You plan to move to the Philippines? Wollen Sie auf den Philippinen leben?

There are REALLY TONS of websites telling us how, why, maybe why not and when you'll be able to move to the Philippines. I only love to tell and explain some things "between the lines". Enjoy reading, be informed, have fun and be entertained too!

Ja, es gibt tonnenweise Webseiten, die Ihnen sagen wie, warum, vielleicht warum nicht und wann Sie am besten auf die Philippinen auswandern könnten. Ich möchte Ihnen in Zukunft "zwischen den Zeilen" einige zusätzlichen Dinge berichten und erzählen. Viel Spass beim Lesen und Gute Unterhaltung!


Visitors of germanexpatinthephilippines/Besucher dieser Webseite.Ich liebe meine Flaggensammlung!

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Showing posts with label Eleanor Pinugu. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eleanor Pinugu. Show all posts

Monday, June 22, 2026

The burden of surviving


Eleanor Pinugu

Nobel laureate, political activist, and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel once wrote, “I live, therefore I am guilty. I am here because a friend, an acquaintance, an unknown person died in my place.”

Wiesel was describing what is recognized in psychology as survivor’s guilt. This refers to the heavy burden of remorse, self-blame, and moral anguish that an individual feels after surviving a tragic event in which others died while they lived. Survivors may feel that their own survival somehow requires explanation, justification, or even punishment.

Ateneo basketball players Kieffer Alas and Sam Reyes recently spoke with Pia Hontiveros on The Pod Network about their near-death experiences during the Aurora tragedy that claimed the lives of their teammates, Rene Baterbonia and Divine Adili. Reyes shared that he felt intense guilt, believing he could have done more to save Baterbonia. “It was eating me alive,” he said, describing how he could not sleep and how his teammate’s face kept appearing in his mind. He also spoke about questioning why God allowed him to survive when others did not.

Those who suffer from survivor’s guilt often fixate on several painful thoughts. The first is the “Why me?” question: Why did I survive while others were harmed or killed? The second is the “should have” fallacy: the tendency to keep revisiting what happened and believe they could have done more to change the outcome, even if the situation was out of their control. The third is guilt over returning to life itself: the belief that one no longer deserves to be happy, to succeed, or to continue living normally because others no longer can.

What makes the situation even more painful is that Alas and Reyes are not only carrying the trauma of what happened but also the public’s anger over what people believe happened. Both players shared that they have been receiving death threats and hostile comments on social media. Some have accused them of jealousy and even of being perpetrators, inventing wild stories about how they somehow caused the deaths of their teammates.

Alas described it as “going through two deaths.” The first was losing their friends. The second was being publicly blamed for their deaths. Reyes put it even more painfully: “Nabuhay nga po kami, pero parang pinapatay po kami.”

Rather than respond to the interview with empathy and compassion, however, many people doubled down on their anger. Some dismissed their words as scripted. Others chose to dissect Alas’ posture, gestures, and the position of his hands, claiming he had a “defensive stance” and therefore must be hiding the truth. It is both alarming and heartbreaking that so many people are willing to share and amplify these posts simply because their unverified claims reinforce the narratives they already want to believe.

These two young men, along with every other player who survived, are victims too. They witnessed the deaths of their teammates. They nearly lost their own lives. And now, because of social media, they are experiencing secondary victimization. The public is inflicting additional harm by telling them that their words are suspicious, their grief is fake, and their survival is undeserved and must be explained. They have already expressed that they feel guilty about coming home alive. And yet some people choose to viciously validate that guilt by making them feel as if they did not deserve to survive.

The failure of Ateneo’s management to provide clear, timely, and compassionate information created an informational vacuum that allowed speculation to flourish. The institution should be held to account not only for the circumstances that led to the tragedy, but also for how its response may have compounded the pain and confusion of grieving families and other survivors. However, it is equally important to call out people who insist on holding on to speculative narratives even as credible accounts and official processes begin to clarify the facts.

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The country’s collective grief and anger are warranted, but they do not justify any form of cruelty toward those who are also victims of the tragedy. The public should continue to ask serious questions about supervision, safety protocols, risk assessment, decision-making, emergency response, and the broader responsibilities of those entrusted with student welfare. What we should not be doing is inventing motives or assigning blame to the young people who also barely survived.

Our pursuit of justice must be anchored in facts, not in the narratives we are emotionally attached to. If we say we are seeking accountability because we care about the lives and futures that were lost, then we must also confront the harm being done to the lives and futures of those who remain. Survivor’s guilt is already a heavy enough burden. No grieving child should have to carry the public’s rage on top of it.

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eleanor@shetalksasia.com

Monday, June 8, 2026

Teachers can’t do it all

 


Eleanor Pinugu

The Academic Recovery and Accessible Learning Program, or Aral, of the Department of Education (DepEd) is a worthwhile and much-needed initiative. It aims to provide remediation lessons to public school students struggling with the fundamentals of reading, science, and math.

Last January, DepEd reported encouraging gains from Aral’s early implementation. Reading readiness scores increased by approximately five points in Grades 3 to 6, while the scores of students in Grades 7 to 10 improved by six to nine points, bringing millions of students closer to grade-level proficiency.

Under DepEd guidelines, Aral summer classes should have a 1:10 teacher-to-learner ratio. To implement the program properly, schools may hire external tutors or tap volunteer teachers, with the 2026 national budget allocating P1.96 billion for their salaries and allowances.


Monday, May 25, 2026

Teach the why

 

Eleanor Pinugu

Growing up, I hated trigonometry because I couldn’t understand what it was for. I got a decent grade in class, but only because I memorized the formulas. It was only much later that I appreciated how trigonometry has practical uses in architecture, aviation, medicine, and many other fields. I couldn’t help but wonder why it wasn’t taught to me this way. Why didn’t my teacher start our year by showing us why trigonometry mattered so we could better appreciate what we’re learning?

This was my own experience of the education relevance gap—the disconnect that happens when a student cannot see the relevance of what is taught in the classroom and its practical application in their day-to-day lives. Multiple studies and reports highlight how the perceived mismatch between what students need and aspire toward and what education systems offer leads to student disengagement, poor attendance, and the eventual risk of dropping out.

A major driver of the education relevance gap is that young people today are exposed to a much larger world than what the classroom or home can offer. Their perspectives and questions are shaped by social media, economic anxiety, climate fears, political instability, new technologies, and an uncertain future of work.

Monday, April 27, 2026

Artificial goodbyes

 



Eleanor Pinugu

An 80-year-old woman speaks with her son for a few minutes each day through video calls. She has not seen him in some time, so she keeps asking when he will visit. He always replies that he relocated to another province to save money before returning home to care for her. What she does not know is that her son died in a car accident a year ago.

Rather than tell her the truth, the family members hired an artificial intelligence (AI) company to create a digital twin so she would believe that he was still alive. According to the family, she has a weak heart, and they were worried that the news might harm her health. This incident, reported by the South China Morning Post last week, has since sparked an online debate regarding the ethical use of AI, especially in cases where it can impact human emotions.

As generative AI matures, the world is also seeing the emergence of “grief tech,” also known as the digital afterlife industry. These technologies enable users to interact with simulated versions of their deceased loved ones in intimate ways. Conversational AI products like Project December and You, Only Virtual (YOV) simulate a person’s conversational style by training the model on the deceased person’s text, email, and social media content. Startups like Eternal and Here After AI are offering interactive, voice-enabled avatars of people’s loved ones.

Monday, February 16, 2026

The weight of words

 


Eleanor Pinugu

Afriend of mine, who is an infectious disease specialist, once observed that many Filipinos tend to delay going to the doctor unless something hurts. He shared the case of a man who consulted him for a mild stomachache, even though the patient had a visibly bulging goiter. The stomachache was painful and, therefore, was considered urgent, while the goiter was merely seen as an inconvenience.

He noted that part of this pattern may be linguistic. The Filipino word for illness is the same word we use for pain: sakit. When illness is tied to pain in language, painless symptoms, even if they are potentially life-threatening, are easily minimized and tolerated, leading to delayed diagnosis and intervention. It is only when something hurts that we treat it as a serious concern. This is the quiet power of language. It shapes not just how we perceive and describe our experiences, but also the kind of action and attention they require.

Words matter even more when they come from those in positions of authority. What leaders say carries a disproportionate ripple effect, shaping culture, morale, and collective behavior within their sphere of influence. Language, in their hands, can actively construct norms. This is why the remarks made by Sen. Robinhood Padilla during a recent Senate hearing drew such widespread criticism. Padilla suggested that children today are “weak” compared to previous generations, citing their vulnerability to mental health challenges.

Experts and citizens alike were quick to respond. The Psychological Association of the Philippines emphasized that resilience cannot be meaningfully compared across generations, because the challenges young people face today are both “quantitatively and qualitatively more intense.” They also stressed that what appears to be an “increase” in mental health conditions is, in part, the result of greater awareness and significant advances in identification and diagnosis.

Rather than acknowledge how his previous statement could compromise the mental health discourse, Padilla doubled down by claiming that his notions about today’s youth are not simply an opinion, but are based on worldwide data surrounding the rise of suicide rates. He argued that if the public were truly concerned, then the focus should be on responding with solutions to the problem rather than correcting what he said.

What Padilla fails to grasp is that how he talks about mental health is itself a large part of the problem that needs to be addressed. For instance, one of the longest-standing challenges that mental health practitioners have faced is the common word choices in media and public discourse (e.g., “psycho” and “crazy”) along with portrayals that equate mental illnesses with criminality. These have reinforced myths that people who have diagnoses are dangerous and socially undesirable. While greater awareness in recent years has helped dismantle some of these misconceptions, fears of being boxed into stigmatizing terms have led people to delay help‑seeking or avoid mental health care altogether.

When Padilla labeled children as “weak” for having suicidal ideation, he inadvertently framed mental health issues as a personal failure rather than a public health concern. This could feed into one’s self-stigma, where individuals internalize negative labels around their condition, leading to lower self‑esteem, social withdrawal, and reduced hope for recovery.

As proof of his generation’s resilience, Padilla claimed that young people during his time weren’t “crybabies” and did not even know what depression meant. Yet, suicide deaths are also alarmingly high among males in middle and later adulthood, globally, and in the Philippines. This potentially points to long-standing patterns of silence from men who were socialized to suppress rather than articulate suffering, and to cope through socially acceptable but harmful substitutes like substance use. Older generations may not have known the word for depression and other mental health challenges during their time, but they almost certainly felt its weight.

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It’s true that mental health language these days can sometimes be used loosely, especially among younger people, which strips these terms of their clinical meaning. But rather than dismiss the experiences behind them, the appropriate response is guidance and education. These are opportunities to build deeper understanding and stronger mental health literacy.

Padilla was correct in pointing out that the problem must be addressed. But how we frame the mental health discourse dictates the kind of action and policies that follow. By recognizing depression as a clinical condition rather than a character weakness, we open the door to policies and evidence-based interventions grounded in compassion, empathy, and care. Our leaders’ choice of words matters because it can determine whether people seek and receive help or continue to suffer in silence.

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eleanor@shetalksasia.com

Monday, February 9, 2026

No retirement for learning


Eleanor Pinugu

Many people grew up subscribing to the traditional three-stage model of education-work-retirement for mapping out their future. Education is about equipping oneself with knowledge, work is about building a career, advancing professionally, and saving for the future, and retirement is about pursuing rest and leisure. This trajectory has always been a linear way of dividing one’s pursuits into chapters that correlate well with the natural stages of youth, maturity, and old age. At Arizona State University (ASU), however, there is a pioneering community for senior citizens that is creatively reframing retirement as an opportune time to be an active member of the academic ecosystem.

Mirabella at ASU is a university-based retirement facility that promotes active, purposeful aging through intergenerational learning. The community, which currently houses 400 older adults, encourages its residents to go back to school and audit university classes that they are interested in. The center promotes itself as enabling senior citizens to major in “having the time of your life.”

What distinguishes the Mirabella model is that it does not see senior citizens as passive recipients of care. Instead, it recognizes how they can bring their lived experiences into learning spaces. Intergenerational classrooms have been shown to enrich discussions, improve critical thinking, and promote empathy. Young people offer boundless energy and fresh ideas, while the “seasoned” older adults help provide context, judgment, and more tempered perspectives. The result is reciprocal education where everyone learns and connects more meaningfully.