From Buko Pie to Coconut Trees: Looking Closer at the Story Behind a Filipino Staple

I’ve probably eaten hundreds of buko pies in my lifetime.

I know that sounds like an exaggeration, except I actually have receipts.

One of my oldest friends, Amanda, can attest to this because buried in conversations from more than a decade ago are multiple mentions of buko pie. Apparently, this was already an established personality trait long before I ever thought I would be writing about coconuts for a magazine.

And buko pie is only one part of it.

Coconuts somehow made their way into my high school memories, too. During summer cleaning for clearance, my friends Kenneth, Punky, and I were supposed to be doing something productive with our bunot. Instead, we would hold two pieces together like one whole coconut, raise a walis into the air like a bolo, pretend to slice through it, then dramatically let the two halves fall apart. Were we cleaning efficiently? Absolutely not.

Then there are the beach trips. Put me anywhere beside the ocean and there is a very high chance I will order buko juice. Preferably straight from the coconut, preferably cold, and preferably with a straw while I am looking at the sea. Somehow, it just tastes better there.

So when I say coconuts have always been part of my life, I do not mean that in some deeply poetic way. They have simply always been around. In desserts I love, in silly memories with friends, in beach trips, drinks, food, and the little things that feel completely normal when you grow up in the Philippines.

Which is why spending an afternoon with HOPE felt less like being introduced to something new and more like getting a closer look at something I had been seeing my entire life.

The event itself was lovely. We had a picnic by the lake, ate coconut snacks, talked, painted, and spent the afternoon with a group of smart and wonderful women. It had all the makings of a very good lifestyle event, but woven into everything was a conversation about the coconut trees and Filipino farmers behind something most of us barely think twice about.

One statistic shared during the event stayed with me: one in five Filipinos relies on the coconut industry, either directly or indirectly, or around 20 million people.

Suddenly, the coconut becomes much bigger than the one sitting beside your plate at the beach.

For millions of Filipinos, coconut farmin

g is tied to livelihood. The trees mean harvests, income, and years of work for families and communities. We also learned about the problem of aging coconut trees, which become less productive over time. When a tree stops yielding as much, the effect is not only agricultural. It can affect the income of the family depending on it. This is part of what HOPE in a Tree is trying to address by supporting coconut farmers and helping put new coconut trees in the ground.

A seedling may not look particularly dramatic. It is small, and it takes time before it becomes the tall coconut tree we are used to seeing along roads, farms, and coastlines. But that is also what makes the idea behind the program compelling. You are planting something now for harvests that come much later.

A single tree can keep producing for years.

That idea stayed quietly in the background while we went about the rest of the afternoon, including what I consider one of my artistic triumphs: painting a coconut with ArtsBurstPH.

Now, before anyone judges the painting, there is something very important you need to understand. You have to pretend you are an ant.

It is an ant’s-eye view. You are tiny. You are standing on the ground. Once you accept the premise, I think the vision becomes very clear. Please respect the art.

We were not sitting through hours of numbers and presentations about the Philippine coconut industry. We were painting, eating, talking, and enjoying ourselves while learning a little more about something that is already woven into everyday Filipino life. Then came what might be one of the most interesting event gifts I have ever received.

We were each gifted 10 coconut trees in our name.

Creators attend a lot of events, and we are incredibly lucky to go home with thoughtful gifts from brands and organizations. Some get used immediately. Some stay with us for years. Some inevitably disappear into the mysterious part of the house where event merchandise goes to live. Ten coconut trees are a little different.

There is something quite wonderful about knowing that somewhere, those trees can grow long after the picnic has ended. They can eventually bear fruit, become part of a farm, and contribute to the livelihood of the families caring for them. It is probably the longest-lasting gift I have ever brought home without technically bringing anything home at all.

And you do not need an invitation to an event to have a tree planted.

Through HOPE in a Tree, ₱80 can sponsor a coconut tree, helping provide a new tree that has the potential to support a farming family for years to come, while contributing to additional carbon sequestration and a greener future.

I still do not think I am going to look at every slice of buko pie and immediately contemplate the future of Philippine agriculture. Sometimes dessert can simply be dessert. I will also probably continue ordering buko juice every time I find myself beside the ocean. And if someone hands me two pieces of bunot, there is at least a small chance I will still be tempted to recreate our very sophisticated high school coconut-cutting routine.

But now there is another story attached to all of those things.

Behind something that feels so ordinary in Filipino life are trees that take years to grow, farmers who depend on what those trees produce, and families whose livelihoods can be tied to every harvest.

For something I once mostly associated with buko pie, a high school memory, or a drink by the beach, that is a pretty big story.