From TikTok to Tabi-Tabi Po: Young Bakla Weaving Tradition with Modernity
On a warm Friday evening in Cubao, Gab, a 21-year-old bakla wearing a crop top and pearl earrings, holds up his phone, whispering, “Tabi-tabi po, mga marites at multo,” before tapping the record button on TikTok. The screen soon fills with a quirky message: “POV: Bakla ka, pero may respeto ka pa rin sa mga lamang-lupa.” In just half a minute, he skillfully blends humor, childhood superstition, and a splash of digital style, a snapshot of how today’s young bakla intricately blend traditions into something uniquely theirs.
Studies reveal that Filipino queer creators are harnessing TikTok’s creative tools, sounds, filters, and stitches, to craft dynamic “queer technocultures,” forging inclusive, safer spaces where bakla identities can thrive beyond traditional norms[Alcazaren & Labor, 2023]. With a quick scroll, you might find boys in dazzling makeup lip-syncing to classic kundiman, trans femmes transforming their lolas’ prayers into entertaining voice-overs, and Gen Z members embracing the term “bakla” with newfound pride.
Reviving Old Spirits in the Digital Age
Many of us are familiar with the old refrain: “Tabi-tabi po,” to appease the spirits, and “Huwag ka maglakad mag-isa, bakla ka,” to keep you safe from harm. For queer youth, fear often intertwined with folklore. Now, a shift is emerging: the storytellers are changing. In the digital domain, young bakla are reinventing these warnings, turning them into skits, memes, and dances that declare: we know the rules, but we’ll remix them on our terms.
Scholars observe how digital platforms allow Southeast Asian queer communities to portray themselves in a positive light, challenging the notion of hiding behind discretion or “straight-acting” façades[Baudinette, 2019]. For Filipino bakla, self-representation often means merging queerness with Catholic imagery, local gossip, or aswang tales, not as conflicting elements, but as part of a rich cultural mix.
Kapwa, Camp, and Community Connection
Beneath the campy exterior lies a deeply Filipino value: kapwa, the sense of interconnectedness and shared responsibility. Research highlights how queer TikTokers create bonds through comments, duets, and shared humor, treating followers not as mere viewers but as “hindi ibang tao,” part of the community[Clemente et al., 2008]. Each “Bes, same!” or “Ingat ka lagi” beneath an emotional coming-out video is a small gesture of care, much like holding hands on a street corner after a challenging day.
Certainly, danger is still present both offline and online, with discrimination, violence, and casual cruelty lurking. Yet, every clip of a bakla whispering “tabi-tabi po” while confidently strutting in thigh-high boots serves as a quiet prayer: that there is room in this country for ghosts, saints, and queers to coexist peacefully. In the light of a phone screen, young bakla aren’t merely seeking attention; they are reshaping what it means to be seen, to feel secure, and to belong, transforming TikTok and tabi-tabi po from sources of fear to expressions of fierce identity.
