We Tell Kids to Read More — But Give Them Books That Aren’t About Them

Parents, teachers, and even politicians keep telling kids to read. But how can children love reading when the books in front of them don’t reflect who they are? We push literacy campaigns, distribute imported titles, and fill classrooms with borrowed cultures, yet we forget to ask: where are the books for Filipino children?

The issue isn’t whether kids should read more. Everyone agrees on that. The real question is, what are we giving them to read? Step into any public school library or bookstore’s children’s section, and you’ll find stories about American kids in suburban neighborhoods, animals living in snowy forests, or magical lands with names no Filipino child would use. There’s nothing wrong with foreign stories. But when they make up most of what children read, we create a distance between books and their reality.

Representation in stories shapes how children view themselves. If all the heroes they read about speak English with Western names, celebrate snow-filled holidays or eat foods they don’t see at home, young readers begin to believe that adventure and greatness happen elsewhere—never here. That quiet message chips away at their self-worth.

Books for Filipino children help anchor imagination in a familiar world. A story about a kid riding a jeepney to school, chasing habal-habal rides, or spending Christmas with lechon and karaoke isn’t just cute — it tells young readers that their world deserves to be in a book. It signals that they matter. That their stories aren’t just worth telling — they’re worth reading.

Children need mirrors, not just windows. They need to see themselves, their families, and their daily lives reflected in the pages they turn. Without that, reading becomes a foreign task — not a natural part of who they are.

Walk into a big bookstore chain, and you’ll likely spot shelves stacked with glossy international titles. These books often come with large marketing budgets, movie tie-ins, or celebrity authors —so they get priority. Meanwhile, local titles usually sit quietly in a corner, if they’re there at all.

For schools, the situation isn’t much better. Many classroom libraries rely on donated books from overseas. These donations help fill gaps but flood the system with more English-language, foreign-context books. A Grade 3 student in Laguna might have more exposure to Halloween stories than local folk tales. This isn’t just a matter of taste. It’s a loss of cultural connection.

Some public schools do try. Teachers and principals dig through their networks to bring in Filipino-authored works. Adarna House and Tahanan Books continue to create meaningful local content. But their reach isn’t enough. The average Filipino child still reads far more foreign stories than local ones.

Filipino authors write incredible stories for kids. We have titles rooted in folklore, family, and daily life. Writers use Tagalog, Cebuano, Ilokano, and other languages to tell tales that feel close to home. Illustrators bring scenes that look like real barangays, not castles or cobblestone streets, to life. The problem is not a lack of creativity — it’s access.

Publishing costs, limited print runs, and the lack of a widespread distribution network keep these books out of reach for many families. Add to that the cost: some local books end up priced higher than mass-produced international titles due to smaller economies of scale. That’s a cruel irony — that Filipino kids can’t afford stories written for them.

Digital platforms help bridge this gap. Initiatives like Pinoy Kids Read Online give readers access to stories written by and for Filipinos. But to truly solve the problem, we need more than digital access. We need local stories in classrooms, barangay reading centers, mall bookshops, and school fairs.

Let’s stop treating local books as niche or optional. Books for Filipino children should be the starting point of every school’s reading program. They should be on every child’s birthday wish list. And they should sit proudly on shelves, not as a “Filipiniana” section hidden at the back, but as part of the mainstream.

Parents can start by choosing local titles when buying gifts. Teachers can request more Filipino-authored books in their school libraries. Policymakers can mandate a percentage of local content in public book acquisitions. Publishers can take more chances on new voices, especially those outside Metro Manila.

Reading shapes imagination. When we give children stories centered on foreign worlds, we subtly teach them that their own is less worthy. That has to stop. If we want children to read more — and love reading — we must give them stories that reflect their lives. That begins with prioritizing books for Filipino children.

When Filipino kids read books that reflect their lives, something powerful happens. They laugh harder. They pay closer attention. They finish the book and say, “That’s just like me.” And more importantly, they start writing their own stories. Reading becomes more than a school requirement. It becomes a habit — and eventually, a passion.

We don’t need to erase foreign books. They still offer value. But we do need to create balance. Filipino children deserve a reading life built on stories they can connect with. They deserve characters who speak like them, act like them, live like them — or at least understand the same world they do.

A future with more books for Filipino children isn’t a luxury. It’s a necessity. It’s not just about literacy scores or language fluency. It’s about identity, confidence, and making reading a lifelong joy.