Like and subscribe or subscribe to like?

y David Bobier 

Spotify is my best friend. We have been best friends since grade school. Do not be surprised if you receive a wedding invitation from me and a listening platform.

However, our relationship experienced a rocky phase. It was during my eighth-grade days. It was 2016, the pinnacle of the music industry. Let’s just say, we found ourselves drowning in cold water.

I wanted Spotify to stay, but I was confronted with a subscription plan. A monthly fee that gives unlimited access to its services. I just wanted to download Kendrick Lamar’s “Money Trees” so I can go crazy during my jeepney rides.

It is more forgiving for passengers to see me go crazy with my earphones on than to look aimlessly and bother them out of boredom, so I took the bait and sacrificed some lunch meals to afford the monthly subscription.

Subscribing to unlimited music was the highlight of my 2016. However, I did not feel that I owned anything. Even until now.

Access does not automatically mean ownership. The only thing I own on Spotify is my account. Once I stop paying for Spotify, I will lose access to its services.

However, if I actually buy a song on iTunes or a physical CD, it seems I am paying way more than just a subscription. I will always choose the P128 (pre-pandemic) monthly Spotify subscription over the P2,000 M.A.A.d. City physical album.

How on earth did I end up running up against the end-of-the-month deadline for renewing my subscription just to access Ariana Grande’s songs, back when Spotify was still free to use? I do get it, artists deserve to get paid for their artistic work, but seeing myself running out of money is a different story.

This financial decision creates the illusion that I am saving a heck of a lot of money. However, I was just paying so much because access to listening is for life, and so is the payment. An Illusion that I am not even using other features I am paying for. Yes, I am still in the loop for Spotify.

Not only Spotify, but also almost every digital platform has this kind of scheme. Every time I watch YouTube, I cannot watch a full vlog without an advertisement. Even worse, I have to skip several ads to continue the vlog, which can take more than a minute while I wait for the skip ad button to appear.

Thanks to those ads, I was saved from the apparent jump scare in the video that my classmate had pranked me into watching. Although I am still mad for that 20-second Jollibee ad squeezed between the scene when Yaya Dub was about to meet Alden along the hallway, and a plywood was about to separate them.

In response to the subscription craze, the charm of pirated media glowed even brighter. As more platforms gatekeep their “original” goods, such as Netflix’s “Stranger Things,” illegal websites sprang up to give free access to everyone.

Illegal by law, but I have no reason to sue everyone who streams illegally. What else can be used by a Filipino as a pastime if expensive things surround her? Where do they go if there are barely any public spaces for everyone?

Bango, a research institute, reported that 43 percent of Filipinos cannot track their subscriptions. 2nd Opinion, on the other hand, revealed that 85 percent of Filipinos subscribe to many services due to the variety of services they offer. This just proves that we are living under debt under the guise of subscriptions.

We all owe money to companies until we choose to cancel. Well, I do not want to cancel my Spotify subscription because where else should I subscribe? Spotify might get jealous and accuse me of cheating.

Companies have found a way to make us pay them regularly in exchange for fake ownership. They either give us an eye-catching preview of the premium features or force us to do it by stripping down the convenience of accessing media.

Is it still correct to say “Like and Subscribe” if subscribing is the ultimate key to accessing the services I like? To set me free from the cheating charges against me?

As they say, loving is free. Loving what you do must be free, or at least, affordable. I do not want Spotify and I to end up like Marvin and Jolina or Yaya Dub and Alden. Yearning will be a result of expensive expectations of keeping in touch.

If there are public spaces where I can be productive in doing other hobbies, I might not find myself digging another stash of cash to pay for my Spotify subscription. Just a casual rotation of listening to music might suffice for my day.

Even just an initiative for the government to remove the added tax for such subscriptions is a big help. In this, my and Spotify’s married life will continue its happy run and inspire others to pursue their love of music without hurting their pockets.

Fnally, we can now live together, happily ever after.

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addiction budget David Bobier 

Some disadvantages of women

 

BY MAHAR MANGAHAS

MARCH 14, 2026

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In line with National Women’s Month, let me recall some experiences that most impressed me about the disadvantages of being a woman.

In some countries, the women may not eat until the men are finished. Long ago, at an international meeting in Bangkok, probably at lunchtime, I was surprised when a South Asian lady asked me, “Mahar, is it true that, in the Philippines, the women have their meals together with the men?” This lady was newly arrived, from either India or Bangladesh, on her very first posting abroad. She explained that in her country, the men and boys are served first, and only after they are through eating do the women and girls take their meal.

What shocked me was her saying that, furthermore, all the food cooked for the family’s meal must be placed on the dining table together, with nothing reserved in the kitchen. This means that the womenfolk depend on what food the menfolk remember to leave behind for them when it’s their turn to eat. (How hard it is to be a male guest for a meal, and not knowing how many women are waiting to eat! I suppose the guest should eat as little as good manners allow.)

A woman is a riskier investment for advanced training abroad. When I was a very young and single economics faculty member at the University of the Philippines Diliman (UPD), I was once with our dean, José “Pepe” Encarnación Jr., having coffee in the lounge, where he was brooding over whether to allot a foreign scholarship grant to a woman. I myself was in line for such a grant, but he said he wasn’t worried about me, whatever my plans about getting married (which I did, just before leaving for foreign studies).

It takes four to five years to do an economics Ph.D. abroad, which is quite expensive in terms of both time and money. In such a long absence, there’s no guarantee that a scholar won’t get married, and perhaps get married to a foreigner! (Pepe himself had returned with an American wife from his studies at Princeton University.) If she gets married, he pointed out, that brings the husband—possibly a foreigner—into the decision-making process about the wife’s finishing the designated study program successfully and then coming back to render the agreed service of two years on the UP faculty for every one year abroad. Even though the money comes from an American foundation, UP needs a good track record to maintain its scholarship program.

I don’t know if Pepe had to refuse a foreign scholarship to any women candidates, but in my time—I got my Ph.D. in 1970, and stayed with the UP faculty until 1981—there were many more men than women who got them. Thanks to its faculty buildup, UP began producing its own economics PhDs in 1975 (the first graduate was a woman, by the way). Brain drain doesn’t seem to be as big an issue as before. The main economics building in UPD is named after Pepe; there’s no doubt he did an outstanding job as its dean for nine years.

Women’s natural disadvantage is in their participation in the labor force. Women naturally take time off for childbearing, and then for child-raising. In the Social Weather Surveys, the joblessness rate among female adults can easily be double that of male adults. Joblessness in Social Weather Stations (SWS) surveys literally means having no job (“walang trabaho”) but at the same time looking for one; those not looking for work are not part of the labor force.

The mere fact of having a job or being at work is not an indicator of women’s well-being; it’s just part of life. How much one’s work is enjoyed for its own sake is another matter, that is researchable and measurable.

In the Philippines, the state of women’s well-being is not far from that of men. As of last November, the percentage of women saying their personal quality of life (QOL) got better from the year before was 31, while that saying it got worse was 36, or a net-gainers score of -5. For men, the corresponding percentages were 28 and 36, or net -8, or slightly less than that for women.

The percentage of women expecting their personal QOL to get better in the next year (optimists) was 45, while the percentage expecting it to get worse (pessimists) was only 6, or a net-optimists score of +39. For men, the corresponding percentages were 44 and 10, or net +34, or slightly less than that for women.

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The SWS surveys also track expectations about the progress of the economy as a whole. When sorted by gender, the women’s scores are likewise a little better than those of men.

—————-

mahar.mangahas@sws.org.ph.

When our votes gamble the future

  By Jade Nicole M. Gatchalian

The sound of vehicles blaring their horns echoes across the highway. Tires roll endlessly on burning roads, while the city continues to move as if it has no time to look down. Yet on the sidewalks, and sometimes even between lanes, people stand still, holding their small livelihoods in their hands.

Plastic bags filled with food. Folded rugs. Handmade crafts. Bottles of water. Sampaguita garlands.

They smile, not because life is kind, but because they must.

Some people say, “Poor people are poor because they are lazy.”

But if they only dared to look outside their tinted windows, they would realize how cruel and ignorant that statement is. Poverty in the Philippines is not a punishment for laziness. It is the outcome of an unfair system, one that rewards privilege and leaves the struggling behind.

Filipinos are known all over the world for being hardworking and warm. We are praised for our diligence, resilience, and ability to endure. Many of us even leave our own country, not because we want to abandon our families, but because we know how difficult it is to build a stable future here. In the Philippines, hard work does not always lead to success. Sometimes, it only leads to exhaustion.

Every day, we witness “diskarte.” People do what they can to survive. They sell their time, grit, and talent. They offer pieces of themselves just to earn enough for one meal, one day, and one more chance to continue. What breaks my heart the most is seeing the elderly still working in the heat. Their backs are bent, their steps are slow, yet they continue. It is as if rest is a luxury they were never meant to have.

But should life be like this?

Should those who have worked their entire lives still be forced to beg, sell, and struggle just to stay alive?

In a country where a lot of taxes are collected, budgets are announced, and promises are made, people should not have to suffer this way. Yet, instead of protection, we are neglected. Instead of progress, we get excuses. Instead of service, we witness greed.

Funds meant for the people disappear. Projects turn into scandals. Programs become tools for campaigns. And while ordinary citizens count coins in their palms, politicians count wealth that cannot be explained by salaries alone. They are surrounded by luxury, defended by supporters, and shielded by speeches filled with empty promises.

Some say, “The Philippines is poor.”

But I do not believe that.

How can we call ourselves poor when our land is filled with natural beauty, rich culture, and people who never stop hoping? We are the Pearl of the Orient Seas. We are blessed with seas, mountains, forests, and a spirit that refuses to die. We are not lacking in resources or hard working citizens. What we lack is honest leadership.

The Philippines is not poor. The Philippines is being robbed. Our nation is being plundered.

What makes it worse is that many still believe the ones who are stealing from them. The vulnerable cling to promises because sometimes hope is the only thing they have left. But hope should not be weaponized. It should not be used as bait to gain power.

I often wonder what would happen if corrupt politicians lived one day as an ordinary Filipino? If they had to wake up not knowing if there would be food on the table. If they had to commute under the heat, work endlessly, and still come home with barely enough. If they had to count every coin, calculate what to sacrifice, and choose between needs. Would they still steal?

Would they still smile onstage, wearing expensive clothes, while people beg for a chance to live?

Maybe then they would realize that being a public servant is not a title to be worn. It is a responsibility to be carried.

We must open our eyes and stop normalizing suffering and resiliency. We must stop treating corruption as something expected. We must stop accepting a country where survival is the only goal.

We see people working hard every day. We see vendors, laborers, street sellers, and the elderly continue despite the pain. They carry this nation on their backs. They deserve more than sympathy. They deserve justice. And justice begins with awareness.

Voting is not just a right. It is power. Every vote counts, and every voice matters. We should not be afraid to speak out when something is wrong because silence allows corruption to grow. To stay quiet while crimes are committed is to let them continue.

When we vote without thinking, we do not just waste a ballot. We gamble the future. We risk the dreams of the next generation. We risk the lives of those who have already suffered enough.

So may we choose wisely. May we research deeply. May we stop rushing decisions that will shape the country for years. And may we finally refuse leaders who treat the nation as their personal treasure chest.

If we want real unity, it must begin with truth.

And if we want change, it must begin with us.  

When thoughts and imagination cause harm

 

BY ANNA CRISTINA TUAZON

MARCH 5, 2026

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Quezon City Rep. Bong Suntay, in defending Vice President Sara Duterte’s public threats against President Marcos, made a shockingly inappropriate analogy. During a hearing on the impeachment complaint against the VP, Suntay used himself as an example, “Alam mo, minsan, nasa Shangri-la ako, nakita ko si Anne Curtis, ang ganda-ganda pala niya. You know, may desire sa loob ko na nag-init talaga. Na-imagine ko na lang kung ano ang pwedeng mangyari. Pero syempre, hanggang imagination na lang ‘yon. Hindi naman siguro ako pwedeng kasuhan dahil kung anu-ano ‘yong na-imagine ko.”

Members of the House of Representatives quickly asked that his statements be stricken from the record, given their impropriety. He doubled down and said there was nothing sexual and immoral about his statements. Even after the subsequent public outcry, he gave the standard non-apology: “I stand by that analogy that I made, but if some people were offended, lalo na Women’s Month, I’m sorry for those who were offended, but if you read the context talaga, there was nothing malicious in it.” His conduct is a prime example of, at its mildest, a reckless and irresponsible argument, and at its worst, the exercise of political power to condone and support the use of violent rhetoric.

The question of whether one should be responsible for their rhetoric, especially when it inspires physical violence, is playing out in different political arenas. This is at the heart of the arguments laid out in former President Rodrigo Duterte’s confirmation of charges hearing at the International Criminal Court (ICC). Violent rhetoric also plays a pivotal role in the naked aggression of countries, such as the United States, toward other sovereign nations, as well as against their own immigrants and citizens.

A Filipino twist on a Middle Eastern classic

 

BY JUANA YUPANGCO

FEBRUARY 23, 2026

Photos by Mikey Yabut

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In Filipino kitchens, monggo (mung beans) are synonymous with comfort. Simmered into hearty stews with malunggay, garlic, and sometimes tinapa or pork, monggo is a Friday staple in many households.

Meanwhile, in the Middle East, chickpeas are transformed into silky, lemony hummus—one of the region’s most beloved dishes. My husband’s first baby steps into plant-based eating was brought on by a love for hummus. Our fridge is stocked with hummus at any given moment. To lower the calories brought by olive oil, I use aquafaba or water that the beans are soaked in to add to the liquid, with the oil providing its taste instead of relying on it for texture and creaminess.

What happens when these two culinary traditions meet? You get monggo hummus—a vibrant, protein-rich spread that blends Filipino ingredients with Middle Eastern technique. The result is familiar yet new: earthy, creamy, and bright with citrus.

Monggo is the most researched Filipino legume, and for good reason. Its high protein content and year-round availability make it an affordable protein source. Most of us are used to eating monggo in the most common form: monggo guisado, topped with pork, fish, or served alongside paksiw.

Monggo was the first dish I used in creating my dishes for Mesa ni Misis—monggo Bolognese. Just like Bolognese recipes, the flavor varies from Filipino party spaghetti, which is sweet, to a more sophisticated version that uses red wine. The main point is to use the monggo, which is so versatile, in other dishes that are also familiar to us.

Monggo hummus proves that comfort food can cross borders. By blending the humble Filipino mung bean with the time-honored structure of Middle Eastern hummus, we create something nourishing, accessible, and culturally rich.

At first glance, swapping chickpeas for mung beans may seem unconventional. But from a culinary perspective, it makes perfect sense.

1. Similar texture

When cooked until tender, monggo becomes soft and creamy—ideal for blending into a smooth paste. Like chickpeas, they hold structure while still breaking down easily. There are two kinds of monggo—monggo kintab, or shiny—which stays more firm even with soaking and boiling, and monggo labo, which is softer and murkier. For this hummus dish, look for the ‘labo’ variety, as you will want it as creamy as possible.

2. Nutty, earthy flavor

Mung beans have a mild, slightly sweet earthiness. This pairs beautifully with tahini (sesame paste), garlic, olive oil, and lemon or calamansi.

3. Local, affordable, sustainable

In the Philippines, monggo is more accessible and budget-friendly than imported chickpeas. Choosing locally grown legumes reduces food miles and supports local farmers.

4. Nutritional benefits

Mung beans are:

*High in plant-based protein

*Rich in fiber

*Packed with folate, magnesium, and antioxidants

*Naturally low in fat

Traditional hummus from the Middle East often features a creamy chickpea base, richness that comes from tahini, lots of lemon, garlic, and olive oil. Monggo hummus on the other hand is a little gentler on the palate—sweeter and less heavy. For extra kick, I’ve added cumin but also feel free to try curry powder. I also added some serving suggestions for interesting takes on it.

Ingredients

*1 cup dried monggo (mung beans), soaked and cooked until soft

*1 to 2 cloves garlic

*Juice of 1 or 2 calamansi (or half a lemon)

*2 to 3 tablespoons olive oil

*Salt to taste

*Cooking water from monggo (as needed for blending)

*Pinch of cumin

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Instructions

1. Cook soaked monggo until very tender. Drain, reserving some cooking liquid.
2. In a food processor or blender, combine monggo, garlic, citrus juice, salt, and olive oil.
3. Blend until smooth, adding cooking water gradually for desired consistency.
4. Taste and adjust seasoning.
5. Serve drizzled with olive oil and topped with paprika, toasted sesame, or chopped herbs.

Monggo hummus is versatile. Here are some serving suggestions to create your own twist for your desired occasion.

1. Malunggay boost

Blend in fresh malunggay leaves for added nutrients and a deeper green color. Monggo is often served with malunggay, but this time, it takes on a different form.

2. Smoked tinapa version

Incorporate flaked smoked fish for a savory, umami-forward spread—perfect with pandesal.

3. Spicy sili kick

Add chopped red chilies or chili oil for heat. 

4. Coconut-lime fusion

Swap part of the olive oil with a small amount of coconut oil for a subtle tropical aroma.

How to serve monggo hummus

Monggo hummus bridges cuisines effortlessly. Try it:

*As a dip with pita, flatbread, or pandesal

*Spread on whole-grain toast with tomatoes and cucumbers

*As a sandwich base instead of mayonnaise

*Paired with grilled vegetables or chicken

*As part of a mezze-style platter with olives and pickled vegetables

*It also fits beautifully into modern wellness-focused diets—whether you’re eating plant-based, high-protein, or simply trying to incorporate more whole foods.

In praise of listening

 

BY ANNA CRISTINA TUAZON

FEBRUARY 19, 2026

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My maternity leave has led to an unintended consequence: opting out of my usual platforms for discourse. I had no students, no colleagues, no clients, and no column to which I can express my thoughts and ideas. It was not a slow month for news, either, making my self-imposed abstinence from opinion an even bigger challenge. There were concerning developments regarding civil rights violations in the United States, escalation of tensions around the West Philippine Sea, impeachment cases filed against the two highest positions in the land, and of course the infamous remarks of Sen. Robinhood Padilla regarding the youth as “weak” for having mental health issues. What a time to bring a child into the world!

That said, listening and observing are underrated skills and perhaps we should devote our time to it more often. In psychological first aid, we follow the core actions of “look, listen, and link.” Before we prescribe any intervention, we must first look at the situation and listen to our clients. In psychotherapy, listening and observing are fundamental and at times make up much of our work. I would often remind my students that if the therapist did most of the talking in session, that probably wasn’t therapy. This is what prompts the misconception that our work is easy, and that “all therapists do is listen.” In fact, listening is much more difficult, and has more impact, than talking.

There are depths to listening. One can hear but not listen. One can repeat what one hears but still fail to understand. To listen actively and empathically, which is what psychotherapy requires, is to observe at multiple levels at the same time. To hear what is being said, to hear what cannot be said, to observe how things are said, and to understand the context behind what is being said.

To listen to others well, you must also know how to listen to yourself. How are you receiving what you heard? What emotions and reactions are coming up for you as you listen to the experience of others? What urges accompany these reactions? What biases and context do you have that are filtering what you are hearing? For therapists, it is especially important to be well acquainted with your own voice, so you don’t impose it on others. One should also have the humility to acknowledge that our experience and views are, by essence, limited. This will allow us to listen to others without judgment or constraint.

Being forced to stay in listening mode this past month has been a good and humbling reminder for me. I’ve inhabited various positions of authority–of being a teacher, therapist, and professional–that has made me, perhaps, too comfortable in expressing and asserting my views. (Caring for a newborn is, likewise, a humbling experience. No amount of imposing my will on this little one will change when she wants to feed, cry, sleep, and poop. I am forced, as her mother, to hone my listening and observing skills to better anticipate her needs so that I can have even a sliver of a chance of sleep and rest.)

Listening opens us up to resources we usually gloss over. First, listening gives us time. Instead of reacting quickly, we have time to process and digest. If I had written this article right after Padilla’s statement, I would have probably expressed indignation and focused on providing counterarguments. But having to sit with it for a week, as well as allowing my emotions to complete their cycle, I feel less of a need to quench my personal frustration. I still do not agree with the senator’s sentiments. However, I can locate that my true frustration lies in the realization that such sentiments still exist in society–especially among leaders and elected officials–and that our work as mental health advocates are far from over.

Second, listening leads to empathy and compassion. The extra time I had to reflect on what I heard helped me see how our narrow definition of what it means to be strong and our unwillingness to be vulnerable has led us to cut short our empathy for others. Listening bridges us to others, helping us to see our interconnectedness. It opens us up beyond our personal and direct experience. It allows us to experience lives far different from our own. We see how this refusal to listen to others have led to cruelty. For example, refusing to listen to the lived experience of immigrants, instead labeling them as “illegals” or “criminals,” made supporting actions that violate their civil rights easier. Our version of it is “Red-tagging,” where we put labels such as “adik,” “tibak,” or “komunista” to give ourselves permission to stop listening and to stop seeing them as fellow human beings.

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For this season of Lent, Pope Leo has urged us to abstain from speaking hurtful words and rash judgment. A good way of doing this is by focusing on listening. We might be surprised by what we hear.