Description
EXCAVATING WORDS, REMEMBERING SELVES
Prologue
In the Name of Allah, the Lord of the Pen.
Just before Labor Day (May 1), I was dealing with a frozen right shoulder—courtesy of accumulated uric acid. Unable to teach and grounded at home, I found myself diving into the archives of my own writing—those magazine article-sized pieces I had penned over the past ten years.
I wasn’t just rereading; I was rediscovering.
To my surprise, more than half of them didn’t even register in my long-term memory. I had no recollection of writing them—until I unearthed them one by one like forgotten relics buried beneath the sands of time. Strange, isn’t it? You’d think you’d remember something you labored to write. But apparently, the mind has its own storage system—and its own idea of what’s memorable.
That’s when I realized: this wasn’t just an act of archiving—it was an act of remembering. Of reclaiming. Of piecing together not just the what of my writings, but the why behind each of them.
Each article was born of a moment: a speech undelivered, a question unanswered, an insight waiting for space, or a burning need to respond. Some were written in between power interruptions, others inside airport terminals, and a few—believe it or not—during those rare, golden moments of peace at dawn before the world began to stir.
And yet, here they are. Over 160 of them. Spanning over ten years—from December 2014 to June 2025. They mirror a decade of turbulent transitions, regionally and globally—from political upheavals and peacebuilding experiments to the disorienting stillness and existential questions brought about by the COVID-19 pandemic. They reflect the questions I’ve wrestled with, the causes I’ve stood beside, the communities I’ve spoken with—and yes, the inner struggles I dared to write about when I could have stayed silent.
Although my articles are categorized for the sake of organization, that doesn’t mean they only belong to those categories. Having a postgraduate degree in International Relations, a degree in Islamic History, and being a Shari’ah Counselor-at-Law, interfaith facilitator, a chess trainer, publisher, personal finance educator, and Islamic finance and halal industry advocate— my writings reflect the multidisciplinary journey that has shaped both my mind and my method.
I remember one turning point particularly well. On May 6, 2025, I learned that Joseph Nye, Jr.—towering figure of Neoliberalism and founder of the ‘soft power’ theory in International Relations—had passed away. I was introduced to Nye and Robert Keohane’s work while taking IR Theories at Shahid Beheshti University in Tehran in 1998. Yes, it was a late formal encounter with IR theory, as my earlier IR exposure at MSU-Marawi was limited to Hans Morgenthau and Miriam Santiago’s foundational works.
Yet it was Nye’s framing of power—not just as coercion or money, but as attraction—that opened a door for me. It helped me make sense of International Quds Day in cyberspace, and the power of narrative, identity, and discourse. In fact, my IR journey almost collided with institutional rigidity: I had originally wanted to pursue Alexander Wendt’s constructivist critique of Kenneth Waltz’s Structural Realism for my dissertation, but the idea didn’t pass through the positivist gates of an octogenarian professor at the University of Tehran. So, I pivoted to S. Barry Barnes’ sociological theory of power instead—but the flirtation with Social Constructivism never left me. It stayed with me, silently shaping how I wrote, analyzed, and reflected.
So, why compile them now?
Because these pieces, though often written in passing, were never truly ephemeral. Each one is a thread in the larger tapestry of our collective memory as people of Mindanao—rooted in struggle, inspired by faith, and animated by the need to speak truth with nuance.
To make sense of the diversity of themes and tones, I’ve grouped them into seven categories—each representing one dimension of my intellectual and personal preoccupations over the last decade:
1. Bangsamoro Governance, Law, and Political Transition – This section captures my commentaries on the evolving governance of the BARMM—from policy experiments to identity struggles, from constitutional debates to the pulse of public service. Here, you’ll find reflections that ask hard questions about power, participation, and the price of peace.
2. Islamic Thought, Sacred Tradition, and Unity – These essays dive into the depths of the Islamic worldview, exploring justice, interfaith coexistence, the minbar’s message, and everyday spirituality—from debt and du‘a (supplication) to wedding messages with acronyms (yes, I went there).
3. Mindanao Cultural Heritage and Historical Memory – You’ll encounter panolong and palendag, Jawi scripts and bayuk chants—an ode to the soul of Mindanao that refuses to be forgotten. This section is my love letter to our cultural DNA.
4. Peacebuilding, Conflict, and Decolonial Critique – Peace is never passive. These pieces grapple with exclusion, insurgency, insider mediation, and the “pluriversal”—offering both theoretical and practical views on building peace from below.
5. International Relations and Constructivist Perspectives – Yes, I sometimes wear my IR hat (especially when provoked by global hypocrisy). These essays look at Occupied Palestine, Iran, Syria, Yemen, Kashmir, ASEAN, China, and Burkina Faso—not through the cold lens of geopolitics alone, but through identity, discourse, and power’s shifting masks.
6. Personal Reflections, Memoirs, and Identity – This is perhaps the rawest section. Here, I speak not as an academic or a policy wonk, but as a son, a father, a husband, and a student of life. These are the stories I told myself when the world turned too loud.
7. Writing, Publishing, and Knowledge Work – Finally, a section for the craft itself. What does it mean to write and translate from the margins? To publish from the periphery? To push ideas that don’t always fit the mainstream mold? These pieces reflect on the journey of intellectual labor—both sacred and solitary.
In this book, you may not find definitive answers. But you will find voices—many of them. Sometimes unsure. Sometimes angry. Often hopeful. Always seeking.
Because at the end of the day, what is writing but a way to leave footprints—marginal though they may be—on the shifting sands of our time?
So, here it is—Marginalia of Story, Struggle, and the Sacred: My Personal Reflections.
Not just a compilation. But a quiet insistence: that words matter. That stories linger. And that somewhere between memory, meaning, and mandate—we might just find ourselves again.
– – – – –
Mansoor Limba, “Marginalia of Story, Struggle, and the Sacred: My Personal Reflections.” ElziStyle Bookshop, forthcoming, 6 x 9 in.
Paperback (Philippines): https://bit.ly/MarginaliaOrderForm
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