Transit Dialog

09/08/2025

“𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘖𝘒 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳.”

𝗝𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳
𝘉𝘺 𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦 ‘𝘠𝘰𝘯𝘨’ 𝘈𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘧

A popular coaching subject online is learning self-compassion. It is meant to help us bounce back, heal, and be more resilient. But there are ironies of self-compassion that can backfire, especially when misunderstood or overapplied.

For example, you made a mistake, failed the interview, or missed your target. You tell yourself: “𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯.” You wrap yourself in warm words, order milk tea, and binge the latest series. And why not? The internet told you to practice self-compassion and chill.

𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. But do you have a fresh plan, a clear direction forward? Or are you just “recovering” and soaking in random memes about self-love? Here’s the irony: 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬.

Psychologists call this “𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗶𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲.” Instead of facing hard truths, we wrap them in bubble wrap. Gentle words become a soft pillow that could suffocate. Better: “𝘐 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵?

Another scenario: you’re burned out. You talk to the boss and say, “𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦.” So, you ghost people. Miss deadlines. Say no to your org because you “need boundaries.” Friends are confused. The boss is frustrated.

Here’s the irony: You are on a self-compassion trip, but starting to cancel compassion for others. Your healing becomes everyone else’s inconvenience. 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢 ‘𝘺𝘢𝘯 𝘰 𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦? 𝘖𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦?

Another scenario: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯... 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘭. You were raised by strict parents, shamed by teachers, betrayed by friends. You’ve done with a good coach, journaled your days, and even posted a Reel about your “healing journey.”

But people challenge you. They say you could be faking it. They question your motives. This is where you become defensive. Every critique becomes a violation. You walk into a room already assuming no one understands.

The irony? You healed enough through openness, but not enough to move past it. 𝘕𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘺𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, you didn’t pack up and move on.

There are cultural differences. There are hard cultures that push too much, and soft ones that cuddle too long. Some countries glorify grit. You cry? “𝘛𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳.”
Others glorify feelings. You fail? “𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺.”

How about we, 𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘺𝘴? We are a mixed lot. Some of us were raised to tough it out (hello, religious guilt). Others were raised on therapy speak and TikTok affirmations. “𝘐𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰 𝘯𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘎𝘗𝘛.” Both extremes miss something.

Real balance is tricky. Even psychology admits: 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢.
You’re not one motivational quote away from wisdom. You find it by wallowing through mud… then hosing yourself clean. 𝘗𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘵-𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘵.

Here’s what could help: Always audit your self-talk. Are you using self-compassion to justify inaction? Listen well. When someone gives you gentle pushback, it might be the feedback you need. Don’t label it “toxic.”

Don’t weaponize your wounds. It’s okay to be broken. It’s not OK to expect the world to treat you like glass forever. Make peace with uneven progress.

Some days you’re healing. Some days you’re annoying. Both are valid.
In sum, never be stuck in your drama. “𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥.”

08/08/2025

“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, "𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.”

𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗦𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗜𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝗘𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵
𝘉𝘺 𝘋. 𝘉 𝘕𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦

Attempting to heal childhood trauma on your own is like sewing up an open wound with shaking, naked hands. You can stem the flow of blood, but without the proper tools and attention, the wound will never actually heal. Indeed, it could fester and grow deeper and infect whatever it comes in contact with.

That's the subtle risk of doing healing by yourself. Occasionally, no matter how tough you want to be, you simply cannot manage to do it by yourself. And that's not failure, it's reality.

As long as I can remember, I had a type of hurt that never went away — particularly at night, when the world got quiet and my head got loud. It's the type of trauma that takes your peace and reiterates memories that you've worked so hard to erase. The worst part? That hurt originated in the place that was supposed to be safest: HOME.

My dad was strict, brutishly so. Even the smallest of errors, such as accidentally dropping something, had severe repercussions. But it wasn't the physical retribution that stung the worst, it was the words.

"Stupid."

"Worthless."

Those words didn't merely hurt — they haunted me.

That guilt stuck to me during my adolescence. I started internalizing everything. Every mean word was deserved. Every silence was warranted. I instructed myself that happiness was hazardous, that if I let myself be happy, punishment would ensue. So I diminished. I faded into the shadows.

I saw my siblings receive new clothes, new shoes while I acclimated to being ignored. And it was not so much the lack of things that stung. It was the lack of emotion, the absence of warmth. The type of love I could sense yet never touch. I started to feel invisible, seen only when there was an issue at hand or something that needed to be completed. I moved through my own life as a ghost. Unseen. Unheard.

So I vowed to show my worth. I plunged into self-care. I read, I wrote in journals, tried to improve, tried to heal. But the more I attempted to heal myself, the more I lost myself. I started withdrawing even further. I couldn't sleep. I would wake up at 3 a.m. in tears with no idea why. The past rang in my head like a broken record. I believed I was doing the right thing. I believed healing was something you did on your own.

Finally, I cracked. I opened up to my parents. I shared with them that I was in pain, that I was struggling. And they said that I was crazy. That it was my fault. That moment broke me more than anything they had ever told me before.

I ceased to glance in the mirror because I couldn't bear to look at the reflection of someone they could not even acknowledge. I began to seethe with anger without even understanding why. I felt lost. And when the voices in my head became too loud, they whispered: "𝘌𝑛𝘥 𝘪𝑡. 𝘔𝑎𝘺𝑏𝘦 𝘵ℎ𝘢𝑡'𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑜𝘯𝑙𝘺 𝘸𝑎𝘺 𝘵ℎ𝘦𝑦'𝑙𝘭 𝘴𝑒𝘦 𝘺𝑜𝘶𝑟 𝑤𝘰𝑟𝘵ℎ."

Some days, the pressure in my head was just too much. I would hurt myself, not from hatred, but from desperation — to silence the noise. The breakdown that ensued was one of the darkest nights of my life.

That was when I first called for help. Not to family members. But to a professional. And that's when I got diagnosed with Stage 2 bipolar disorder. I recall asking my doctor, "Why? Why did it only worsen when I worked so hard to be strong?" And she said something that I will never forget: "𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬. 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱. 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨."

That moment turned everything around for me. I’ve learned that healing is not linear. It’s not always quiet, not always graceful. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it requires breaking down everything you’ve built just to rebuild something stronger.

Most of all, I’ve learned this: No one should have to heal alone. We are frequently reminded that self-care is the solution and sure, it's valuable. But so, too, is connection. So, too, is being seen. So, too, is asking for help, and understanding that asking is not weakness — it's courage in its most authentic form.

Sometimes, the more we internalize the anger and hurt we've stored up over years, the worse it is to get ahead. And sometimes, people have to remind us that we weren't meant to do it alone. There is no shame in needing others. There is no shame in needing therapy. There is no shame in admitting, "I can't do this on my own anymore.

There are hands that want to assist. Doors waiting to be opened. You don't have to remain in that dark room. 𝙉𝙤 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚.

*****

𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙥 𝙖𝙫𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙙𝙚𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣:

𝙃𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙚'𝙨 24/7 𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚: 0917 558 4673

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙉𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝘾𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙝 (𝙉𝘾𝙈𝙃) 𝘾𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙨 𝙃𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚:

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙉𝘾𝙈𝙃𝘾 𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙨 24-𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙩 𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙪𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚.

𝙏𝙚𝙡: 1800-1888-1553 (𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚)
𝙏𝙚𝙡: (0919) 057-1553 (𝙢𝙤𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙚)

07/08/2025

06/08/2025

“𝘐𝘯 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦.”

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗦𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝗕𝗲𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝗕𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀
𝘉𝘺 𝘌𝘳𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘻𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘈. 𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰

There is a silent moment before everything changes — a fragile instant suspended between what has been and what must be. You stand on the cusp of departure, feet rooted in the soil that has cradled your history, heart reaching toward an unknown horizon. This act of leaving is never simple. It is not a transition of place alone, but a severing of identity, a rupture of the self as it once existed.

To leave one’s country is to confront the invisible architecture of belonging, to dismantle the familiar scaffolding that shapes your sense of who you are. Your language, your customs, the rhythms that once beat in synchrony with your soul — all become foreign in an instant. You become a stranger, first to the world around you, then to yourself.

The distance traveled is measured not only in miles but in layers shed. What once felt like home becomes an echo, a memory that both comforts and haunts. The past follows you like a shadow, inseparable yet intangible, a tether pulling you toward what you were even as you strain toward what you might become.

Arrival is not a destination, it is a disassembly. You find yourself scattered in unfamiliar streets, your voice faltering in a tongue that feels borrowed. Your reflection is fractured in the eyes of strangers who see only the surface, never the depth beneath. Here, invisibility is a quiet companion; to be unseen is to be unmoored.

Yet, in this unmooring, there is an unexpected invitation: the invitation to reimagine the self. To step beyond the confines of inherited identity and to meet, face to face, the raw material of your becoming. The terrain is unfamiliar, and the journey demands courage not only to continue but to surrender — to surrender certainty, ease, and the comfort of knowing where you belong.

Opportunity is often mistaken for certainty. But real opportunity, the kind that reshapes the soul, comes cloaked in uncertainty and struggle. It arrives in the silence between languages, in the hesitance of forming new connections, in the aching solitude that no conversation can fully heal.

Here, you learn that courage is not absence of fear, but persistence despite it. That belonging is not given but built — carefully, slowly, piece by fragile piece. You learn to weave together fragments of old selves with shards of new experiences until something whole emerges, unfamiliar yet yours.

The new self is forged in the tension between past and present, loss and possibility. It is not a rejection of where you came from, but a reconstitution — a deeper, more complex self born from embracing contradiction. You begin to understand that identity is fluid, not fixed, and that to become is to exist in a perpetual state of becoming.

In this liminal space, you touch something profound: the realization that home is less a place and more a resonance within. It is a state of being where you are known and accepted, not just by others, but by yourself. And this resonance, fragile as it may be, becomes the foundation on which you build your new life.

To embark on this journey is to commit to transformation, not as a promise of ease but as a willingness to be reshaped by hardship and grace alike. It is to acknowledge that growth requires dismantling, that to build anew you must first be broken open.

This path is not for the faint of heart. It is a pilgrimage through uncertainty, a continual act of faith in the unseen. Yet it is also a profound gift: the chance to discover depths within you previously unimagined, to become a fuller, more nuanced version of yourself.

So, if you stand now on the threshold, hesitant and unsure, know this: The crossing you contemplate is not just a journey outward, but an inward voyage into the essence of your being. The difficulty you face is not a barrier but a portal. On the other side of fear, loneliness, and loss lies a self transformed, one shaped not merely by the geography of new lands but by the courage to become truly free.

Walk through.Even if the path is uncertain. Especially if it is uncertain.
Because in embracing the unknown, you claim the most vital opportunity of all — the chance to meet who you were always meant to be.

04/08/2025

“𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘸𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴.”

𝗦𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗡𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗥𝗲𝘀𝘁
𝘉𝘺 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘓𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

Being a student isn’t easy — the pressure, the sleepless nights, and the overthinking slowly wear us down. These struggles follow us daily, and it hurts.

We're not lazy. We just need rest. When we’re overwhelmed, it affects everything. It makes us wonder, “𝘋𝘰 𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦?” The pressure feels endless. Sometimes, it makes us cry — not out of weakness, but because of how much we silently carry.

Struggles need rest. When we study, we need rest. When everything feels heavy, we need rest. When financial problems hit, we struggle — and we need rest. But instead of understanding, people often ask, “𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘺?” They don’t see the truth behind our tired eyes, our heavy bodies, and our quiet minds.

What most don’t realize is that many students carry double responsibility — one at school, and another at home. If we don’t do chores, we get scolded. If we don’t perform well in school, we get scolded again. We’re expected to get good grades, help with siblings, clean the house, smile at the dinner table, and keep going — as if nothing is wrong. But there’s so much we’re silently dealing with.

Sometimes, I feel guilty for needing rest. For choosing to close my eyes instead of reading one more chapter. For sitting in silence when I should be reviewing. But no one sees the moments when we sacrifice sleep just to finish a project. Or the anxiety we carry when we walk into class, unsure if we’re ready for what the day will bring.

To others, we might seem like lazy students who just want to sleep, eat, or scroll through our phones. But they don’t see our silent cries, or the stress we carry just trying to pass our grades. There’s a kind of pain in trying your best and still being told it’s not enough. There’s a kind of heartbreak in not being understood.

Some students are battling things they don’t talk about — broken families, financial stress, emotional weight. And yet, we’re expected to act like everything’s okay. We still show up. We still try. That, in itself, is a quiet kind of strength.

Being a student is a responsibility — just like being an employee. I’m not saying we shouldn’t work hard. I’m saying we also deserve to rest. We need to be understood, not judged. We’re trying — really trying. We want to make our parents proud. We want to be enough. We want to be heard.

Sometimes, we don’t need advice. We just need someone to say, “I see you. I know it’s hard. You’re doing your best.” Because that alone can give us the strength to keep going.
I wish people would ask students more often: “How are you feeling?” and actually listen. Sometimes we just need a safe space, a quiet moment where we can breathe, cry, or be honest without fear of being called dramatic or lazy.

It isn’t about giving up or making excuses. It’s about remembering that students are people too. We are not machines. We are not designed to be perfect all the time. We carry dreams, fears, hopes, and expectations, all inside hearts that are still learning how to cope.

So to every student who feels unseen, unheard, or misunderstood — the world sees you.

You are not alone. Wanting rest does not make you weak. It makes you human.
I hope one day, we’ll live in a world where student voices are valued just as much as our grades. A world where mental health is not an afterthought, but a priority. A world where students don’t have to carry their struggles alone. Because students aren’t just the future, we are the present. And right now, we need rest.

We need kindness. We need space to breathe.

And most of all, we need to be believed in.

02/08/2025

“𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘺 𝘌𝘘 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 “𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦.” 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬.”

𝘽𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙋𝙞𝙣𝙪𝙣𝙤
𝘉𝘺 𝘚𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦 ‘𝘠𝘰𝘯𝘨’ 𝘈𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘧

You are the new boss in the office where half of the workforce is older than you. Congrats and good luck. A good read is the article by 𝗧𝗶𝗺 𝗘𝗹𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲: 6 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘚𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘠𝘰𝘶. (https://tinyurl.com/bdhtt88v)

Let’s look at some local scenarios. Mang Ben is your admin head. He has ties with the company older than your college diploma. And Ate Lorna, another assistant, knew your mom when they were both cashiers at Uniwide.

Does your promotion feel like a curse? You are in a situation that sometimes feels awkward, hilarious, and often delicate. 𝘐𝘣𝘢 𝘴𝘢 𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯, where age is currency and calling someone by their first name without “Ma’am” can get you scolded at home.

You lead your first team meeting. You’ve practiced your slides, rehearsed your pep talk, and even worn your best. Five minutes in, Kuya Edgar interrupts with, “𝘈𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘯𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘪 𝘚𝘪𝘳 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘰, 𝘸𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺. 𝘏𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪 𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢.”

Everyone nods. Your slide fades into grey. You smile, sweat starting under your armpits. Your team trusts history more than novelty. And they don’t know you yet. Relax.

You reply: “𝘒𝘶𝘺𝘢, 𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘬𝘢𝘺𝘰 on what made it fail back then? Maybe we can adjust the approach.” Simple lang. Turn the resistance into a resource. Integrate.

Your lunch buddy, Tita Liza, didn’t get approved for her leave. She barges into your cubicle. “𝘈𝘬𝘢𝘭𝘢 𝘬𝘰 𝘣𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘰 𝘱𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘬𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪?” Yes, you used to swap leche flan recipes. But now you’re the decision-maker.

If you anticipated that, maybe you should have called an early one-on-one. “Tita, I value our friendship, 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘰 I also have to be fair to everyone. Let’s figure out how we can make this work. You tell me.”

Consider the "𝘔𝘢𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘒𝘢 𝘗𝘢?" showdown. You ask Mang Tony to try the new inventory system. He says nothing. The next day, he’s still using his trusty ledger from 1997.

When you ask again, he says, “𝘎𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘸𝘢 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢 𝘱𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘺𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰 𝘯𝘪 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘺.” Grrrr, you feel the temper rising. Hold.

Say, “𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘰𝘯𝘺, 𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮, 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘢𝘺𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘵, 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘬𝘰.” You are not yielding your goal; you are giving someone the freedom to argue. It is a message of trust, not resentment.

Paano kung passive-aggressive sabotage? You announce your new process. Everyone nods. Then silence. Tasks don’t get done. You hear murmurs in the pantry: “𝘒𝘢𝘺𝘢 𝘯𝘨𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘰 𝘦, 𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘢.”

This is where you have to book more one-on-ones. Ask questions. “𝘈𝘵𝘦 𝘑𝘰, 𝘢𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘺𝘰 𝘴𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘱? 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘪-𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵?” Ask, ask, and ask. People resist change less when they feel consulted, kahit na hindi sila lahat nasunod.

Sound advice: Never overcompensate, second-guess your decisions, or wait too long for validation. Never play politics. You were put in charge for a reason. Don’t ask for permission to lead. Just do it — kindly.

Our Pinoy EQ isn’t just “being nice.” It’s listening more than we speak. It’s reading body language — the sigh, the “𝘵𝘢𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘺”, the “okay” that means “𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺.” It’s also knowing when to bring doughnuts.

When you walk into the room with older employees:

- Don’t challenge authority — respect and co-author it.
- Don’t micromanage — give outcomes, not instructions.
- Don’t assume support — invite it, earn it.
- Don’t wait for loyalty — build it through fairness.
- And when all else fails… 𝘱𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘢 𝘱𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘯.

It isn’t a sprint. It’s a dance. Sometimes you're stepping forward, sometimes you're getting stepped on. But done right, it builds the rarest team held together by trust and professionalism, with little thought of age or generational differences.

And one day, when you’re the “older colleague,” and a bright-eyed Gen Z manager asks you for input, you can say:

“𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘮 𝘮𝘰, 𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘸𝘢 𝘬𝘰 𝘳𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪. 𝘏𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘪. 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵.”

01/08/2025

“𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘭𝘥.”

𝗢𝗹𝗱 𝗟𝗮𝘄𝘆𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗡𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗗𝘆𝗲
𝘉𝘺 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘈𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘳

I talk to my hair a lot. Before you call me crazy, let me tell you that I talk to my foot a lot more. Anyway, I have a long-standing truce with my hair, and they know it; every single strand of it, every microscopic part of it from tip to scalp. They all know.

That I will never ever tolerate abandonment.

So if any significant number of them would abscond, and the moment I see the slightest small patch starting to form on my head, then 𝘚𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘢. All of them must go. I would turn my head into the shining shrine of the hair loss, shaving my head clean until not one single strand is left standing.

There will be no such thing as the last hair bender. No kidding. I will really do as I say. I’d rather go all out bald than let my forehead slowly turn half my head into its own reclamation area. They do that to me, and I sing 𝗧𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗼𝗿 𝗦𝘄𝗶𝗳𝘁, we are never ever getting back together. You see, I also sing to them.

Well, the truce seems to hold up at least for now. With age, my hair may have turned salt and pepper, but thankfully, no visible sign of a bald patch yet.

Some people equate gray hair with intelligence, experience, maturity, or whatever euphemism that works in place of old age. I guess it goes along with being positive, you see the glass half-full instead of half-empty, in the same way that gray hair is better than no hair at all.

I can happily live with gray hair if that is the only consequence of getting old. Besides, I already have my hands full, literally, with arthritis. It seems the threat of total extermination, a genocide of the hair, must have terrified them so much that my hair clings for dear life to my scalp even when they themselves are old and gray, if not dead, refusing to fall. At least I can’t fault them for abandonment.

One day, when someone suggested that I dye my hair jet black, I was oddly the one who felt petrified. I’ve done enough damage threatening to shave them off, I should be charged with coercion already. But I know better than to cross the line. That if I push my luck too far and try experimenting with chemicals by applying hair coloring for aesthetics, my hair might stage its own revolution and do the very thing I dread the most by deserting me and leaving a big bald patch on my head.

Even hair has its own tolerance, too. Mine subscribe to the philosophy of never say dye.

In the meantime, I’m perfectly fine with my salt and pepper. I guess there are many of us who walk around with the kind of delusional swagger as you would expect from every second-rate, trying hard, 𝗥𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝗚𝗲𝗿𝗲 copycat.

I’ve been told it looks good when you’re in a suit, and some lawyers say salt and pepper hair adds to their market value. Well, the same lawyers might tell you that law practice is about 50% good packaging and 50% smarts.

I don’t really know about that, but to me, salt and pepper is just nature finding the wise and painless way of reminding me I’m getting old.

Gray hair is still better than no hair after all.

30/07/2025

“𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴.”

𝗦𝘁𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝗮𝗻𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗶𝗱𝗱𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗶𝗿𝗰𝘂𝘀
𝘉𝘺 𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘗𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘰

If you’ve been online — or even just casually eavesdropping on the news lately — it’s hard not to feel a little dizzy from all the drama happening in Philippine politics.

Just look at the latest drama around Vice President 𝗦𝗮𝗿𝗮 𝗗𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗲. There's an impeachment case filed against her, and while it might sound like a far-off headline, the way it played out in the Senate made a lot of people feel frustrated. You had senators arguing, walking out, and even calling each other out publicly — not over laws that actually help the people, but over who’s siding with whom. It looked more like a high school clique war than the leadership of a country.

It’s messy, it’s chaotic, and it honestly feels more like an episode of House of Cards or a teleserye than real life.

Some people don’t care. Some scroll past and say, “𝘌𝘩, 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘢 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘰.” But for others — especially those who are tired, frustrated, or genuinely worried about the state of the nation — it can be overwhelming.

So the question is: How do you stay calm when it feels like the country is on fire... again?

I don’t advise ignoring it totally and becoming apathetic about what’s going on in our country. It’s still important to stay informed and be involved. But there are ways to keep our sanity amid all the ongoing the chaos.

𝗧𝗶𝗽 # 𝟭 𝗖𝘂𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱𝘀

It’s okay to take breaks. Mute the hashtags. Unfollow pages that just make you mad. Staying informed is good, but doomscrolling doesn’t make you a better citizen — it just drains you. Follow sources that offer clear, fact-based reporting. Sprinkle in pages that make you laugh or feel inspired, too. Balance is key.

𝗧𝗶𝗽 # 𝟮 𝗧𝗮𝗹𝗸 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝘁 — 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲

It helps to process your thoughts with someone, especially if you're feeling helpless. But not every convo has to be a debate. Find people you can vent to without it turning into a Facebook comment war. Safe spaces matter.

𝗧𝗶𝗽 # 𝟯 𝗔𝗰𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀

You don’t have to run for office or start a movement (unless you want to). Even small acts matter: joining voter education drives, supporting local community initiatives, or just having conversations that make others think. Change doesn't always look big — it often starts quietly.

𝗧𝗶𝗽 # 𝟰 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗲

Light a candle. Go for a walk. Listen to music (BTS recently got back together. I highly recommend). Journal your thoughts. It’s not being passive — it’s called refueling. You can’t fight for anything if you're burnt out.

𝗧𝗶𝗽 # 𝟱 𝗣𝗿𝗮𝘆

Because honestly, sometimes all we can do is lift it up. For all our cynicism, many of us still believe that something better could happen. That people can surprise us. That light can break through. I don’t believe in people, though.

I believe in a God who is bigger than any corrupt politician. And I look forward to the day He brings justice to those who take advantage of us.

𝗜𝗧'𝗦 𝗢𝗞𝗔𝗬 to feel disappointed or exhausted. It doesn’t mean you’re weak — it means you care. And caring, in a time where so many have chosen apathy, is a kind of courage.

So as the headlines keep rolling in and the circus carries on, let’s find ways to stay grounded. Let’s hope harder, speak smarter, and protect the parts of ourselves that still believe.

For now, stay steady. Hope anyway. And pray for the Philippines.

28/07/2025

“𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 '𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦' 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳.”

𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗘𝘆𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲
𝘉𝘺 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘔𝘶𝘯̃𝘪𝘻

Ignacia is forging peace with Kamuning. ABS-CBN is shaking hands with GMA. Kapamilya meets Kapuso. Who would've thought this day would come?

It’s been 20 years since Filipinos first welcomed 𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘺 𝘉𝘪𝘨 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘉𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘪 𝘒𝘶𝘺𝘢, or simply PBB, into their homes. After keeping up from Day 1 until The Big Night, I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic about how PBB has greatly shaped my cultural consciousness growing up. But there’s something naturally unique about this season — a certain kind of authenticity that’s challenging to replicate.

The idea that two of the biggest networks can collaborate and bring to life a PBB season together? A once-unthinkable and impossible idea until now.

My earliest memory of watching PBB was with my late grandmother. I was merely in first grade, staying at my grandparents’ house over the weekend. I was awestruck by the spectacle of its first Celebrity edition's ‘Big Night’. Years later, at 14, I read 𝗚𝗲𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲 𝗢𝗿𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹’s 1984 and found out that this was the literary source that inspired the ‘Big Brother’ franchise.

Throughout my teenage years up to early adulthood, PBB remained a pop culture staple. While reality TV boomed during the 2010s and various shows have come and gone, PBB has stood the test of time. It has even successfully adapted from television to the digital and streaming world, where Gen Z is king.

Now at 25, I’m still in awe at how millions of Filipinos like me are still hooked on PBB. In the age where Gen Zs are now in full force in shaping pop culture, I couldn’t help but wonder: Why do we still care so much about this reality show?

Maybe it’s the thrill of watching different personalities clash.
Maybe it's rooting for the housemates we feel an affinity with.
Maybe it’s the physically and emotionally challenging tasks.
Maybe it’s the allure of the prize money.
Maybe it’s the charismatic and enigmatic 𝘒𝘶𝘺𝘢.
Maybe it’s our thirst for someone “nagpapakatotoo” to win it all.
Or maybe it’s simply because Filipinos love drama, romance, and watching other people’s lives.

The historic PBB Celebrity Collab Edition took the nation by storm for almost four months, and its ripple effect will likely continue. From iconic lines to unforgettable memes, this season’s viral moments weren’t in short supply. Still, the other side of reality TV also came to play.

As the months passed by, the season became a clear microcosm of society. From the harsh online criticisms, commercialism, and social politics inside and outside the House, the business side of running a TV series was at full throttle. There’s also the gameplay inside the House where social interactions are powerful currency. Just like here in the “outside world” or real life, if people like you, they’ll keep you.

The concept of connections and likability proves to be a weapon to survive. Also, since the eviction would also often rely on voting using money, some viewers would point out that it’s no longer a game of being “true” but of purchasing power. It’s understandable, given its mechanics, but it’s also not something new.

The voting system has always been reliant on the voting power of the people. Yet, time is the ultimate truth teller if who among these stars will continue to shine even after a decade, as the local entertainment industry will still value long-term bankability, talent, and mass appeal.

I sometimes wonder what George Orwell would think if he knew that his dystopian novel led to a gentler and more benevolent version of Big Brother–the all-knowing voice we dearly call “𝘒𝘶𝘺𝘢”.

Becoming immersed in a show like PBB, full of colorful Housemates under surveillance 24/7, can be harmless and even socially enriching as long as it doesn’t cross into blind fanaticism and obsession. Online bashing and toxicity will continue to prosper, but arguably, all this negative energy towards a reality show often feels misdirected. Maybe we’re better off channeling all this discourse into bigger things like national issues.

Still, it’s been two decades since the birth of PBB. At this rate, it isn’t just a show. It’s a mirror. It’s a time capsule of Philippine society. It’s a national conversation. And as long as we continue to seek stories, unfiltered and unscripted, then there will always be eyes on the House.