tension I feel as a Moro, a Maguindanaon, a Mindanaoan living in a world that often doesn’t understand or refuses to understand us.

YK: Your identity as a Moro and as someone from Maguindanao’s traditional aristocracy gives you a unique vantage point. How did that shape your fiction?

TM: Identity is a textured thing. I grew up surrounded by stories. Family histories. Political anecdotes. Village gossip. Being from the traditional aristocracy gave me access to certain narratives, but at the same time, it also gave me a sense of distance, like I was both an insider and an observer. 

Many of the stories in the book are inspired by real people, real places, and real events. But fiction allows me to transform those realities, to interrogate them, to ask: What if? What now? What next?

YK: Some of your stories deal with difficult, even uncomfortable topics. How do you approach writing about taboo subjects?

TM: With honesty, first of all. And with a sense of responsibility. As a storyteller, I’m not here to sensationalize or exoticize. I write about female genital mutilation, for example, not to shock, but to open up conversations about female agency, power, and the violence that persists in everyday life. These stories are not easy to tell, but I believe they’re necessary.

YK: As a filmmaker, do you think visually when you write fiction?

TM: Always. I think my filmmaking background shapes the way I build scenes. When I write, I see the story like a film unfolding in my head, like the framing, the light, the pacing of dialogue. Some readers have said the stories feel cinematic, and I think that comes from that way of seeing.

YK: You’ve had an impressive career: films that premiered in Venice, anthologies that championed Moro voices, and now this fiction debut. How does 'Closing Party and Other Stories' fit into your creative journey?

TM: I think of it as a bridge. My essays allowed me to explore memory and history. My films allowed me to give those ideas a visual language. And now, fiction allows me to inhabit those stories more intimately. For me, 'Closing Party and Other Stories' is a homecoming of sorts. It’s me embracing the many selves I carry—the filmmaker, the essayist, the storyteller.

YK: What do you hope readers take away from the collection?

TM: I hope they see that these are not just Moro stories or Mindanao stories. They are human stories. Stories about love, loss, desire, faith, and survival. Stories that resonate, whether you’re in Cotabato, Manila, or Madrid. At the same time, I hope they also see the nuances of where I come from, the textured realities of the Bangsamoro, and the beauty and complexity of that world.

YK: And what’s next? Will we see more fiction from you?

TM: I think so. Fiction has a way of taking root. Right now, I’m working on a novel, slowly, carefully. But I’ll keep writing as long as the stories keep finding me.