You’ve probably seen the movies. A beautiful woman rubs oil on her skin, her torso rips away from her hips with a wet, squelching sound, and she flies into the night to terrorize a sleeping village. It’s classic Pinoy horror. But lately, a specific phrase has been circulating in literary and pop culture circles: ang manananggal na nahahati ang puso.
Wait.
Normally, the manananggal is defined by her waist. That’s the whole point of the name—tanggal, to remove or separate. But when we start talking about a heart that is divided, we aren't just talking about anatomy anymore. We’re talking about a very specific, modern reimagining of Philippine folklore that touches on heartbreak, identity, and the literal "splitting" of one’s soul.
It’s messy. It’s weird. Honestly, it’s a bit heartbreaking if you look past the wings and the hunger for fetal hearts.
Why the Divided Heart Matters in Folklore
Traditional folklore focuses on the physical. If you go back to the early accounts from Spanish friars like Juan de Plasencia in his Customs of the Tagalogs (1589), the manananggal was a creature of terror, pure and simple. There was no mention of emotional complexity. The "split" was a biological necessity for flight.
But the concept of ang manananggal na nahahati ang puso represents a shift toward the "hugot" culture of the Philippines.
In this metaphorical framework, the heart is split between two worlds. Think about it. You have the human side that wants to love, to stay grounded, and to belong to a community. Then you have the monstrous side—the hunger, the instinct, the need to fly away and be something else entirely.
Experts in Philippine studies often point out that our monsters reflect our societal anxieties. If the 16th-century manananggal represented the fear of the unknown "other" outside the colonial pueblos, the modern version with a divided heart represents the internal struggle of the modern Filipino. We are split between tradition and progress. We are split between staying home and working abroad.
Sometimes, we are just split between who we are and who we are expected to be.
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The Literary Spark
The phrase gained significant traction through the work of Allan Derain, particularly in his award-winning novel Ang Banal na Aklat ng mga Kumakain ng Tao. Derain doesn't just treat monsters as things that go bump in the night. He treats them as beings with histories, philosophies, and, yes, divided hearts.
When a writer explores ang manananggal na nahahati ang puso, they are usually subverting the trope. Instead of the monster being the "villain," the "split" becomes a metaphor for trauma.
Imagine the physical pain of having your heart literally pulled in two directions. It’s not just a horror hook. It’s a visceral description of what it feels like to live in a state of perpetual "in-betweenness."
Dissecting the Anatomy of the Split
Let’s get technical for a second, or at least as technical as you can get with cryptids.
In the standard myth, the weak point is the lower half. You find the legs, you pour salt or ash on the stump, and the manananggal can’t rejoin. She dies when the sun hits her.
But in the narrative of ang manananggal na nahahati ang puso, the vulnerability is internal. If the heart is divided, the creature is forever incomplete. She can never truly be "human" again, even when she puts her body back together.
- The Emotional Split: One half of the heart remembers the warmth of a family or a lover.
- The Predatory Split: The other half is driven by the manananggal curse, a hunger that overrides empathy.
This creates a character that is fundamentally tragic. You see this in modern indie films and short stories where the protagonist struggles to hide their "monster" side from their partners. It’s a secret that literally tears them apart every night.
The Salt and the Ash
If you’re looking for the "how-to" of these myths, the rules stay mostly the same, but the stakes are higher.
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Salt.
Garlic.
Vinegar.
The tail of a stingray (buntot pagi).
These are the physical deterrents. But how do you fix a divided heart? In most stories featuring ang manananggal na nahahati ang puso, there is no easy fix. The tragedy is that the split is permanent. Unlike the physical body, which can be stitched back together by simply landing on your legs, a heart divided by a curse or by grief stays broken.
Beyond the Horror: A Cultural Mirror
Why does this specific imagery resonate so much right now?
Look at the Philippine diaspora. Millions of Filipinos live abroad, their "lower halves" (their roots, their families) left in the Philippines, while their "upper halves" (their labor, their daily lives) fly across the globe.
They are literally divided.
When we talk about ang manananggal na nahahati ang puso, we are subconsciously talking about the OFW experience. We are talking about the mother who provides for her children by leaving them. She is a provider (the "human" half) but she is also a stranger to her own kids (the "monster" half that they don't recognize).
It sounds dark. Because it is.
But it’s also a way to process the reality of being Filipino in 2026. Folklore isn't just about old stories; it's a living language. We use these monsters to describe things that are too painful to say directly.
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Common Misconceptions
People often confuse the Manananggal with the Wak-Wak or the Ekek.
The Wak-Wak is more bird-like and doesn't necessarily split. The Ekek has a bird's beak. The Manananggal is the only one that truly undergoes the tanggal process.
And specifically, ang manananggal na nahahati ang puso is a modern, often literary or cinematic variation. If you ask an elder in a remote province about a "divided heart," they might think you’re talking about a medical condition or a romance novel. To them, the manananggal is just a dangerous entity to be avoided with salt and prayers.
The "divided heart" is our generation's addition to the myth. We've added soul to the monster.
Actionable Insights for Folklore Enthusiasts
If you're interested in exploring this specific trope further, you can't just stick to the old black-and-white movies. You have to look at where the myth is evolving.
- Read Contemporary Philippine Fiction: Look for anthologies like Philippine Speculative Fiction. Writers today are moving away from the "scary monster" and toward the "complex being."
- Analyze the Visual Arts: Look at how modern Filipino illustrators depict the split. Often, the internal organs are shown not just as gore, but as glowing, ethereal parts of a whole.
- Visit Regional Festivals: While the "divided heart" is a more modern nuance, the roots are in the provinces. Capiz is the famous one, though many locals there are tired of the stereotype. Still, the history of the aswang in those regions provides the necessary context for why the myth exists.
- Watch Indie Horror: Films like AWAS or segments in Shake, Rattle & Roll (the newer ones) often experiment with the psychology of the creature.
The story of ang manananggal na nahahati ang puso is far from over. As long as people feel torn between two worlds, two identities, or two loves, this monster will continue to fly through our collective imagination. It reminds us that being "whole" isn't just about having all your body parts in one place—it's about having a heart that beats for one purpose.
To truly understand this myth, start looking for the "split" in your own life. We all have parts of ourselves we leave behind just to survive the night.
Next Steps for Exploration
- Primary Source Check: Locate a copy of The Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology by Maximo Ramos. It is the definitive text on the various types of aswang and provides the structural basis for all modern interpretations.
- Media Comparison: Watch the 1990s Shake, Rattle & Roll depictions of the manananggal and compare them to the character-driven "monster" stories in modern digital series. Notice the shift from external jump scares to internal emotional conflict.
- Creative Practice: If you are a writer or artist, try to depict the "split" not as a horizontal line at the waist, but as a vertical line through the personality. This is where the true depth of the ang manananggal na nahahati ang puso myth lies.