Transit Dialog

19/03/2025

“𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘺. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯.”

𝗟𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗚𝗼: 𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗲 𝗛𝗲 𝗕𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗘𝗹𝘀𝗲 𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗔𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴
𝘉𝘺 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘭 𝘚𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘰

I always thought love ended with grand goodbyes. I thought heartbreak came with betrayal, distance, or the slow unraveling of something that once felt unbreakable. But at 35, I’ve learned that some loves don’t end — they simply fade into the background, never fully claimed, never fully lost.

That was what we were. A love that almost was, but never had the space to become.

I met him during a time when I wasn’t looking for love. As an OFW, my days were filled with lesson plans and long nights of writing, my mind occupied by responsibilities rather than romance. But he slipped into my life quietly, in the way that meaningful things often do. It was easy with him — conversations that stretched into the early hours, a connection that felt like home.

And then, there was her. His best friend.

𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗮𝘀 𝗔𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲

I knew about her from the beginning. He spoke of her often, the way people talk about someone who is stitched into the fabric of their life. I never questioned their closeness — after all, I wasn’t the jealous type. But the more I got to know him, the more I realized something I didn’t want to admit: she had always been there, long before me, woven into every part of who he was.

She knew his favorite food without asking. She understood his moods in a way that I was still learning. She could call him at any hour, and he would answer without hesitation.

I wanted to believe that my presence in his life meant something different. That what we had — quiet, unspoken, but real — mattered. But deep down, I knew. No matter how much we clicked, no matter how much I wanted it to be me, it was always her.

𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗜 𝗪𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗢𝘂𝘁𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿

It wasn’t jealousy. It was simply the realization that I was stepping into a story that had already been written. A love that was never officially declared but existed in all the ways that mattered.

The first night that I realized it was when she knocked at his door, late at night. We were together then, and she came, without question, without permission. Because she didn't need to. The place had been hers even without asking.

At first, I fooled myself into thinking that I was fine with that. But then, I realized I wasn't.

I remember the day it truly hit me. We were out with friends, and he left to take a call. I didn’t even need to ask who it was. When he returned, there was a softness in his voice, a familiarity that I knew wasn’t reserved for me.

And that was when I understood. I was in denial, my ego preventing me from accepting that I could be unchosen. But she never had to ask. She had already been given the place I had to ask to claim.

Maybe they never crossed that line. Maybe they never admitted it to themselves. But love isn’t just about words — it’s about who you turn to first, who you prioritize, who feels like home. And I wasn’t home to him. She was.

𝗟𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗚𝗼 𝗼𝗳 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗪𝗮𝘀 𝗡𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗲

It hurt in a way I didn’t expect. Not because he chose her — because in reality, he never had to make that choice. It was already made long before I came along.
So I did what I always do. I let go quietly. No grand confrontation, no dramatic farewell. Just the silent acceptance that some things aren’t meant to be mine.

At 35, I have learned that love is not just about connection, it is about timing, about space, about being the right person at the right moment. And sometimes, no matter how much we care, we are simply not the person meant to stay.

So I walk away, not bitter, not angry. Just grateful for what was, and wiser for what will come next. I know now what my tolerance is, and my non-negotiables.

After all, years after, peace comes in, and true healing comes.

17/03/2025

“𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 — 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.”

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗼𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗲-𝗘𝗱𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝗦𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱: 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗼 𝗡𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗔𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘃𝗮𝗹
𝘉𝘺 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘰 𝘉. 𝘈𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘢

Have you ever felt pressured to gain approval from family, friends, or social media? You’re not alone. In the Philippines, where relationships and community are deeply valued, validation shapes self-worth.

While it fosters harmony and belonging, it can also lead to insecurity, self-doubt, and conformity, particularly when societal structures reinforce this need. This tendency has been further amplified by social media and modern pressures.

𝗖𝘂𝗹𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗛𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗥𝗼𝗼𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗩𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

Filipino values like pakikisama (getting along), pagpapahalaga (being valued), and karangalan (honor) emphasize social harmony. These, shaped by centuries of colonial rule, conditioned Filipinos to seek external approval. Hiya (shame) discourages dissent, while utang na loob (debt of gratitude) fosters a culture of reciprocity that can blur the line between loyalty and obligation.

In families, high-achievers are praised, reinforcing strong bonds but also setting rigid expectations. In the workplace, employees strive for recognition, equating self-worth with external praise. While these norms cultivate community, they can also lead to stress when individuals feel pressured to meet expectations at the expense of personal well-being.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗶𝘁𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗩𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻-𝗗𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗖𝘂𝗹𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲

While validation strengthens relationships, an overreliance on it can lead to self-doubt and anxiety:

𝗣𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲-𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴: Many Filipinos prioritize harmony, often at the cost of their well-being. This leads to burnout and resentment.

𝗙𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗖𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘀𝗺: The hierarchical nature of families and workplaces discourages open discussion, stifling innovation and growth.

𝗙𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗦𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗘𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗺: Self-worth dependent on praise can be unstable. A teenager praised for being maputi (fair-skinned) may struggle with self-esteem if their complexion changes, showing how superficial validation can be damaging.

𝗩𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗽𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: The need for approval makes individuals susceptible to exploitation—whether from employers, influencers, or even politicians.

These issues highlight the risks of excessive validation-seeking, limiting self-expression and mental well-being. However, the desire for validation isn’t inherently negative — it’s the excess and reinforcement by societal structures that create problems.

𝗦𝗼𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗠𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗮: 𝗔𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗳𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗡𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗔𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘃𝗮𝗹

Social media has turned validation into a numbers game, where likes and shares dictate self-worth. Studies show excessive social media use correlates with increased anxiety and low self-esteem, particularly among Filipino youth. A viral video of a student crying over a post’s low engagement reflects this pressure. The curated nature of online profiles fuels unrealistic comparisons, worsening feelings of inadequacy.

However, social media isn’t entirely negative. It empowers Filipinos to connect, express themselves, and find supportive communities. Campaigns like Pinoy Pride unite Filipinos in celebrating national achievements, showing its potential for positive social connection. The key lies in mindful usage — focusing on meaningful interactions rather than superficial validation.

𝗦𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗕𝗮𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲: 𝗖𝘂𝗹𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗜𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗳𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲

To develop a healthier relationship with validation, Filipinos can:

𝗖𝘂𝗹𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗦𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗔𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀: Differentiate between healthy affirmation and excessive approval-seeking.

𝗗𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗽 𝗥𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗖𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘀𝗺: Normalize constructive feedback in schools and workplaces to foster confidence and growth.

𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗜𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗰 𝗠𝗼𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: Celebrate achievements privately through journaling and mindfulness, reducing dependence on external praise.

𝗨𝘀𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗠𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗮 𝗪𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗹𝘆: Follow content that inspires self-growth rather than fuels insecurity. Digital literacy programs can promote responsible online engagement.

As one Filipino entrepreneur put it, “𝘈𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘢 𝘢𝘺 𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘮 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘸𝘢 𝘮𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘰, 𝘬𝘢𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘬𝘱𝘢𝘬.” (What matters is knowing you did your best, even if no one claps.) This sentiment captures the essence of self-worth beyond external validation.

𝗘𝗺𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗪𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗵 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗟𝗼𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

Validation strengthens Filipino relationships, but excessive dependence on it can lead to emotional exhaustion. By fostering self-awareness and resilience, Filipinos can harness the positive aspects while mitigating its negative effects.

The key is balance — embracing cultural affirmation while cultivating inner confidence. With systemic changes in education and workplace culture, Filipinos can build a society that values both community and individual well-being.

15/03/2025

“𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 — 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.”

𝙒𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙨 𝙏𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜
𝘉𝘺 𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦 ‘𝘠𝘰𝘯𝘨’ 𝘈𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘧

Some life lessons can be learned from a street sweeper using 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. Watch them on your morning walk or during your daily commute. They face their sweeping tasks in different, interesting ways.

Gliding slowly across the pavement, they flick dried leaves into neat piles with light strokes. When they encounter stubborn dirt clinging to the concrete, they press down firmly, scrubbing until it yields. Then they pivot the 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴 to a different angle, sweeping away water without losing a beat.

The broom is made from the rib of the 𝘴𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘪 or 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘢 palm, the same material woven into walls and roofs of nipa huts. It strikes us that there’s much to learn from how they wield that bundle of tiny straight twigs.

Some life situations call for gentle persuasion, others demand firm resolve, and a few require a subtle shift in approach. Life is sometimes about sweeping — it’s all about using the right amount of force at the right angle and time.

How does a sweeper deal with a scattering of dried leaves? There’s no hard scrubbing or flinging of debris. Just a few light, controlled strokes to gather them neatly. It reminds us not to waste too much energy on the little things.

Life throws many leaves our way — petty arguments, minor annoyances, or the 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 who cuts the line at the Jeepney terminal. Those aren’t worth a heavy scrub. A light sweep will do. Brush it off, gather your thoughts, and move on.

Save your energy for the bigger messes. We can’t heavily scrub all day and expect to last till evening. “𝘒𝘢𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘪. 𝘛𝘢𝘺𝘰 𝘱𝘢 𝘬𝘢𝘺𝘢?”

This aligns with the term “𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗿𝗲𝗴𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻” in psychology. Letting small annoyances slide instead of getting worked up can significantly boost your mental well-being. In short, don’t scrub the small stuff — sweep it aside. (https://tinyurl.com/28w3jmx9)

But not all dirt is easily swept away. Sometimes, we must press down hard — like when the pavement has those sticky patches of dried mud. That’s when the sweeper bears down, attacking the grime with short, determined strokes until it finally gives way.

Our big problems demand the same approach. Whether it’s a toxic depression, a financial crisis, or a health scare, some messes need to be confronted directly and with all our strength.

But even heavy scrubbing requires technique. Push too hard or in the wrong direction; you’ll wear yourself out or scatter the mess further.

There’s a psychological parallel here, too. It is called “𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗹𝗲𝗺-𝗳𝗼𝗰𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴”— facing issues head-on with practical solutions. When it’s time to bear down on a problem, do it with intent and focus. (https://tinyurl.com/8hdjav7x).

A fascinating move of street sweepers is changing the 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨’𝘴 angle to move water off the pavement. A slight tilt is all it takes to redirect the flow, guiding it gently down the gutter instead of letting it pool.

In the same way, when life isn’t going our way, we need not put in more effort but a different angle. Stuck in a career rut? Maybe it’s time to pivot your skills. Strapped friendships? Shift your focus to understanding rather than being understood.

“𝘏𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴, 𝘬𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦!”

Seasoned street sweepers aren’t just skilled; they’re smart. Watch them long enough, and they rarely use more energy than necessary. They know they have a whole day’s work ahead, so they pace themselves — light strokes for leaves, heavy scrubbing for mud, angled sweeps for water.

We often waste our energy on things that don’t matter — arguing with strangers online, stressing over mistakes we can’t undo, or chasing after things we don’t need. The key is to conserve energy for what truly matters — mental health, personal growth, and meaningful work.

There’s also something humbling about how ordinary people like street sweepers do their work — quietly, methodically, without seeking attention. They don’t announce every pile of leaves they gather or every patch of dirt they scrub clean. They keep moving forward, one stroke at a time.

14/03/2025

“𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘱𝘵𝘰, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯, 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵.”

𝗣𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗠𝘆 𝗙𝘂𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗶𝗻 𝗠𝘆 𝟯𝟬𝘀
𝘉𝘺 𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘗𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘰

2025 is a year of investments – this was my declaration on January 1st.
I spent 2024 saving up or splurging on things I like (e.g. travel, skincare, and useless Funko Pops that add color to my room). The saving part was more on bank savings (in case of emergencies) and my once-a-year 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢 for PAG-IBIG MP2.

Other than these things, I didn’t invest in anything else, so I decided to make the change.

Apart from partaking in our company’s internal loan programs and COOP, I decided it was time to invest in my death.

𝗦𝘁. 𝗣𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗪𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴

Not a sponsored ad, but I’ve had a couple of friends encourage me to apply for St. Peter’s funeral plans. I first heard about it when my mom victoriously declared that she had finished her five-year payment back when I was 20 years old. I didn’t think I’d be applying for the same plan at 30.

Initially, the idea of investing in my funeral seemed gruesome. “You have a whole lot of life ahead of you!” a random Tita commented. “Why are you planning for your death this early?”

Well, because:

𝗙𝘂𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗹𝘆. I read a 2023 article from Rappler that the cheapest funeral expenses range from P8,000 to P15,000 while mid-range funeral services can cost up to P250,000. By investing today, I spare myself from future inflation (which is inevitable).

𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗱𝗲𝗻 𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆. My mom thinks I’m crazy. Secretly, I think she dreads the idea of burying her own kid, which is why we never discuss this plan of mine.

However, I still want to go ahead because of her and my dad. I’ve seen how emotionally challenging and financially stressful funerals are. My pre-paid plan can help my family focus on grieving.

𝗜’𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗱. Funeral plans ensure my preferences will be followed. No need for me to roll in my grave because my family proceeded otherwise.

𝗠𝘆 𝗗𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝗙𝘂𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹

Speaking of wishes, I have a simple plan in mind. I availed the St. James plan for myself. This involves cremation before viewing because I don’t want people to see my dead body. I want your last memory of me to be a live one, not me as a co**se. And I’m not a big fan of three-day wakes. Just cremate me, put me in a jar, and hold a one-day memorial service.

As for the service, I’d like it to be a celebration of my life, not a day of mourning. “Bawal umiyak ng sad tears!” I told my friends. “Happy lang!” Because for me, I’m already joyful with the Lord by then. I want my loved ones to celebrate with me and remember the life I lived with them.

All of these, I’m keeping in mind as I set aside P3,000 per quarter for my St. Peter plans. It’s a good investment, albeit a bit dark.

If you think about it, however, this is a practical thing to do. Paying for a funeral plan at this early stage in my life can help ease the financial burden on my family in the future and ensure that everything is taken care of when the time comes.

I won’t push this idea on anyone, but I encourage you to think about it, too.

So, there you have it. While my friends are busy investing in stocks and crypto, I'm investing in… well, my eternal rest. It might sound morbid, but hey, at least I'll be dead sure I'm covered.

13/03/2025

12/03/2025

“𝘉𝘺 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘳, 𝘠𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪-𝘗 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦..”

𝗝𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗔 𝗩𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗼 𝗚𝗮𝗺𝗲?
𝘉𝘺 𝘈𝘭𝘧𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘰 𝘋𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘢

I’d like to start this article with the disclaimer that I am a liberal on most social issues – including the highly contentious issues of abortion and divorce, both of which I support access to without reservations. I have been quite vocal about supporting issues such as those in the past. However, on this specific issue, I feel the need to start with what National Artist, 𝗥𝗶𝗰𝗸𝘆 𝗟𝗲𝗲, calls a point of empathy.

𝗡𝗮𝗼𝗸𝗶 𝗬𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗱𝗮 – commonly known by his fan nickname Yoshi-P – is a video game director for Square Enix. He is considered a legend in the gaming community, as he is commonly credited with saving the company’s flagship Final Fantasy franchise through the bestselling entry Final Fantasy XIV. This success led Square Enix to grant him control of another entry in the franchise – namely, Final Fantasy XVI. However, his creative decisions on that project did not come without their fair share of controversy.

In an interview for IGN, the interviewer asked Yoshi-P whether there would be any characters of color in Final Fantasy XVI – and, when Yoshi-P answered in the negative, a subsequent article by Kotaku took him to task for it. This was because the Kotaku article’s author took issue with Yoshi-P’s rationale for said answer.

In Yoshi-P’s own (albeit translated) words, “It can be challenging to assign distinctive ethnicities…without triggering audience preconceptions, inviting unwarranted speculation, and ultimately stoking flames of controversy.”

Put another way, Yoshi-P argues that it is difficult for game developers from a relatively homogenous country like Japan to assign specific ethnic backgrounds to their characters without falling into stereotypes. It’s a creative decision rooted in the avoidance of potential backlash. In other words, Yoshi-P wants nothing to do with the current American cultural war around representing people of color in media and has designed his game to reflect that.

I would be remiss to not include the Kotaku reporter’s critique of said argument, which they delineated throughout two articles. Said critique insisted that as a developer for one of the biggest video game studios on the planet, Yoshi-P has a responsibility to keep up with industry trends – and that includes current diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) standards. It’s his job in said position to put in the effort to include people of color in his games, as doing so is demanded of him according to said standards.

But the critique goes a step further and insists that DEI standards should be thought of as another measure of quality – akin to measuring a game through the flow of its combat or the quality of its story. It concludes that holding games to different standards just because of their countries of origin would be insulting to said games and their developers.

I truly do not think it was anything personal on said game journalist’s part, and that it was just a matter of Yoshi-P’s contributions to the public discourse. Sadly, the American cultural war is exported worldwide as though it is a physical product simply because of America’s size and global influence. The question now is: what can this story teach us?

10/03/2025

“𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦.”

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝗼𝘅𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗦𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗦𝗵𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴
𝗕𝘆 𝗝𝘂𝗮𝗻 𝗞𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗹𝗮𝗻

“𝘖𝘩, 𝘦𝘥𝘪 𝘪𝘬𝘢𝘸 𝘯𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘰!” If you’ve ever had this thrown at you, you know how much it stings. It might sound like a compliment, but it’s a low blow meant to put anyone who dares to be smart in their place.

In the Philippines, smart shaming is everywhere, and we need to ask: Why do we mock those who think differently or actually know what they’re talking about? This toxic culture is holding us back from becoming a better society.

Smart-shaming is just a fancy way of saying we’re afraid of intelligence. A lot of Filipinos see smart people as “𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘨” (arrogant) or “𝘮𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘵” (condescending). Instead of celebrating them as role models, we tear them down.

The irony is thick: We say we want education to escape poverty and improve our lives, yet we vilify those who embody the very knowledge we claim to value. This contradiction reveals a deep-seated fear of standing out, a fear we’ve inherited from generations of being told that being “too smart” is a crime.

The most disheartening part? We’re left with a society that often equates ignorance with normalcy. With so many unwilling to engage in meaningful discussions, we cultivate a breeding ground for misinformation and mediocrity. This is particularly dangerous in our current political climate, where critical thinking and informed opinions are often dismissed as “pa-woke” or elitist.

When we allow smart shaming to persist, we risk normalizing ignorance and complacency — making us easy targets for manipulation by those in power.

This fear is amplified by our obsession with “𝘱𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘢”. In Filipino culture, blending in is often more important than excelling. We have this twisted idea that being smart is a bad thing, so we shove those who shine into the shadows. Instead of lifting each other, we push them down, keeping them quiet. It’s a messed-up sense of togetherness that breeds ignorance, not growth.

Let’s talk about the typical scenarios we all know too well. When someone at the dinner table drops some knowledge, how often do you hear the familiar scoff or sarcastic remark? Those comments aren’t just jokes; they’re evidence of our collective insecurity. Phrases like “Nosebleed!” fly around when someone speaks in English, while “𝘌𝘩 𝘥𝘪 𝘪𝘬𝘢𝘸 𝘯𝘢!” gets thrown at anyone who dares to express a well-informed opinion. It’s not just banter; it’s a way to keep the “smart” people quiet.

What’s worse? We end up with a society that glorifies ignorance. In this environment, where questioning the norm is seen as a threat, misinformation spreads like wildfire. We see it all around us: When people would rather share memes than engage in real conversations, we set the stage for mediocrity. With critical thinking taking a backseat, we’ve become sitting ducks for manipulation by those in power.

Consider this: If we keep tearing down people who think, question, and challenge, where will that leave us? The path ahead looks bleak. If we prioritize conformity/𝘱𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘢/unity over critical thinking and intelligence, we risk creating a generation that sees knowledge, change and progress as a burden.

A corrupt government thrives on a population that’s kept in the dark, and that’s exactly what we’re creating. A stupid population is a corrupt government’s best friend. So I wouldn’t be surprised if those above are systemically making the population more brain-dead by the minute.

So, what kind of society do we want? Are we really okay with letting fear dictate how we treat each other? If we claim to value education and progress, it’s time to ditch this love of ignorance and embrace intelligence, critical thinking and the ability to question the way things are.

Let’s build a culture where curiosity is welcomed and knowledge is power. If we don’t, we’ll just keep inviting our own downfall, and ask anyone, that’s a future no one wants to live in.

If after reading this you sit back and say, “𝘈𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘪 𝘮𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘪” or “𝘈𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘪 𝘮𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘮”, then maybe it’s time to ask if you are part of the problem.

08/03/2025

“𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘹𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺, 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘨𝘦.”

𝗟𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗕𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿
𝘉𝘺 𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦 ‘𝘠𝘰𝘯𝘨’ 𝘈𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘧

We don’t score well in global education rankings. We struggle with basic literacy, math, and science skills. We could blame low budgets, overworked teachers, stunted kids, malnutrition, and natural disasters, among others.

Let us stop blaming once and for all and ask: What if we took education online?
Our students learn more online than they do in school. We seldom hear students say they learned something at school. They often say they got it from Google or Wikipedia, which beats all encyclopedias.

With the rise of satellite technology, online courses, affordable devices and AI, a shift to digital learning could bypass many learning problems we have long been in denial of.

Politics has long been at the root of these problems. Education has long been part of the spoils system, with corruption tainting infrastructure deals, textbook purchases, and even teacher appointments.

Teaching jobs have become rewards for political loyalty. Training and professional development are pushed aside in favor of political patronage. It’s hard to inspire students when teachers themselves are treated like 𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯 by politicians.

Physical classrooms are expensive to build and maintain. Virtual classrooms are only as costly as an internet connection and a gadget — ideally a low-cost tablet or a repurposed smartphone.

With satellite internet, even remote areas could log into classes, download materials, and submit assignments. We could leverage platforms like Khan Academy, Coursera, or YouTube tutorials.

Teacher quality is a touchy subject. We don’t want to discuss it because everyone could have a teacher as a relative. But we know teachers are overworked and undertrained for the digital age.

Online education doesn’t have to replace them — it could support them. Teachers can spend more time on emotional support for children, look out for the depressed and bullied, and devote more energy to helping slower learners.

Standardized education doesn’t fit everyone. Online courses allow students to learn at their own speed. Fast learners can move ahead, while those who need more time won’t get left behind. Gamified learning modules are necessary to keep kids interested.

Under this setup, we may need more teachers. They will take on three new and critical roles: solving mental health, misinformation, and nutrition challenges.

They could be mental health advisers to ease the isolation of online learning among the young. Trained to identify early signs of anxiety, depression, or burnout, teachers can help make education more humane and effective in the digital age.

Teachers could also champion childhood nutrition, which affects physical and cognitive development. They could educate students and parents about affordable, functional food, leveraging online platforms to share tips on balanced diets, healthy meals, and even micro-gardening.

Teachers could be guardians against misinformation. In a world drowning in fake news and scams, courses on digital literacy, fact-checking, and scam detection can turn students into critical thinkers rather than passive consumers of content.

Misinformation is a real threat. Critics argue that online learning makes it easier for students to fall prey to misinformation. That's a fair point. But since we can’t avoid online presence, why not teach students how to assess information critically?

Getting devices into students’ hands and setting up reliable internet connections will cost money. But consider this: the government already spends billions on textbooks, infrastructure, and administrative costs.

A budget shift could be more efficient in the long run. Telcos and tech companies could also pitch in through public-private partnerships.

Online education isn’t a silver bullet. Issues like parental guidance, homegrown discipline, and the digital divide won’t disappear. But it has the potential to transform how we educate the next generation.

The first step is to stop viewing technology as a threat and start seeing it as a tool. If we can’t fix the traditional system overnight, maybe it’s time to try a different path with fewer walls and more Wi-Fi.

07/03/2025

"𝘈𝘴 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘱 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘨 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩..."

𝗚𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗔 𝗟𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗠𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘆 𝗣𝗲𝘀𝗼𝘀
𝘉𝘺 𝘓𝘰𝘪𝘴 𝘊𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢 𝘔𝘢𝘦 𝘋.𝘎. 𝘎𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳

Many of us probably grew up with the precautionary warning, “Don’t give money to every beggar who asks,” from our parents or elders. Usually with a clipped emphasis, a reason: “Or they’ll use it to snort rugby.” But we’d always know – with fair enough judgment, who is pretending and who actually needs the money. Old beggars are one of the few people I would always be gracious to, drug-user or not.

I once met an old woman on the wooden benches outside the Department of Foreign Affairs. I was then waiting for my mother and sister to finish processing whatever it was they needed to process for a passport when an old lady, about in her 70s, came and sat beside me. Wrapped around her right wrist is what I would describe as an unnecessarily bulky yet thin plastic bag. She was carrying handbag luggage, but it looked shabby and tattered at the edges.

“𝘈𝘯𝘢𝘬, 𝘱𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘢 𝘶𝘮𝘶𝘱𝘰, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘬?” She asked with those familiar gray eyes – cloudy yet bearing a strangely bright luster around the pupil, the characteristic greyishness shining bright on the ring of a cataract. It looked just like my grandmother’s.

Soon, the lola started talking. She said her daughter still hasn’t returned yet, and that the DFA needed her ID. ”I didn’t know!” She reasoned. Snuck between her stories and words, I noticed, were the recurring usage of the word: “Anak.” “𝘏𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪 𝘱𝘢 𝘬𝘢𝘴𝘪 𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘬 ‘𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘬 𝘬𝘰 𝘦𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘬.” “𝘐𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘸 𝘯𝘢 𝘬𝘢𝘴𝘪 𝘢𝘬𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘬.” “𝘈𝘯𝘢𝘬, 𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘸 𝘬𝘢𝘴𝘪 𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘬.”

She has been waiting here for nearly three days. “𝘌𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘬, 𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘬𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘨.” And she was sweating, and her eyes, though bright, were nearly dilated. “𝘒𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘱𝘢 𝘢𝘬𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘩𝘪𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘬.” Her hands were clammy when she held mine.

Lola was a maintenance worker at a nearby testing center, sweeping floors and mopping steps as aspiring students took their tests looking – searching for a brighter future where, preferably, they would be building enterprises and not scrubbing the toilets. Not knowing that an old woman who had completed her education much like them was now the person sweeping the floors before them.

“𝘗𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘯𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘯𝘢 𝘢𝘬𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘬. 𝘒𝘢𝘺𝘢 𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢 𝘢𝘬𝘰.” Lola said, almost for the third time. The pay was low, she said. And the work was way too hard. Her knees were weak and yet she continued sweeping the steps from first to fifth floors or so, and the pay never quite compensated for it. “𝘌𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘬, 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘢𝘯-𝘥𝘢𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘢 𝘢𝘬𝘰, 𝘦𝘩.”

After a little more chatting, she suddenly looked more impatient, and once again brought up that she needed to go home. A little part of me wondered whether this was part of a scam – a beggar “I should never give to” or else they’ll “snort rugby.” Her tired, hardworking, and wrinkly hand said “no” quite clearly. And the bright gray rings in her eyes grounded me in reality.

She asked for forty pesos for the fare. I asked if that was enough. And then she stuck her hand inside the plastic bag and offered me biscuits and a half-empty bottle of water. “You can take this while you wait for your mother.” I refused, to which her then tense and somehow ashamed eyes melted with gratitude. Pulling out the two crumpled twenty-peso bills, I asked again if it was enough. She assured me, yes.

Before she left completely, she asked me for my age. “Fifteen.” And then she said, “𝘗𝘢𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘨 𝘦-𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘮 𝘬𝘢 𝘯𝘢, 𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘢 𝘮𝘰 𝘱𝘢 𝘢𝘬𝘰 𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘵!” She giggled, though added that she had already left that place. She bid me goodbye and went on her way.

As I watched her frail body limp away from the bench, her heavy handbag dragging her left shoulder down, I wondered whether the forty pesos would be enough to get her from here to a better place. Or if she’ll even be able to get home and leave this place. I wondered, then, how far my 40 pesos would get her.

It shouldn’t be that far, so I watched her walk away and wished, with the one-hundred peso bill all crumpled between my fingers, that I had given her a little more than forty pesos.

𝘓𝘰𝘪𝘴 𝘊𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢 𝘔𝘢𝘦 𝘋.𝘎. 𝘎𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘐𝘯𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘳, 𝘚𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘰 𝘐𝘴𝘺𝘶 10, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥.