At this year’s PalCon, the province’s premier gathering of social media creators, one name stood out among the crowd: Decko Tum.
With over 1.3M followers and counting, Decko is fast becoming one of Palawan’s most recognizable digital personalities. But unlike many influencers chasing monetization and brand deals, her journey began with something far simpler—curiosity and a craving for connection.
“Nag-umpisa ‘yan sa katuwaan ko lang na makakuha ng atensyon,” she shared during our exclusive sit-down interview. “’Yung makakuha ka ng heart reaction, magagandang comments… naaadik ka sa atensyon na nakukuha mo. Gusto mong mag-level up.”
That hunger for engagement fueled her rise, even without monetizing her platform.
“Okay lang po ‘yun sa akin. Hindi ako nagpapaka-stress kasi nag-eenjoy ako sa comments, sa reactions—‘yung atensyon talaga.”
Decko’s content is refreshingly raw. Her page is a vibrant tapestry of Palawan’s culinary traditions, daily routines, and community events.
“Kung ano po ‘yung nasa vlog ko, ‘yun po talaga,” she said. “Walang halong eme, walang script.”
From cooking cassava-based meals to attending tribal gatherings, her videos offer a rare glimpse into the life of a Samal Muslim woman from the coast.
Her food content, in particular, has sparked both fascination and controversy.
“Ang pinaka-controversial talaga,” she recalled, “’yung si Nemo—clownfish.”
The video, which showed her preparing the fish for consumption, drew backlash from viewers unfamiliar with island practices.
“Hindi namin alam kung ano ang bawal, ano ang impact nito,” she explained. “Kaya noong pinost ko siya, andaming negative na comment! Muntik ko na nga siyang i-delete.”
Eventually, a biologist reached out to clarify that personal consumption of such species is not illegal, calming her fears.
“Safe naman, as long as personal consumption—hindi siya binebenta o tini-trade,” she said, reflecting on the learning curve that comes with digital visibility.
Decko’s food vlogs are more than just recipes—they’re cultural documentation.
“Kami nga, karamihan sa mga tribu ng Muslim, meron kaming alternative sa rice—’yung cassava? ‘Yun pong balinghoy,” she explained. “Hindi lang siya alternative sa rice. ‘Yung iba, ‘yun talaga ang ginagawa nilang rice.”
Her seafood repertoire includes sea urchins, porcupine fish, and even corals—ingredients rooted in the survival instincts of coastal tribes.
“Ang Samal po talaga, sa tabing-dagat po ‘yan… Kung ano lang ang makita mo, ‘yun ang kinakain.”
As a Muslim woman in the vlogging space, Decko’s presence is groundbreaking. “Very rare sa amin na makakita ng nag-vovlog na Muslim,” we noted. Her response was candid:
“Lumaki kasi ako sa hindi religious Muslim (family)… Kaya noong nag-vlog ako, walang ‘ay bawal ‘yan.’”
While she acknowledges the sensitivity around religious representation, she chooses authenticity over conformity.
“Ayokong mag-combong ako, tapos mapapahiya ko ang Muslim.”
Her openness has earned mixed reactions.
“Hindi naman siya sobrang taboo, pero parang naiibahan sila sa’yo. Parang katawa-tawa para sa kanila.”
But as her platform grew, so did the respect.
“Noong nalaman nila na bumu-boom na po, kumikita na, humahanga na po sila.”
Despite her growing fame, Decko remains grounded.
“Isa lang po akong simpleng taga-isla,” she said. “May dalawang anak at hiwalay sa asawa… walang hanapbuhay.”
Meeting fans in person was surreal.
“May mag-a-approach sa’yo, may pupuri sa’yo sa personal, hindi sa online. Nakaka-overwhelm lang talaga.”
Decko Tum’s story is one of raw talent, cultural pride, and digital serendipity. In a world of curated feeds and polished personas, her unfiltered lens offers something rare: truth. And in that truth, she has found both her audience—and her voice.
