Finding Filipino Magic: My Mission to Bring Our Stories to the World

A coin vanishes. A chosen card appears somewhere impossible. For a moment, people who speak different languages can share the same astonishment.

That is one of the things I love about magic. Its effects can cross borders. But the performer also brings something personal to that moment: a sense of humor, a way of telling stories, and a lifetime of experiences.

I am Mac Florendo, also known as Magic Mac, a Filipino magician and founder of Metro Magic Philippines. I have begun asking a question that I want to explore more deeply: What might my magic look and feel like if I drew more deliberately from the Philippines I know?

That question is the beginning of Finding Filipino Magic—my mission to explore Filipino culture through performance, learn about our magicians, and share what I discover with audiences here and abroad.

When you hear “Filipino magic,” what comes to mind? Perhaps you remember a performer you watched, a television appearance, or a story from childhood. If you follow magic closely, you may already have a list of Filipino artists you admire. If you are new to it, you may struggle to name one.

I am interested in that range of familiarity. I want this journey to give people more stories, performances, and names to connect with those words. I also want to deepen my own understanding. There are many Filipino magicians I look up to, and much about our history that I have yet to learn.

For anyone who enjoys magic, the search for a personal style is a familiar challenge. We learn techniques, study routines, and discover effects that excite us. Then comes another question: why should this particular effect belong in our performance?

For me, Filipino experiences offer a place to look for answers.

I grew up in Zamboanga, studied in Dumaguete, and later moved to Metro Manila. Memories of those places can influence the stories I tell, the languages I use, and the way I connect with an audience. Beginning with experiences I know gives the work a personal foundation. From there, I can listen and learn about lives and traditions beyond my own.

There is plenty to explore: mythology, komiks, cinema, animation, music, humor, food, and the rhythms of everyday conversation. A family habit or an ordinary object may suggest a premise as readily as an old legend. Contemporary Filipino life belongs in this exploration, too.

The challenge is turning inspiration into a convincing performance.

A cultural reference earns its place when it helps the audience care about what happens. It might explain why an object matters, make a spectator's choice meaningful, or give an impossible ending emotional weight. I want to examine those connections carefully as I develop material.

For example, a story about leaving home could inspire an effect in which separated objects reunite. A memory of sharing food could suggest a production that grows beyond what anyone expected. A performance about helping one another could depend on several spectators contributing to the final revelation.

These are starting points, rather than finished routines. Each would still need a strong method, clear staging, thoughtful pacing, and an ending worth remembering. The audience should be able to follow the effect as easily as the story.

That matters especially because I want this work to travel.

Someone who has never visited the Philippines should be able to understand the magical moment and connect with its feeling. Missing home, welcoming a stranger, sharing something precious, and finding connection across distance are experiences that can open a story to a wider audience. Specific Filipino details can then give that story its personality.

A Filipino spectator might recognize a familiar expression or gesture. An international spectator might encounter it for the first time. I want both to feel included in the experience.

Our relationship with mystery is another area I want to explore. Pamahiin, or superstitions passed down through families, can carry memories of childhood, affection, humor, and uncertainty. In a theatrical setting, those associations could become interesting premises for magic. I want to understand their context and approach them with care, presenting the experience as performance.

My visual identity is part of the same inquiry. I am exploring a signature look and thinking about how its details might connect with my work. My voice, humor, and interaction with spectators also deserve that attention. Together, those choices can help a performance feel recognizably mine.

Alongside creating material, I want to learn more about the people who have shaped Filipino magic.

Who taught them? Where did they perform? How did they adapt their acts for different audiences? What did they learn from touring, television, competitions, or years of working private events? How did their personalities emerge through their material?

Those questions interest me as a performer and as a student of the craft. The answers could help us understand the working lives behind the performances we admire.

I hope to conduct interviews, trace connections between performers and mentors, and help preserve photographs, posters, footage, and recollections. With permission and proper attribution, these materials could gradually become an archive that others can learn from.

Documentation takes patience. Memories may differ, dates may need checking, and some questions may remain unanswered. I want to make those uncertainties clear and work with performers, families, and collectors who can help establish the context. Throughout that process, respecting creators and the private workings of the craft will matter.

I am beginning this mission as a learner. I have curiosity, experience onstage, and a desire to ask better questions. I expect the project to develop through research, conversations, rehearsals, collaboration, and feedback from audiences.

I want to share that development: the discoveries that excite me, the ideas that become routines, and the changes that happen when an audience finally sees them.

For fellow magicians and magic enthusiasts, I hope Finding Filipino Magic becomes a worthwhile conversation about identity, presentation, and the histories we can preserve. For a first-time viewer, I hope it offers an enjoyable performance and a reason to become curious.

If you have a story, a photograph, an old poster, or a memory of a Filipino magician, I hope you will be part of this journey. There is much to discover, and I know I cannot discover it all alone.

My mission is to find the magic in who we are—and give it a world stage.