13/12/2025
๐๐๐๐ง๐จ๐ฅ๐ | ๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ด-๐๐๐๐ฏ๐ฎ๐ป๐ด: ๐จ๐ป๐ถ๐๐ฒ๐ฟ๐๐ฎ๐น ๐๐
๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ฒ๐ป๐ฐ๐ฒ๐ ๐ถ๐ป ๐ฃ๐ฒ๐ฟ๐๐ผ๐ป๐ฎ๐น ๐ฆ๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ฒ๐
The rehearsals were finished, the stage was set, and the audience had gathered. On 5 December at Madrigal Hall, four students from the Literature and Language Department presented Pag-Atubang, a showcase of original plays that drew from deeply personal experiences to explore universal struggles of identity, decision-making, and change.
Written and performed by LITE104 students, the four playsโMIA by Milan Estela, Alimpungat by Nyx Grutas, Pag-Ako by Ivonne Edde Papa, and Emma Kabog Hair-Ah by Jam Riveraโtranslated individual vulnerabilities into stories that resonated beyond the self. Taken together, *Pag-Atubang* framed confrontation not as spectacle, but as a necessary step toward growth and understanding.
๐ ๐๐
The opening play, MIA, unfolds entirely within a dorm room and follows its titular character as she returns exhausted from on-the-job training on the eve of enrollment. Played by Milan Estela, Mia moves frantically through the space, cleaning and pacing as her thoughts spiral. In a rare moment of stillness, she voices a question she immediately resists: โWhat if I shift?โ
Rooted in Estelaโs own experiences in her Communications course, MIA explores the tension between passion and exhaustion. Miaโs doubts do not stem from a lack of love for her course, but from the physical and emotional toll of sustaining it. This tension comes to the fore during a phone call with her mother, voiced by Aireen Estela, who listens as Mia articulates her frustrations and gently pushes her to examine them more closely. Through the conversation, Mia comes to terms with the reality that loving something does not make it any less demanding.
Rather than choosing between persistence and surrender, Mia opts for an academic break. The play ends with her quiet departure, leaving behind an empty dorm room as her friend Mika, played by Mikee Carreras, arrives to enroll with her. In MIA, confrontation takes the form of rest. The decision to pause becomes not a failure, but a way of continuing forward with greater honesty.
๐๐น๐ถ๐บ๐ฝ๐๐ป๐ด๐ฎ๐
Alimpungat opens in darkness. Julian, played by Junniel Grutas, kneels before a television at 3:07 a.m., absentmindedly flipping through channels before attempting to sleep. The stillness is abruptly disrupted by the arrival of The Host, a flamboyant figure who introduces a game show called โTruth or Die,โ where Julian must reveal three secrets or face death.
As the play progresses, The Host shifts between mockery, sympathy, and menace, embodying the emotional volatility of the early morning hours. Written by Nyx Grutas, Alimpungat externalizes the intrusive thoughts and unresolved pain that surface in moments of isolation. Julianโs confessionsโthat he is gay, that he was assaulted, and that he wants to dieโare delivered with mounting strain, while The Hostโs reactions grow increasingly unsettling.
When the game ends, Julian turns to the audience and asks what they want from him, whether they want him to live. Their silence becomes decisive. Originally conceived with multiple possible endings, Alimpungat ultimately implicates its audience in Julianโs despair, underscoring how inaction and discomfort can become forms of harm. The playโs ending lingers as a reminder that confronting oneโs truth requires others willing to confront it alongside them.
๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ด-๐๐ธ๐ผ
A one-woman play performed by Althea Rhyza J. Amaro, Pag-Ako begins with Reign auditioning for a performance, only to falter as disparaging thoughts intrude. What starts as a moment of failure expands into a recounting of her life, from childhood to her pursuit of performance, shaped by constant scrutiny.
Written by Ivonne Edde Papa, the play critically examines the standards imposed on women and performers. Reign recounts being judged for her appearance, policed for eating, and pressured into conformity, experiences that culminate in an eating disorder born of shame. Through these moments, Pag-Ako exposes how societal expectations accumulate and distort self-worth over time.
The play ends with a simple but resonant gesture. Reign runs through the aisle, telling audience members, โMagayon ka.โ In choosing self-acceptance, she reframes affirmation as both personal and communal, inviting viewers to examine the standards they internalize and project onto others.
๐๐บ๐บ๐ฎ ๐๐ฎ๐ฏ๐ผ๐ด ๐๐ฎ๐ถ๐ฟ-๐๐ต
Closing the program is Emma Kabog Hair-Ah, a comedic yet incisive play centered on Emmah, a trans woman reprimanded by her school for growing her hair as part of her transition. Portrayed by Joseph Estrella, Emmah is forced to decide whether to comply with school rules or continue asserting her identity, knowing either choice carries consequences.
Her dilemma is staged through the appearance of two alter egos. Jino, her masculine counterpart, urges concealment in the name of safety. Lilibeth, her feminine counterpart, argues for openness and self-affirmation despite the risks. Written by Jam Rivera and drawn from his own experiences, the play balances humor with emotional clarity, presenting both voices as sincere attempts at self-preservation.
Emmah ultimately chooses to come out to her parents. The decision does not promise ease, but it marks the beginning of growth. In closing Pag-Atubang, Emma Kabog Hair-Ah affirms that embracing oneโs identity, while costly, is transformative.
๐๐ผ๐ป๐ณ๐ฟ๐ผ๐ป๐๐ฎ๐๐ถ๐ผ๐ป ๐ฎ๐ ๐๐ผ๐ป๐ป๐ฒ๐ฐ๐๐ถ๐ผ๐ป
Across its four plays, Pag-Atubang presents confrontation as both personal and collective. Each writer opens their experiences to an audience, not to resolve them neatly, but to share them honestly. Through these acts of vulnerability, the production creates a space where deeply individual struggles become widely recognizable.
Two ideas emerge clearly. First, meaningful change begins with confronting oneโs limits, fears, and truths. Second, storytelling allows these confrontations to be shared, turning private reckonings into points of connection. In this way, Pag-Atubang is not only a showcase of student work, but an invitation to face what we often avoidโtogether. | via AJ Betito / ThePILLARS
Photos by Jireh Labor / ThePILLARS
