Long ago, when the world was young and the stars shone brighter than they do today, there was a small, peaceful village nestled between green rice fields and a slow, winding river. In this village lived a kind widow named Aling Rosa and her only daughter, Pina.
Aling Rosa loved her daughter deeply. She had raised Pina alone after her husband’s passing, doing all she could to provide for them both. Every morning, before the sun rose over the horizon, she would sweep their small yard, fetch water from the well, and prepare rice for breakfast. And though she worked tirelessly, she never complained—because all that she did, she did for her daughter.
But Pina was not like her mother. She was a bright, lovely child, but terribly lazy. She spent her days sitting by the window, brushing her long hair or playing with the neighborhood children instead of helping with the chores. Whenever her mother asked her to lend a hand, she would find an excuse.
“Pina,” her mother would call from the kitchen, “please cook the rice while I wash the clothes.”
“I can’t find the pot, Nanay!” the girl would shout back, without even getting up to look.
“Then find it, my child,” her mother would say patiently. “You must learn to do things yourself.”
But Pina would sigh and say, “It’s too hard, Nanay. I’ll do it later.”
Days turned into weeks, and still, Pina never changed. Though her mother scolded her gently, she could never stay angry for long. She loved her daughter too much.
One summer day, Aling Rosa caught a terrible fever. Her head throbbed, her hands trembled, and she was too weak to stand. Yet even in her sickness, she thought of her daughter first. “Pina,” she said softly, “please, my child, make me some porridge. I need something warm to eat.”
The girl pouted. “But Nanay, where’s the rice? Where’s the ladle? I can’t find anything!”
Her mother sighed wearily. “You always say you cannot find things. I wish you had many eyes so you could see where everything is!”
Exhausted and frustrated, Aling Rosa lay back in bed and fell into a deep sleep.
When she awoke the next morning, sunlight was streaming through the window. The birds were chirping outside. But something felt wrong. The house was quiet — perhaps too quiet.
“Pina?” she called. “Pina, my child, where are you?”
There was no answer.
She got up slowly and searched every corner of their small home: behind the door, under the table, in the backyard. But Pina was gone. The neighbors came to help, searching through the village and into the forest, but no one could find her.
Days passed. Then weeks. Aling Rosa’s sickness faded, but her sadness grew heavier each day. Every morning, she prayed that her daughter might somehow return.
One morning, as she was watering the plants near the back fence, she noticed something new growing among the grass — a strange plant with long, sword-like leaves. At its center grew a small, golden fruit covered in curious diamond shapes, each one looking like a tiny eye.
Puzzled, she knelt and touched the fruit. Its surface was rough, but somehow familiar. Then it struck her: the fruit’s many eyes reminded her of her daughter—the same daughter who could never find what was right in front of her.
With tears in her eyes, she whispered, “Pina… is that you, my child?”
From that day on, the fruit became known as pinya, named after the lost girl. The villagers began to plant it in their gardens, and soon, pineapples grew all over the land.
The Lesson of Pina
Parents would tell their children this story whenever they refused to help at home. They would say, “Do not be like Pina, or you may end up with many eyes too!” But beneath the laughter and warnings, the story carried a deeper meaning.
It reminded people that laziness leads to regret, and that a child who ignores their parents’ advice may lose something precious — sometimes even themselves. It also spoke of a mother’s love: even when her daughter was lost, Aling Rosa’s memory of her became something that gave sweetness and life to others.
Symbolism of the Pineapple
In Filipino culture, the pineapple’s many eyes represent awareness and attentiveness. Its golden color is a symbol of light and kindness. Though the story begins in sorrow, it ends in transformation—showing how love and memory can turn even tragedy into something fruitful.
And so, every time a Filipino peels a pineapple, they are reminded of the tale of the girl who could not see the things before her, until she was given eyes enough to see the whole world.