Even in the LGBTQ+ community, queer women often bear the brunt than their male counterparts. This is magnified by the Filipino media’s favoritism toward boys’ love (BL) over girls’ love (GL), as well as gay personalities over lesbians. In a dominantly religious and conservative country, sapphic women remain shrouded in invisibility.
Lesbian illustrator and animator Sai Gerona, the artistic soul of Pandesaii, lifts this veil by draping her queer characters in mundanity, simultaneously confronting her lost youth while comforting those navigating theirs, reclaiming the narrative of sapphic existence against intangibility through her art.
From self-expression to social commentary
An artist since childhood, drawing has long been Gerona’s outlet when words fell short. “As someone who grew up with a learning disability, it was the only thing I could express myself with properly,” she shares. Her familiarity with the craft has made it a constant and crucial companion. From age 13, she posted art online under several aliases before eventually assuming the beloved persona “Pandesaii.”
Her time at De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde prompted her to explore themes dearer to her. “I started looking for something more personal, more connected to who I am,” she recalls. Absorbed in her own romance and the nostalgia of her father’s old OPM playlist, she was moved to channel the intimate sentimentality of both.
This personal touch is evident in her most famous artworks, “Ligaya,” “Ngiti,” and “Tadhana,” which echo Gerona’s belief that queerness is intrinsic to Filipino life. Her Catholic school-themed illustrations also render a reimagined life for her younger self. “I started drawing sapphic art to comfort myself as I mourn[ed] a life I could’ve lived if I was allowed to be myself,” she laments.
Now—at 27—despite the innumerable job rejections and backlash from religious groups online over her work’s themes, Gerona sustains the passion “to push through it.”
Within the sphere of queer media
Gerona’s grit and determination reveal a broader systemic issue of sexuality and gender-based marginalization. Undeniably, BL content is steadily gaining popularity, while GL stories linger in the margins. However, one’s popularity shouldn’t eclipse the other’s significance. As Gerona reminds, “We should all continue supporting and giving love to queer media as we’ve all fought for representation for so long.”
This disparity still arguably stems from a looming patriarchal restraint of countless generations. “Even if you’re a [child], the first thing they would do is ask you: ‘Do you have a crush on a guy at school?’ […] It’s like [that’s] the default,” she remarks in Filipino.
Such quiet exclusion persists even in supposedly queer-friendly spaces. “There [are] lesbians being forgotten and left out during pride events, features, or talks,” she reveals, noting that representation is scarce unless it is initiated by sapphics themselves.
At the heart of Gerona’s tender work is an eloquent message: sapphics are not an imported concept, but an ineradicable reality of Filipino culture. Whether praying in churches, dancing in Santa Cruzans and Flores De Mayos, wooing lovers with haranas, or navigating the complexities of adolescence, her art dispels the myth that queer people contradict our values, as they are woven into the nation’s fabric as much as any other countryman. By depicting them in familiar spaces, Gerona patches a glaring void left by Filipino mainstream media.
Assert your presence
Many sapphics grew up in isolation, constantly searching for a hint of themselves in the world around them. “I think, us sapphics, when we were growing up […] we look[ed] for ourselves in the characters even if [they’re] straight,” she says. As such, they are often left alone to navigate their identities with their eyes closed and hands tied, some burdened by internalized shame.
Gerona’s art gently nudges queer women to recognize their inner strength, serving as a protest against invisibility and a balm to soothe those mourning their denied youth. “I hope my silly little illustrations have empowered them by giving them comfort and healing, the way making them was for me.”
In a society that often overlooks sapphic women, making one’s mark becomes both an act of defiance and self-love. For Gerona, that mark is her art. “I realized that to heal myself, I have to imagine. It’s a form of rebelling,” she says, reflecting on the value of restoring erased narratives and reminding us that sapphic women have long lived and loved beyond the confines of queer spaces.
But it is not only the artists who can make an impact. Amid the country’s conservatism, supporting independent creators like Gerona nurtures a kinship that plunges into the heart of social change. These small but sincere efforts slowly shape a culture where sapphics aren’t burdened with fear or shame. After all, to witness sapphic art is to partake in someone’s becoming. Beyond its aesthetic, it fosters empathy and teaches individuals to perceive past binaries; to see love as a universal language rather than a deviation.
Moreover, Gerona reminds us to exist beyond resistance. “As [an] artist, we sometimes forget that there’s a whole world out there while we get lost on our own. The best artworks and stories come from experiences and living life.” There will always be value in learning when to slow down, and, as cliché as it sounds, smell the roses. The years of churning outputs have taught her that creation doesn’t always have to come from struggle; sometimes it’s born from simply allowing life to flow through you.
Ultimately, the desire to be remembered is universal. For queer artists like Gerona, it means carving out a space to be seen, even when the world looks away. Whether grand or quiet, the act is grounded in the love for the life that is yours, both for what it could have been and what it is now.
This article was published in The LaSallian‘s October 2025 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSOct2025.
