In 2025, an environmental activity in Real, Quezon, brought together representatives from Manulife, the Haribon Foundation and the Manila Bulletin for a mangrove- planting initiative. It was a modest affair. Shoes sank into mud. Hands got dirty. Conversations felt uncurated.

During the activity, a casual exchange led to a familiar name. “Do you know Anya?” someone asked. The answer came easily. Of course they did.

Anya Santos-Uy has long been present in these spaces— quietly and consistently. She doesn’t seek attention. She’s simply there—doing the work long before it became fashionable to talk about it.

Her journey into environmental work wasn’t the result of a carefully mapped plan. After a short stint in advertising, she joined Habitat for Humanity Philippines, an experience that reshaped her perspective. Seeing firsthand how time, money and effort could genuinely improve lives made it difficult to return to work disconnected from real-world impact.

Her deeper involvement in conservation followed when she joined the Haribon Foundation. Immersed in the work of wildlife biologists, she gained a clearer understanding of the country’s remarkable biodiversity—and the sobering truth that being one of the world’s megadiverse nations is often treated as a fact to admire, rather than a responsibility to uphold.

“The Philippine eagle isn’t just the face on our one-thousand-peso bill,” Santos-Uy said. “It’s the largest eagle in the world. And it’s disappearing because of habitat loss. That affects everyone.”

For her, the challenge was not a lack of concern, but distance. Many people cared about the environment, but not enough to feel personally connected. Bridging that gap became her motivation.

That realization eventually led her to children’s books.

Santos-Uy believed that environmental connection must begin early, before indifference sets in. Children who grow up familiar with local species don’t need to be convinced later—they already care.

When she conceptualized Alpabeto ng Kalikasan in 2019, she noticed that many children’s environmental books leaned heavily on loss and sadness. She wanted to offer something different: pride, familiarity and a sense of abundance worth protecting.

By pairing biodiversity with Baybayin, her work gently reinforces the idea that caring for nature and preserving cultural identity are deeply connected. When children recognize both their natural and cultural heritage, stewardship becomes instinctive rather than imposed.

This grounded approach also shapes how she views sustainability today.

The word is everywhere, she notes, often stripped of meaning. “Using paper instead of plastic doesn’t automatically make something sustainable,” she said. “Especially if it results in more waste.” For her, the real challenge lies in avoiding greenwashing and confronting inefficiencies within systems, even when doing so is uncomfortable.

At home, sustainability is practiced imperfectly but intentionally. As a mother of two, she takes a practical approach: her children wore hand-me-downs, were fully breastfed and used cloth diapers when possible and disposables when necessary.

“You do what you can,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

The same mindset guides how she talks to children about environmental responsibility. Rather than focusing on guilt or fear, she emphasizes small, repeatable actions: refusing single-use items, choosing refills, consuming less, and supporting local products. The goal is familiarity and agency, not pressure.

When I asked what kind of relationship with nature she hopes children will grow up with, her answer was immediate.

“Kids who aren’t afraid to touch grass,” she said. “Who aren’t strangers in their own country.”

Today, Santos-Uy continues her work through nature walks at the Ninoy Aquino Parks and Wildlife Center, while writing stories that introduce children to the world they already belong to. She does so while raising a family, supported by a husband who shares responsibilities, and navigating the same demands faced by many working parents.

As Manila Bulletin marks its 126th year in 2026, stories like hers feel especially timely. Not because they are loud or dramatic, but because they endure. They serve as reminders that meaningful change often comes from those who remain committed long after attention fades.

Sometimes, it begins with a book. Sometimes, with muddy shoes in Real, Quezon. And sometimes, it simply begins with someone choosing to stay.