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Why do we keep replaying what’s already over? That song comes on, and suddenly he’s back, not in my life, not in front of me, but in every laugh we shared, every silence that still stings, every corner of me I thought I’d left behind. We tell ourselves we’re over it, but the music doesn’t care, and neither do we.

Sa bawat patak ng ulan, may kasamang kwento ng lamig, gutom, at takot. Sa Barangay Pandan Mahawak, Medellin, Cebu, ang mga residente ay natutulog sa ilalim ng plastik—hindi dahil sa kagustuhan, kundi dahil sa kawalan ng pagpipilian. Mula nang yumanig ang lupa noong Setyembre 30, naging tanawin na ang mga pamilyang nakahimlay sa lupa, binabalot ng plastik na tila yakap ng desperasyon at pag-asa.

To live a life that has expectations is to spend years of your life trying to prove yourself. This has been what being the youngest child feels like, where comparison is a norm and the necessity to live up to your siblings is always on.

The stage lights dimmed. A hush fell over an audience of millions. And then — the curtain rose on Taylor Swift’s boldest reinvention yet.

Over a hundred thousand protesters rallied through the streets in the Philippines, a country where corruption has long been woven into the political system. I was there among them, moving through the crowd, feeling the collective weight of frustration and hope.

The eerie silence of terror replaced the cacophony of screams and cries of people whose only desire is to live. It was horrendous, like a live action war game except it is a war and it is not a game—at least not for the people whose lives are at stake.

Steam rises from the rim of a coffee cup, carrying with it that familiar, bitter scent. Almost without thinking, I reach for the milk. A small swirl, and suddenly the sharpness disappears into something softer, smoother, easier to swallow.

The early morning air over Luneta Park in Manila was thick with more than mist. As dawn’s dim light stretched across Rizal’s monument, Mara, a college student from Quezon City, joined hundreds gathering, placards in hand, voices hushed yet full of resolve.

Picture this: You’re in constant motion. Your calendar is jam-packed, your notifications never stop, and your checklist is always growing. To anyone looking at you—the whirlwind of activity, the “busy” one—you seem unstoppable. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: Being busy does not mean you’re being productive.

They say most people don’t notice when someone is breaking. And maybe they didn’t notice me. I smiled in class, joked with friends, and answered when called. On the outside, I was another student carrying a bag of books. But inside, I carried a bag far heavier—one filled with thoughts sharp enough to cut me from the inside out.

Forget the fare matrix. What greets you on this bus is a wall of mug shots—except they’re not criminals. They’re students, barkadas, workers, and strangers. Tiny portraits taped like a scrapbook in motion, each one claiming: I was here.

On a calm September morning in Kathmandu, Aayush, a college freshman, unlocked his phone as usual. But instead of the familiar buzz of notifications, the screen stayed eerily blank. Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, WhatsApp—everything was gone. At first, it felt like a glitch. Then reality set in: the government had ordered a nationwide social media blackout, demanding that platforms register under new regulations.

On an ordinary Tuesday morning, third-year high school student Mia (not her real name) already dreaded the day ahead. It wasn’t the math quiz or the group report that worried her—it was the snickers in the hallway, the whispered insults, and the push on her shoulder when she tried to pass through the crowded corridor.

May mga sandali sa buhay na tila ba ang mundo’y lumalakad nang mabilis, ngunit ikaw ay nakapako sa iisang lugar. Ang mga ngiti sa paligid ay parang liwanag ng mga bituin—nakasisilaw ngunit malayo, at hindi kayang abutin ang lamig sa loob ng iyong dibdib. Sa bawat hakbang na pinipilit mong gawin, may bigat na nakadikit sa iyong talampakan.

May mga sandali sa buhay na tila ba ang mundo’y lumalakad nang mabilis, ngunit ikaw ay nakapako sa iisang lugar. Ang mga ngiti sa paligid ay parang liwanag ng mga bituin—nakasisilaw ngunit malayo, at hindi kayang abutin ang lamig sa loob ng iyong dibdib. Sa bawat hakbang na pinipilit mong gawin, may bigat na nakadikit sa iyong talampakan. Mapusok, magulo, walang direksiyon—at oo, nakakapagod.

Sa unang patak ng ulan, may mga batang nagtatampisaw sa kalsadang unti-unti nang nalulunod sa tubig. Masaya sila sa simula, para bang laruan ang bawat patak na bumabagsak sa bubong. Ngunit sa ikalawang oras, lumalalim na ang baha, at ang mga batang ito’y kailangan nang buhatin ng kanilang magulang. Ang kasiyahan ay napalitan ng kaba: Paano kung tumaas pa? Paano kung bumalik ang mas malakas na ulan bukas?

For students, a certificate of recognition or medals proudly clanking as one walks and shines on stage is a dream fulfilled. Behind it are sleepless nights, tired eyes, and sacrifices hidden from sight—all for the sake of growling validation.

Corruption has long been one of the Philippines’ most persistent challenges cutting across institutions and undermining the nation’s growth. From misplaced public trust to billions lost in questionable government projects, the problem has become deeply entrenched in the political and economic fabric of the country.

I’ve been watching the discourse online, and one thing has become startlingly clear: in our country today, a designer handbag is more real than a floodwall. It's a stark, painful truth, perfectly encapsulated by the outrage over what the public has dubbed "nepobabies."

I was there. Shoulder to shoulder with mothers clutching coins that never add up, with fathers whose hands still smell of floodwater. We were no crowd of bystanders—we were the rage of the riverbanks, the voices that refused to stay underwater. We carried mud in our hands, chants in our throats, and fury in our chests.

Another corruption scandal in the Philippines makes the headlines. Millions of pesos gone, corrupt politicians and their children's lavish lifestyle, contractors with their ghost flood control projects, taxpayers shaking their heads, and yet the same cycle continues.

Affan Kurniawan should have been invisible that evening. On August 28, 2025, in Jakarta, he was just another young man weaving through the streets, delivering food for Gojek to support his family. A breadwinner. A son. A brother. Someone who carried more than his own weight, balancing responsibility, dreams, and hope.

May mga gabing tila walang bituin. May mga umagang parang hindi na darating. Sa bawat sulok ng mundo, may mga pusong tahimik na lumuluha, may mga matang pilit na nagtatago sa likod ng ngiti, at may mga kaluluwang humihingi ng tulong sa paraang hindi naririnig. Ito ang katotohanan ng depresyon—isang unos na walang pangalan, isang bagyong dumarating nang walang babala.

A cry for help– is what the Filipinos have been trying to ask for the couple of years as as the gush of another rainwater contributes to the level of flood they have to cross to get to a safer area.

August is ending, and for one short moment, the world stops scrolling. Somewhere in Manila, in New York, in Lagos, hundreds of strangers pause, eyes on the same video, hearts attached to the same words: “August ends on a Sunday. Like a sweet goodbye you weren’t ready for, but looked beautiful anyway.” One comment rises above the rest: “I decided this to be the end of my doomscroll. Thank you.”

Beneath the shimmering spotlight and global fame, lies a story woven with vulnerability, resilience, and transformative love. It’s a journey marked by delicate heartbreaks, fearless reinventions, and evermore growth, each chapter more captivating than the last.

In the early hours of the morning, when most of the city is still asleep, the sound of tricycles already echoes through quiet streets. For the drivers, the day begins before sunrise. Engines are checked, tires are inspected, and fuel is measured sparingly before they set off to the nearest terminal.

Lahat nagbabago, walang permanente, walang nananatili. Kahit anong pilit na pigilan ang pagtakbo ng oras, hindi ito nakikiusap, lalo na kung lumipas na. Hindi na natin ito mababalikan.

Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr. was a gifted politician long before he became a national martyr. He served as the youngest governor of Tarlac. At just 35, he was elected as the youngest senator of the Republic, known for his eloquence, wit, and sharp criticisms of government abuses.

There was the viral origin of her reputation: a news anchor delivering storm-ravaged updates with perfect makeup intact. The internet dubbed her the “mystery setting spray girl.” It was funny, fleeting, a meme.

Under the glow of studio lights, Maki Robredo now stands as one of OPM’s most promising voices — his songs weaving color into the lives of those who listen. But long before the fame, there was a day when the stage felt like a dangerous place. At just fifteen, in the prime of his innocence and passion, he stepped into an audition that would leave him shaken, questioning not only his dream but also his place in the world he longed to enter.

In order to become a good masterpiece, we need hands—gentle, firm, and enduring hands—to mold us into a beautiful work of art.

There are days when you scroll through an old photo and barely recognize the person smiling back at you. Not because they look so different—but because you remember who you were when that photo was taken. Your habits, your voice, your dreams—the way you moved through the world.

Tuwing sasapit ang buwan ng Agosto, tila muling bumabalik ang sigla ng mga paaralan, komunidad, at institusyon sa pagyakap sa sariling wika. Makukulay na banderitas, patimpalak sa pagtula, makabayang kasuotan, at mga programang nagpapakita ng pagmamahal sa wikang Filipino at katutubong wika—lahat ng ito ay nagsisilbing paalala na mayaman ang ating bansa sa kasaysayan, kultura, at pagkakakilanlan.

“Matatapang, Matatalino, walang takot kahit kanino, hinding hindi magpapahuli.” These words are more than just a cheer; it is the identity of every Isko and Iska. But being able to cheer this chant and embody it is no easy task – to go through the eye of the needle, survive the one of the hardest entrance exams in the country.

In today’s fast-paced world, family dinners have become more of a memory than a routine. The dining table that once echoed with laughter, stories, and togetherness is now often replaced by glowing screens, late-night takeouts, and empty seats.

From the moment the spotlight hits the last two standing, holding their hands and the crowds hoot down, Filipinos everywhere hold their breath in unison. And as the stadium echoed with the call "Philippines!", expect a grand celebration, for this victory is not just for the winner but for the entire archipelago.

The air crackles with an almost palpable energy when they enter a room. Heads turn, conversations lull, and a magnetic pull seems to draw all attention their way. They are charming, often brilliant, and possess an undeniable charisma that can sweep you off your feet. We’re talking about narcissists, and while the term is frequently thrown around, truly understanding what lies beneath that captivating exterior is crucial for navigating our relationships and protecting our own well-being.

When I was watching the trailer for Sunshine a few weeks ago, the palpable tension was immediately arresting. It wasn't just the drama of a young gymnast's life; it was the whispered, desperate conflict simmering just beneath the surface. Then, as I checked social media, the moviegoers reacted to that movie during block screenings. The chatter wasn't just about the stellar performances; it was about the raw, uncomfortable, and profoundly necessary conversation the film had ignited.

Bawat pag-ikot ng taon, muling hinahabi ang naratibo ng ating bansa sa isang talumpating inaabangan, pinag-uusapan, at kinukuwestyon—ang State of the Nation Address o SONA. Ito ang yugto kung saan ang lider ng bayan ay muling humaharap sa sambayanan, bitbit ang mga kwento ng pagsusumikap, tagumpay, at mga balak landasin. Ngunit sa likod ng magagarbong salita at pulidong presentasyon, naroon ang tanong na hindi madaling sagutin: hanggang saan nga ba ang agwat ng pangako sa katotohanan?

It’s been one week since the end of your academic calendar. You start to pack your things in the dorm you’ve been renting for three years now, ready to go home and maybe rest a little if time and circumstances permit. As you rummage through all your belongings, deciding which items to bring home, you come across an old notebook you’d forgotten even existed.

The Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical, and Astronomical Services Administration (PAGASA) is currently monitoring three weather disturbances outside the Philippine Area of Responsibility (PAR).

“Nangako siya.” Iyon ang pinanghawakan ng marami. Iyon ang pinaniwalaan ng mga tagahangang mula umpisa’y nandoon na sumubaybay sa bawat update, naghintay sa bawat chapter, nagbunyi sa bawat kilig ng I Love Since 1892. At higit sa lahat, iyon ang pangakong inukit ni Binibining Mia mismo na kapag hindi MarNella, huwag na lang.

Sa pagpatak ng ulan, marahan tayong umiidlip, nagpapahinga mula sa init at mga pagsubok. Mula sa mga bagay na gusto nating pakialaman at kontrolin— ngunit sa huli, hinahayaan na lang natin. Ganyan ang buhay ayon sa Waltz of Four Left Feet.

Sa panahong ginagawang aliwan ang kasinungalingan at tahimik ang karamihan sa harap ng katiwalian, may iilan pa ring tumitindig, hindi para sumikat, kundi para sumalungat. Sila ang mga mamamahayag. Mga tinig na hindi binabayaran ng pag-oo, kundi pinapalakas ng pagtanggi. Hindi sila santo. Hindi rin sila perpekto.