The Season When Music Filled Everything

There was a season not too long ago when music quietly filled almost every space in my day. I did not notice it happening at first. It simply became part of the rhythm of things, like breathing between conversations or the soft noise of a city outside the window.

The music was P-Pop.

If someone had told me a year earlier that I would be listening to Filipino pop music almost constantly, I probably would have smiled politely and moved on with my day. My life had always revolved around other things. Medicine. Church. Writing when I could. The long, demanding process of becoming a doctor had trained my mind to focus on textbooks, case presentations, and exam reviewers more than anything else.

But then one afternoon my wife sent me a song.

“Pantropiko.”

The song had already gone viral by that point. People were dancing to it online, clips were circulating everywhere, and it was becoming difficult to ignore. My wife sent it casually, the way couples often send things to each other when they stumble upon something fun.

I remember where I was when I first listened to it. I was inside the small apartment we had rented, surrounded by my notes while studying for the Physician Licensure Examination. My desk was cluttered with reviewers, mnemonics, and half-finished outlines of diseases and drug dosages. In the middle of that academic chaos, I clicked play.

Something about the song stayed with me.

Soon after, I began listening to more songs by BINI. What started as curiosity slowly became a habit. Their performances were energetic, their songs were bright, and the group carried a kind of joy that was difficult not to notice. Before long I found myself watching their performances on YouTube and replaying their songs on Spotify during breaks from studying.

Then ALAMAT entered my orbit.

I think the first bridge between the two groups for me was the music video for “Maharani,” where BINI’s Jhoanna appeared. That connection made me curious enough to explore ALAMAT’s music, and once I did, I was immediately drawn to their sound. Their songs carried a strong Filipino flavor, blending different local languages and cultural elements in ways that felt both rooted and modern. There was something about their identity as a group that felt intentional.

Then I heard “ILY ILY.”

That song stayed with me in a deeper way. Perhaps it was the warmth of the melody, or the quiet sincerity in the lyrics. I cannot explain it completely, but it quickly became one of the songs I returned to again and again.

From that point on, music became part of my routine.

A typical day during that time was simple. I would go to work, commute home, and listen to music along the way. At night I would talk to my wife, eat dinner, scroll through fan conversations online, and then listen to more music before going to sleep.

Sometimes I would replay three or four albums in a single day.

Most of the time I listened through Spotify, though I occasionally switched to Apple Music because the sound quality felt richer to my ears. When I wanted to watch the choreography or performances, I would open YouTube and replay the music videos.

The songs followed me everywhere.

They played during short breaks at work. They accompanied long bus rides. They filled quiet walks downtown when I stepped out to buy small groceries before heading back home.

There were a few songs I always returned to.

“Wag Muna Tayong Umuwi.”
“ILY ILY.”
“KAYA.”
“Boomerang.”
“Don’t Play.”

Sometimes they started my day. Sometimes they closed it.

After long hours speaking with patients, when my throat felt dry and my body carried the exhaustion of the commute home, those songs gave me a few moments of quiet relief. The world slowed down for a while.

Looking back now, I realize that music gave me two things during that season of my life.

Comfort.

And community.

I had not expected either of them.

The Community That Came With the Songs

One of the things I did not expect when I first began listening to P-Pop was how quickly it would lead me to people.

At first it was simply music playing through my earphones while I worked, commuted, or rested. But eventually curiosity led me to the spaces where fans gathered. Social media conversations, fan posts, reaction threads, and shared excitement about new releases slowly became part of my daily routine.

It felt strangely familiar.

For years, most of my social circles had been built around two things: medicine and church. My closest friends were usually fellow healthcare workers, classmates, or people I served with in ministry. Those were communities shaped by shared responsibilities and similar life paths.

Fandom was different.

Here were people from different professions, different places, and different stages of life, all drawn together by something simple: music they loved.

Through BINI, I began encountering the BLOOMS fandom. Through ALAMAT, I found the Magiliw community. Later, through KAIA, I came across the ZAIAs. Each group had its own culture and inside jokes, but what stood out to me most was how welcoming many of them were.

Many of the people I interacted with were artists, writers, students, and fellow professionals who simply found joy in supporting Filipino music. Some were healthcare workers like me. Others were people whose work I admired long before we ever exchanged messages online.

For someone whose wife was living continents away at the time, and whose closest friends were scattered across busy careers, these conversations filled an unexpected space in my life.

They reminded me that community can appear in places we never planned to look.

Eventually, the music did something else for me.

It made me write again in a different way.

On October 14, 2024, I published my first P-Pop blog post. I titled it From Doomer to BLOOMer: My Unexpected Journey into the World of P-Pop. At the time, I thought of it as a simple reflection on how unexpectedly I had fallen into this new musical world.

I did not expect much from it.

But the response came quickly.

Fans began sharing the post across social media. Larger fan accounts reposted it. Conversations started forming around it. Some readers messaged me to say that they felt the same way—that they had also discovered something hopeful through these artists and their music.

For someone who had always wanted to be a writer who could reach readers meaningfully, that moment felt quietly affirming.

I remember feeling proud, not only because people were reading the piece, but because the subject itself mattered to me. Writing about medicine had always been part of my identity, but writing about music allowed a different side of my mind to work.

Medicine trained me to analyze, diagnose, and explain.

Writing about music allowed me to reflect, interpret, and feel.

The two passions existed side by side in my life, though they played very different roles. If I had to stop writing about music someday, I knew I would survive. But medicine had become something deeper than a profession. Even if my abilities failed me one day, I felt certain that I would never truly stop thinking like a doctor.

Still, during that season, writing about P-Pop became a source of genuine excitement.

To my surprise, some of the artists themselves eventually encountered my later posts. Knowing that the people behind the songs had taken time to read my words felt surreal. I never imagined that something written late at night on my small blog would reach the artists whose music had been accompanying my daily routine.

It made the entire experience feel more real.

Looking back now, I realize that the fandom season of my life was about more than simply enjoying music.

It was about connection.

It was about discovering that Filipino artists were creating something vibrant and evolving. It was about seeing communities of fans rally behind them with genuine enthusiasm. And for a while, it gave me a sense that I was participating, in my own small way, in a cultural moment that felt hopeful.

Music had opened a door.

Behind that door were people.

And for a time, that was enough.

When the Songs Followed Me to Canada

When I arrived in Canada in March 2025, the music came with me.

Immigration is often described as a fresh start. People talk about it in hopeful terms: new opportunities, new landscapes, a better future waiting just beyond the horizon. But anyone who has gone through it knows that the beginning rarely feels like that.

The first months are mostly adjustment.

New streets. New weather. New routines that do not yet feel like routines. In Edmonton, even the ordinary act of walking through a neighborhood felt unfamiliar at first. The people I saw every day were strangers. The rhythm of the city was different from anything I had known before.

But music helped soften the transition.

In those early weeks, P-Pop continued to fill my days the same way it had before. When I brought my wife to work in the morning, I would often walk or take the bus home with my earphones on. The songs followed me through the streets, through downtown sidewalks, through small grocery trips before heading back to the apartment.

It felt like bringing a small piece of home into a place that still felt foreign.

Sometimes I would wander through the city a little longer than necessary, letting the songs stretch the walk. Even something as simple as buying groceries and walking back home felt easier when there was music in the background.

Certain songs felt different now that I was living abroad.

“ILY ILY,” for example, carried a heavier emotional weight than before. Listening to it reminded me of the many people I knew whose lives were shaped by distance—families separated by oceans, relationships sustained through video calls, parents and children living in different countries because work demanded it.

I understood that story more deeply now.

For a while, music and faith became two of the quiet anchors of my transition. Rediscovering a faith community in the city helped give my weeks a sense of structure, and P-Pop filled the spaces in between.

But reality eventually has a way of asserting itself.

After about three months, the situation I had hoped would resolve quickly began to weigh more heavily on me.

I was still unemployed.

Every day started to look the same. I would wake up early, cook breakfast, and help prepare my wife’s things before bringing her to work. Then I would return home and open my laptop.

Indeed.

LinkedIn.

Email.

Applications.

Waiting.

Some days I attended free review classes while preparing for the exams required for doctors trained outside Canada. Other days I spent hours searching through job postings, adjusting resumes, and refreshing pages that rarely showed anything new.

By the afternoon my energy was often gone.

Instead of exploring the city the way I had in the beginning, I found myself sitting at home, scrolling through job listings or staring at the same open tabs. The excitement of discovering a new country slowly gave way to something quieter and heavier.

Worry.

One thought returned to me more often than I wanted to admit.

I am failing my wife.

She was working every day while I lived in a strange in-between state. I was studying, applying, waiting, trying to move forward, but the days sometimes felt like they were slipping by without visible progress. It created a kind of pressure that quietly sat in the background of everything I did.

And slowly, almost without me noticing it at first, the music began to fade.

It did not disappear overnight.

The songs were still there in the background sometimes, playing through the speakers while I looked through job listings. But I realized that I was no longer really listening. The melodies passed through the room without leaving much behind.

Eventually I stopped turning them on.

Not because I stopped loving them.

But because it felt strange to play music that I could no longer appreciate the way I used to.

When survival begins to occupy most of your attention, art sometimes becomes difficult to receive.

The songs were still beautiful.

But my mind was somewhere else.

Watching From the Side

It took me a while to realize that something had quietly changed.

For months, music had been woven into almost every part of my daily routine. The songs played during commutes, work breaks, grocery runs, and late evenings when the day finally slowed down. Even writing about P-Pop had become a natural extension of that routine. It felt like I was participating in something larger than myself, a growing movement of Filipino artists and fans celebrating music that was beginning to reach wider audiences.

Then, slowly, the routine shifted.

The playlists stopped updating.
The earphones stayed in my pocket more often.
The blog posts became less frequent.

Nothing dramatic happened. There was no clear moment when I decided to step away from music. Life simply demanded more attention elsewhere.

When most of your energy goes into survival—finding work, studying again, worrying about finances—it becomes harder to receive art the way you once did. Songs that used to feel comforting began to play in the background without fully reaching me. Eventually I stopped pressing play altogether.

Still, the world of P-Pop continued moving forward.

I would catch glimpses of it the way someone sees distant fireworks through a window—beautiful, but slightly removed from where they stood.

One evening I was sitting on the sofa with my wife, the television playing softly in the background. I was scrolling through Facebook when I saw a repost from someone I follow: Jhoanna’s mother.

The post announced that BINI would be performing at Coachella.

For a moment I simply stared at the screen.

Then I smiled.

It felt less like the excitement of a fan screaming at a headline and more like the quiet pride of an older brother watching his younger sisters achieve something extraordinary. I imagined the countless Filipino artists who had dreamed of standing on international stages and the long road it had taken for any of them to arrive there.

Seeing BINI reach that point felt like watching a door open.

Not just for them, but for the future of Filipino music.

I felt proud in a way that surprised me.

Later, when ALAMAT released their new album, I did not listen to it immediately. I wanted to wait until I had a moment when my mind was calm enough to appreciate it properly. By then their single “LuzViMinda” was already circulating everywhere, and the excitement around the release was hard to miss.

When I finally sat down to listen, one thought stayed with me.

They had grown.

The sound felt more confident. The group felt stronger. And as I watched fans celebrating the release online, I realized something else as well.

I was not as present in those conversations anymore.

Part of me felt a small hint of what people now call FOMO—the fear of missing out. There had been a time when I was deeply immersed in those discussions, sharing thoughts about new songs, interacting with fans, and writing about the artists with genuine excitement.

Now I was mostly watching from the sidelines.

But strangely, the feeling was not entirely sad.

There was also a quiet sense of satisfaction. Even if I no longer participated as actively as before, I had still experienced that season of fandom fully. I had listened closely, written about the music, and shared in the enthusiasm of a community that believed deeply in these artists.

In some small way, perhaps my writing had helped others discover them too.

I do not know if that impact was large or small. But the thought itself felt enough.

And when I later saw announcements about G22’s upcoming concert, or when my wife and I found ourselves watching SB19 performances together on television, I realized that the admiration had never truly disappeared.

Sometimes we would watch a video and simply sit there afterward, mouths slightly open, amazed at the level of talent on the screen.

The music was still there.

The difference was that life had changed the way I listened.

The Music Is Still There

For a while I wondered if stepping away from the music meant that I had somehow left that part of my life behind.

When routines change, it is easy to interpret the silence as an ending. The songs that once filled every day are no longer playing. The conversations that used to appear on your screen move on without you. The communities that once felt like daily companions continue their lives at a distance.

It can feel like you have quietly walked away from something you once cared deeply about.

But the longer I reflected on it, the more I realized that this was not really what had happened.

Life had simply rearranged my attention.

There are seasons when art occupies a large part of our lives. During those moments, music feels like oxygen. It helps us process long days, loneliness, distance, or uncertainty. Sometimes it becomes the background to important chapters of our lives without us even noticing.

Then there are seasons when survival takes priority.

Immigration, job hunting, financial worries, and the responsibility of building a life in a new country demand a different kind of focus. In those moments, the mind becomes practical. The days revolve around applications, schedules, plans, and small steps forward.

Art does not disappear in those seasons.

But it sometimes becomes quieter.

Looking back now, I realize that the months when P-Pop filled my days were not wasted time or a distraction from my responsibilities. If anything, they gave me something valuable during a period when many parts of my life felt uncertain.

They gave me comfort during long commutes.

They gave me community during a time when my wife and I lived on different continents.

They reminded me that Filipino artists were building something vibrant and worth celebrating.

And perhaps most importantly, they reminded me that joy can appear in unexpected places.

Today my life looks different.

The routines are more practical now. My days involve studying again, searching for opportunities, and slowly rebuilding my professional path in a new country. The concerns that occupy my mind are often more immediate than the release of a new song or the excitement of a fandom conversation.

But the music has not disappeared.

Sometimes I still listen when I have the chance. When ALAMAT released their new songs, I waited until I had the right moment to sit down and appreciate them. When I heard that BINI would perform at Coachella, I felt proud in a way that surprised me. When my wife and I watch performances by SB19, we still find ourselves amazed by their talent.

Those reactions remind me that the connection is still there.

It is simply quieter now.

And I think that is alright.

Fandom, like many things in life, moves in seasons. There are moments when we are deeply immersed in it, celebrating every release, following every update, and participating in every conversation. Then there are moments when life asks us to step back for a while.

Stepping back does not mean the appreciation disappears.

It simply means the music waits.

Sometimes, when I think about the future, I imagine a small and simple scene.

I am at home here in Canada. My guitar rests on my lap, the way it used to when music was part of my everyday life as a worship leader. I try playing the chords of a P-Pop song I once listened to constantly during my early days as a new doctor.

Maybe I will remember the lyrics. Maybe I will have to look them up again.

After a while my hands will get tired, the way they always do when I have not practiced in a long time. I will set the guitar down, turn on the television, and see the same groups whose songs once accompanied my commutes and quiet evenings.

By then they will probably be even bigger than they are today.

More stages.
More fans.
More stories.

And I will sit there watching, feeling something simple and steady.

Not the frantic excitement of someone chasing every update.

But the quiet happiness of someone who once walked beside that music for a while, during a season when he needed it most.

Sometimes life gets louder than the songs we love.

But the songs remain.

Waiting for us to return when the noise softens again.

Its first impression on me is that it is an easy listen, and though there is depth in the lyrics, it is understandable and straightforward. At the same time, I love the nod to women and Filipinas, which is quite evident in P-Pop songs. With the image that CALISTA now promotes, it is not surprising that this is a direction that most of their future releases would follow through.

Lyrics and Message

The song starts strong with its chorus or refrain, which sums up the message of the music. It asks the singer’s lover what they have in their mind, reflecting the song’s title. There is some level of desperation, with the singer expressing feelings and wanting to know if the feelings are reciprocated. It is emphasized with the line Kahit anong ipilit ko, ikaw lang ang gusto, which shows some mental action done here before the singer tried to sum up the thought.

Yes, there is desperation, and yes, it might be off-putting to some conservative Filipinos. Still, as someone who came from a conservative background, I am thrilled when strong feminine convictions, especially about love and emotions, are rallied in popular culture. The desperation is not even complaining about not having love or not being with the subject of the song; it simply tries to clarify things and understand this person’s mind.

Sometimes, actors in a relationship would not be that vocal about their feelings, and this risks possible miscommunication, which I think is central to this song. The singer is, therefore, trying to clear this up yet show her heart by saying that the subject of love might also be thinking about her and that whatever she does, she only wants them.

The first verse then elaborates on this wonder or even confusion. What is she feeling? Is it love? It plays around with the subject of young love yet at the stage in which feelings are already established and need to be verified or confirmed. Here, we also see that the singer proudly exclaims that she wants to know if the person she is singing to has her, a young Filipina, inside their heart. I think the callout to a Filipina here is a statement that expressing love for someone is something that Filipinas should be proud to do.

The following lines involve some English words and formally introduce the listener to the fact that this is a multilingual song, something that I figure is essential in P-Pop songs. Calling her subject of love as fine, the singer wants confirmation that they are together.

I want to point out that the line, Baby, you and I, yeah, that’s right, we rhyme made me palpitate and get excited about this song. I think it was placed perfectly in its position and is heartfelt in its delivery. I know this might not be the first time this line was used in a song, but it was, ooh, so fine, I want to claim it as my own.

The first pre-chorus questions whether these feelings or expectations might be wrong. This concern is somewhat universal, and the singer here says she is trying to fight the feeling. However, the subject of love is the one that is being whispered, transitioning into the chorus, which again tries to ask the question of what is on their mind.

The second verse reiterates that the subject of love may not just be someone who is the recipient of the feelings but also looks good, melding expressions of emotional and physical attraction into the song. Then there is a use of hyperbole, saying that the singer’s only wish is to be with the one she loves and to be with them forever. A fitting use of this figure of speech, it mixes well with the other lyrics.

Next, the rap verse expands on the song’s thoughts, specifying and exemplifying how this love is felt and imagined. Telling them that she always fantasizes about their lips and thinks about them even in her dreams. This transitions to a goal that she would make that person fall for her. I was not that fond of rap before, but I wished this part was longer. But I still enjoyed every bit of this part.

The next pre-chorus shows that the song is written as an outlet for the feelings that are said to be so strong. Then, the singer returns to the chorus, asking the question that boggles her mind: Am I alone in this feeling, or are we on the same page?

The whole song emphasizes an independent and strong female figure akin to what modern female identity is understood. Though some may say this contradicts Filipino culture, history has told us that our culture has strong female leaders, with some communities thriving on matriarchal leadership.

Again, I am amazed that there is universality in the experience told in this song. Although I may have wanted a more elaborate story to bind the lyrics, they were done cohesively to support the song. It amazes me that this song does not have the word-by-word use of the lyrics, but the message is still there; the creativity is astounding. Also, knowing that CALISTA idols Anne and Dain penned the song together with Josh of VER5US is refreshing.

The number of paragraphs I wrote shows how I appreciate the songwriting here.

Musical Composition

Aside from the idols, the song is also co-produced by .cozy. I have yet to explore his work as of this writing, but I love the mixing of the music. The soft intro contrasted with the heavy base riff is so lovely to the ears, which ultimately made this song essential for me.

The contemporary R&B influence is so strong in the song, from the beats to the timbre of the voice used. It has a sultry backbeat, which makes it sound ‘sexy’ as soon as the first note hits your eardrum. The obvious, though, is that even though the song is R&B, it lacks heavy instrumentation and could even be considered minimalistic in its approach.

Looking back to the history of modern P-Pop, while most people often associate bubblegum pop with groups, R&B was quite a strong contender among its subgenres as more girl groups and boy groups grew in number. Its persistence in the P-Pop boom of 2024 through this CALISTA release shows that it will remain vital even as more groups try to excel in other subgenres, including rock and electronic pop.

A thing to emphasize is that while the lyrics might be light in some areas, the rhythm and melody of the song give an emotional touch, making you experience the yearning and desperation of the singer but not in a heavy crying way. It is enough to open up your emotions to the feelings, making you jive, internalize the lyrics, and understand the song’s message.

It also helps that you tend to move your body as you listen to the beat. I am not knowledgeable in R&B, but I think this is quite a newer take on the genre and has more soul. It resonates with the album’s name, FOUR – Finding Our Unique Rhythm, and while CALISTA might try other things in the future, I would say that this would stick to me as their unique rhythm, with the song screaming their name from the outset.

Performance and Visuals

The official CALISTA YouTube page calls this video a visualizer. As a newbie to modern pop, I think this blurs the difference between a music video and a visualizer, but it was nice nonetheless.

I said in the previous part that LMK sounds like modern R&B. Still, the visualizer offers us that they may have envisioned the songs as an homage to classic and old-school R&B. Some elements shown are a handheld camera, a cathode-ray tube television, a stereo radio, and several CDs on the table. It visually gives off the 90s to early 2000s vibes, yet I would still consider the song to be of a newer generation of R&B.

Throughout the song, the CALISTA girls are shown singing the lyrics while doing various poses, first with their simple white tops and jeans, followed by a more elaborate attire in the latter half of the video. It brings a casual atmosphere, showing that the song might be fun rather than a more emotional take on the feelings I emphasized above.

Considering that, I don’t think there is a disconnect between the lyrics and the video. I believe that one way to read this combination is that the song could be sung to the recipient in a fun and loving way of teasing, especially on acknowledging that feelings are reciprocated. Although there is no storytelling (that is, a linear narrative) in the video, the expressions of the idols might be teasing and playful, but they all look so beautiful in their attires.

The video feels youthful and refreshing. I understand that this was published months before the album was launched and that the visuals might have hidden away some possible hints that could show fans what they are planning for their EP. Overall, I liked the video and its fit for the song.

Personal Take

I love LMK (Let Me Know) more than I admit, even to myself. It made me remember other R&B songs that I might have tried to love before. It expanded my appreciation for different genres of music. It made me feel youthful because of the lyrics and its delivery.

When listening to the EP, LMK as the first song makes you understand that you’re listening to a CALISTA album. I would want more people to listen to this song. If they need a backgrounder of the group, LMK would be a great example of how the girls can make something simple into a meaningful narrative with emotional context that is relatable in a surprisingly seductive yet fun way.

What do you think? Do you agree with my take? How did the song make you feel? LMK hehe

What’s your favorite candy?

I’d die for any kind of gelatin candy, especially those by Haribo or Trolli, mostly the gummy worms and gummy bears. However, I would also take any brand and form as long as it is made of real gelatin. I loved eating these as a kid, and I naturally carried that over to adulthood.

I was somewhat mortified when I learned that gelatin is made from animal cartilage or bone. Most products available in our country are made of beef gelatin, which is expected for a country with a significant Muslim population. However, in recent years, I have found some products, mostly from China, made from pork gelatin, and I still eat them.

Though vegan versions of this candy are tolerable, the chewiness sometimes feels off and has a doughy consistency, which is not found in animal gelatin. My main problem is that I’m diabetic, and my stress-relieving food is usually these candies.

I haven’t tried or checked if there are sugar-free substitutes, but for now, abstinence might be my only choice.

Same scenes now repeat

moments felt before, yet new

Echo in the heart.

What is your favorite hobby or pastime?

For slambooks and those friend profiles widespread during the early 2000s, I would always write as my hobbies, either playing the guitar/keyboard, surfing the internet, or reading. I have considered myself a music lover in the past, really loved the early years of the internet, and dived into the pleasures of young adult fantasy novels.

Now, around 20 years in, I have no time to pursue these hobbies. Yes, I still use the internet, but it has become a utility more than just a source of fun. I have never read a novel in years. My musical instruments now have a patina of dust.

So, what constitutes my hobbies now? The challenges of adult life and professional career are that sacrifices must be made, and hobbies are the first victims. Yet a good life balance demands a suitable pause or respite to be effective in anything.

Lately, I have been trying to explore Filipino music, which was initiated by a new appreciation of PPop or Pinoy Pop. The latter is a subgenre under OPM (Original Pilipino Music), influenced by KPop (Korean Pop) and other contemporary pop movements.

I have been trying to compensate my me-time by playing Skyrim my all time favorite roleplaying game. It’s so old but it still gives me the excitement I need when playing.

While these two hobbies made life bearable, my favorite is still writing. I am way behind my intended writing goals, but I still consider it the best and my priority after family, work, and education.

I wish I could get by this hobby and share all I can think of in my brain.

Part Two: Navigating Selflessness and Happiness in a Digital Age

Where does true happiness lie in a world brimming with selfies and self-promotion? The question resonates loudly in an era where instant gratification and personal brand-building dominate our screens. We grapple with society’s expectations and our inner desires for fulfillment and purpose.

The Self in Selflessness

To embark on the journey of selflessness without losing oneself requires a delicate balance. It demands introspection and understanding of our own needs amidst the clamor of societal expectations. Often, giving becomes entangled with feelings of obligation or depletion. We ask ourselves: Can we truly give when we feel empty? Can we find happiness in selflessness if it erodes our well-being?

Perhaps the key lies in redefining selflessness not as a depletion but as a synergy between personal growth and collective harmony. The teachings of various faiths remind us that genuine service stems from a place of abundance within oneself—where giving enriches rather than diminishes. This subtle shift in perspective allows us to discover happiness not despite but through acts of selflessness.

The Digital Dilemma: Overstimulation vs. Connection

In an age inundated with information, overthinking becomes a modern malaise. The constant barrage of opinions and curated personas on social media can skew our perception of happiness. We are bombarded with images of success and fulfillment, often forgetting that true joy transcends likes and shares.

Moreover, the digital realm presents a paradoxical challenge: while it connects us globally, it can also disconnect us from our inner selves. Pursuing validation through virtual applause can overshadow genuine human connection and empathetic engagement. Thus, amidst the noise, finding happiness in selflessness necessitates moments of quiet introspection and authentic human interaction.

Embracing Authenticity in an Age of Filters

As we navigate this digital landscape, authenticity emerges as a beacon of hope. It calls us to strip away literal and metaphorical filters distorting our perception of ourselves and others. Authenticity breeds empathy, fostering a deeper understanding of our interconnectedness and shared humanity.

Mahatma Gandhi’s words resonate profoundly in this context: “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.” This timeless wisdom transcends generations and ideologies, urging us to look beyond the superficial and embrace meaningful contributions to our communities.

Conclusion: A Path Forward

In conclusion, pursuing happiness in selflessness demands a nuanced approach to reconciling personal fulfillment with philanthropic endeavors. It requires us to cultivate resilience amidst adversity and embrace authenticity in a world craving genuine connection. As we navigate the complexities of our digital age, let us remember that true happiness springs from a balanced integration of self-care and service to others. In this delicate dance, we find fulfillment and a profound sense of purpose. So, let us embark on this journey together, mindful of our roles as stewards of compassion and architects of a more empathetic world.

After writing online for many years, I must say that I have little to no satisfaction in my journey. Some people have told me that I may have been earning thousands in ad revenues, but I haven’t cashed out on any of them. My accounts just defaulted, and writing became an output and a personal journal, though mostly would stay in my drafts tab, never to be shared with the world.

This year was another year full of challenges and surprises, yet I am now savoring the taste of success because of the various victories I have had. Perhaps it is time for me to counter all the depressing posts I had before with more of my creative and literary side. Maybe this is a chance to express more of my thoughts, including necessary health topics that I really want to share.

So I did what I thought to be the best course of action: I resurrected my website from the gutter, got a more personal domain name, and now aim to make this both a personal and professional website.

I plucked out all the SEO stuff I did hastily and deleted the affiliated blog posts I shouldn’t have written in the first place, yet retained my cringe-worthy and embarrassing posts to see my growth and look ahead to where I am heading.

However, I will also add my portfolio (which has been on hold for almost eight years) and try to give back through this website. I hope I can make valuable and helpful posts that will transcend my love for writing (especially journalism) and medicine. And oh, I also linked my online clinic platform here.

Currently, I am a starting professional fresh off from the gratitude of reaping the early harvest of my efforts yet still helpless in my current state. I think that changing much of my online presence is a good metaphor for what I want my life to be like now. My life needs an overhaul, and a good overhaul is now on view.

My interest in Roman Catholic theology started during my years in a public elementary school where volunteers teach catechism classes. I attended all lectures and even took exams even though I initially informed catechists that I was not a Roman Catholic and that my dad was a Protestant pastor. They would tell me it was okay to stay at the canteen during these classes, but I would always choose to stay and hear about Bible stories, the lives of saints, and the fundamental doctrines they taught.

I would always marvel at the similarities and differences in our doctrines, especially the divisive belief in purgatory. But I was more fascinated with the limbo concept, which, as championed by my numerous catechism teachers, is the place where unbaptized infants who die are waiting for their fate in eternity.

Searching for more information, I ran across a commentary that showed two limbos: the limbus patrum or limbo of the patriarchs, where the faithful of the Old Testament waited for Christ’s redemption, and the limbus infantium, which was for those unbaptized children.

Around high school, a (secular) teacher cheerfully announced how Pope Benedict XVI “opened up” limbo and declared it as no longer existing, implying that all unbaptized babies for all time are now given salvation. I was surprised to find out later that the limbus infantium was not a doctrine of the Roman Catholic Church and that the Pope only reiterated its historic stand.

In college, limbo became a nuanced definition of what my life had become. Day in and day out, different things challenged me, making me more attached to the concept of limbo.

When I entered our campus paper, “in limbo” was a clichéd phrase to define any uncertainty attributed to a plan or a program. As per definition, limbo is “an uncertain period of awaiting a decision or resolution; an intermediate state or condition.”

These past few months, I realized some things in my life, and I discovered how I am still living like I am, or better yet, we are in limbo. Is limbo associated with depression, darkness, anxiety, and the like? I do think so, as unbaptized babies are often considered to be yearning for salvation. Does being in limbo mean that no one loves you? Not necessarily, as unbaptized babies may also have parents or relatives who care for and love them.

Every day, I wake up in limbo, not knowing if we will still have money for the rest of the week. I am unsure if our supplies will last and if I will still have some work to do for my living. This is what the pandemic made me.

Every day, I wake up in limbo, not knowing if my medicines will work, not sure if I will still enjoy the rest of the day, and not sure if I will get another shot at a healthy life. This is what my body made me.

Every day, I wake up in limbo, not knowing all the basic stuff in medical school; not sure if I can still make it when I get back or if I will still have the courage to go on. This is what my failures made me.

I thought about this sense of uncertainty that differs from limbo because I can call on others for help. I have my wife. I have my friends. I have some others to help. But this does not diminish the fact: I’m still in limbo.

Here’s to wishing for better days and heaven to replace this limbo soon.

As always, cease not.

While everyone was in community quarantine (a cliche for the past few months, I admit) and members of the middle and high class were drowning themselves in Netflix and other streaming websites, this tweet came and rocked the interwebs:

The daily top ten most viewed on #Netflix shows us how our movies and tv are doomed in the future. K-drama galore. Faux cinderella stories with belofied actors whiter than white. And it’s all about love in the midst of this pandemic. 掠

— Erik Matti (@ErikMatti) April 14, 2020

https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

The great Filipino director, Erik Matti, ranted about how Korean dramas dominate the top ten movies and shows on Netflix Philippines. This was a fact, but he commented on how these were “Faux Cinderella stories with Belo-fied actors,” reflecting how Korean stars are often flawlessly embedded in love stories that could be too good to be true.

Of course, I am writing this piece perhaps 16 days late. Still, I purposely did so after pondering the issue that has enraged Filipinos for almost a week, followed by a barrage of Korean drama and movie recommendations for the director. While I do not despise the Korean entertainment industry and Hallyu as a whole (I follow it, too!), I understand where Direk Matti is coming from and empathize with him.

I have not studied film and media, but I have a lifelong experience watching movies and television. So, for the past 16 days, I thought about the tweet and the truths behind it.

The Filipino Film Industry

I merged television and movies into the film industry for this post to analyze both entertainment streams. I was born into a family that was so into films and television. Before I became aware of this, I always thought that my myopic eyes resulted from overwatching TV.

While enamored with American cartoons, I would also be “forced” to watch Filipino movies at home. I began to enjoy them, at least during my elementary years. I enjoyed the dancing in between films and never found it corny. It all changed when I started prioritizing English films, starting with the Harry Potter series. Of course, I watched other English movies in between, but I think the fantasy series was my initiation toward my movie preference.

But every time I remember Filipino films, I would think of FPJ and Eddie Garcia, TVJ, Bistek, Vilma and Nora, and many more. I remember my grandmother crying alongside Claudine Barreto and Judy Ann Santos when I took my vacations in Negros. I will never forget the awe I felt while watching Jose Javier Reyes’ Hiling.

My mom always bought entertainment magazines for her patients, waiting for their turn at her clinic. I remember a Darna anniversary special where I lavished on old photos of the heroine portrayed by different actresses. The same issue tackled the rich history of Philippine cinema and television with excellent cabaret and theater actors crossing over to then-innovative media.

Around the same time, I saw coverage of the Optical Media Board offering mass support to the Filipino entertainment industry due to the rise of piracy. Eddie Garcia was holding a film reel to symbolize the film business in the country. The mass also became a protest of actors and workers behind the scenes against this illegal act.

You see, I think this is when Filipinos started to lose interest in locally-made products. In the early 2000s, bootleg copies of movies taken with shaky cameras hidden in cinemas began spreading. Most were made in China, and the government actively tried to suppress this illegal trade.

People would only need to wait about two weeks before they can have their movie copy, albeit with shadows and coughs or applauses. And Filipino movies were caught up in this, too.

I remember my dad lamenting that there are no more extended releases of locally-made action movies. So, we resorted to American or European ones through VCDs and DVDs. Foreign films became more available, especially in bootleg 12-in-1 and 25-in-1 packages. Then, you compare these foreign films’ cinematography, plot, and actors to local ones. Is it hard to think about the difference?

Hallyu sa Pinas

The 1990s saw the rise of Latin American telenovelas being dubbed in Filipino, inspiring local TV series’ patterns, designs, and even monikers. Who can forget about Marimar or Rosalinda? These shows featured hypersexed characters which were the image of beauty then to the Filipinos.

But then, ABS-CBN changed the game in 2002 and imported Meteor Garden from Taiwan, which started an Asian craze in the local scene. Soon, GMA released My MVP Valentine, also from Taiwan, which tightened the competition. Eventually, the K-drama family of shows started with Lovers in Paris, Jewel in the Palace, and so on.

It was as if, overnight, Filipinos changed their idea of beauty from dark, muscular men and voluptuous women to porcelain-quality skin of tall and chinky-eyed next-door boys and girls who enamored the nation. Even though the Taiwanese did start this “Asianovela” craze, the Koreans had it better and have taken hold of the Philippines since then. The rising popularity of the internet also gave Hallyu a headstart. The term, which is thought to be Chinese in origin and means “Korean wave,” described the rising popularity of the Korean entertainment industry abroad, encompassing dramas, movies, and music. More than just an exchange of media, it is a cultural invasion even supported by the South Korean Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism.

Again, through explicit piracy, Filipinos were bombarded with thousands of Hallyu materials like the My Wife is a Gangster series. This made high-rated Korean movies more available in the country, and people fell for the nearly flawless, handsome, and beautiful Korean stars with their untouchable image. Perhaps to counter this, local distribution of Korean movies became available, most notably My Sassy Girl, whose soundtrack was locally interpreted by Jimmy Bondoc and remains famous up to this day.

Adding to this craze is Sandara Park, now a Korean star and a former member of girl group 2NE1, who lived in the Philippines and won first runner-up in a local star discovery reality show. She hosted a show that introduced famous Korean dramas during daytime hours. Soon, almost everything in the media needed to have a Korean twist. It was often done in comedy movies with local actors sporting Korean hairstyles.

I consider this a consequence of the inevitable globalization that has been spreading for many decades. It just so happened that the Korean industry was aggressive in its approach. It must also be noted that the Philippines is not alone in being swept away by this “wave.”

Using simple logic, one would realize that local companies could save more by importing movies compared to producing local films (I have no proof and data; correct me if I am wrong, please), and because local production companies do not have the technology and the budget like that of other countries, the aesthetics of local films would often be considered subpar compared to others.

Erik Matti’s Reaction

When I read about the ramblings of my social media connections about Erik Matti’s tweet, I immediately remembered a showbiz column I read back when Meteor Garden was still airing. The writer criticized the rise of these Asian flicks and, though excessively racist, called the “cockroach-bitten-eyed” actors ineffective and having no talent. I wish I could have a link for that write-up, but that was in 2003. So, I think the bitterness towards these invading Asian dramas and movies remains.

While I disagree with Direk Matti’s generalization of how these Korean flicks often revolve around love, I do understand how he was wary of Philippine film and TV being doomed. Even though the Philippines still boasts a 23% poverty rate, about 44% of the population has internet access and may have availed of any streaming service, legal or otherwise. Undoubtedly, the top ten most-watched titles on Netflix would reveal how Filipinos behaved during the quarantine.

Aside from the natural effect of the Korean wave, I think that Filipinos do not watch Filipino films because there is a lack of titles on streaming sites. Even if these websites acquire all locally-produced films or dramas, foreign titles would still overcome these. If you ask me why, I think it is because few movies are being produced in the country nowadays!

With around a dozen being released for the annual Metro Manila Film Festival (MMFF), plus another dozen shown during the Pista ng Pelikulang Pilipino, there could only be around 30-35 mainstream films released in the country every year. Others are primarily independently produced with limited showing in limited movie houses. Plus, these local flicks would need to compete with foreign films that would be given more time and slots in cinemas, especially if they have big productions behind them.

Many people argued that Matti was at fault for airing his sentiments and that people choose Korean-made dramas because locally produced ones lack substance, story, or talent.

The Public’s Response and My Musings

Netizens, especially those fans of Korean flicks, were quick to lambast Direk Matti and his words, which seemed to attack the said works directly. The man has the right to talk about his thoughts, which are valid from his standpoint. But people began resurrecting the memes that showed the sorry state of the local entertainment industry. They even pointed out Erik Matt’s contribution, Gagamboy, starring Vhong Navarro as the main character.

However, it is unfair to pull down our show business just because we disagree with one man. Most of the memes were taken out of context, and those that are valid do not represent everything. People argued that local movies and dramas lacked substance and innovation. Unfortunately, I think people are too invested in these Korean flicks, and their personal biases take over them. Among my friend list, those who immediately said ill against Matti defended local productions in the past.

Remember Pangako Sa’yo, which became a hit in many countries to which it was exported, even having local versions of the series? How about Himala, a movie that propelled Nora Aunor to be one of the best actors in the world? Why am I giving old films and dramas as examples? Because it represents where we came from, where we are, and where we are going.

GMA was very courageous in showing My Husband’s Lover, which introduced a severe boy’s love relationship on primetime despite being cautiously done having a married couple as the center of the story. ABS-CBN is known for its large productions, especially for fantasy dramas. And who will forget the best MMFF ever, MMFF 2016, which had the best titles in one mainstream movie festival?

I saw some replies defending the top ten Korean movies and dramas to showcase a story, reflect on social issues, highlight beauty and positivity, and promote peace and hope. Some people do not realize that all movies or dramas reflect these topics, even though some brush the surface or are subtle at the very least.

Remember the scene where Ryza Cenon pointed a toy gun at Sunshine Dizon in Ika-6 na Utos? It showed how a simple altercation could become significant if society considers the cause a sin. Those wrong tubings in various dramas across different stations? It reflects how little most people know about healthcare and do not care if what is depicted is accurate. That Gagamboy backstory? It was super sad as hell, and its device of parodying superhero movies was acclaimed by people abroad.

My point is that it is unfair to ridicule the work done by other people just because you disagree with someone’s opinion. Do you know how many writers write “lame” shows on TV? Do you know their struggles, together with their talents, to shoot the episodes in time every week? Did you even realize that some of them are as disappointed as you with their final product?

The Sad State of the Local Film Industry

Most of the films in the Philippines are shot in Metro Manila so I cannot provide the correct insights on this but when I learned about how Eddie Garcia died on set, I remembered his face holding that film reel for that OMB mass against piracy. I remembered his interview, just weeks before he died, how he wanted to act as long as he lived, and his partner’s interview seconded this, how he was jolly the morning he died, eating his breakfast early and looking forward to his day. It was just fitting that he died doing what he loved the most.

While it seemed that I defended Erik Matti in the previous part of this post, I think that the netizens’ concerns are valid. It is sad that the reasons for the problems in the industry needed a martyr before they were realized.

It was clear that they had limited equipment for that production as they had to repeat the shots that Garcia was in. It was obvious that the talents and staff were not given suitable precautions for their work. The pay, which I do not know, could have been unjust, too.

As Congress tries to understand all these, it is clear now that these subpar productions and unfit state could be due to the companies that finance and back them. They are forced to adapt to the short formats (of course, except Ang Probinsyano) akin to Korean dramas. Movies need to provide fan service to the people as the titles could experience losses if the people do not like them. The latter is due to the companies’ understanding that the typical Filipino is not intelligent enough to understand shows and movies with concrete plots and ideas.

Conclusion

This is one of my longest posts on this blog, but I am pretty satisfied with it. Do not get me wrong, I love Korean movies and dramas. I adored Jeon Ji-hyun for so long, watching her films. I liked the Kingdom series on Netflix. Parasite was a masterpiece. Who would not love Crash Landing On You? I am gearing up for The King and Itaewon Class. But I do understand Erik Matti and his sentiments.

Thanks to the quarantine (or not), local productions have made their movies available online for free. Let us refresh our minds about how great the Philippine film industry is. Let’s wish Direk Matti the best and enjoy dramas and movies as art forms, falling in love with them and embracing the hope they give in these trying times.

Cease not.

PS Here are some links to the local films that are available online for free! Enjoy!

1. Water Lemon
2. K’Na the Dreamweaver
3. Matangtubig
4. Patintero
5. Dormitoryo
6. Gayuma
7. Iisa
8. Bliss

Other titles are also available on iWant and iflix for free!