They say landing your first job is one of life’s sweetest fruits—a mark of independence, proof that you’ve finally “made it.” For many, it’s the beginning of a dream. But for others, like me, it’s simply what’s available.
As a fresh graduate, I thought finding a job would be easy. Everyone says that once you graduate, opportunities come pouring in. That’s what our parents always tell us—“Mag-aral ka nang mabuti para may magandang trabaho ka balang araw” (Study well so you’d land a good job someday).
But truth be told, it’s not that simple. There are countless interviews, exams, and callbacks before you land even one offer.
So when I finally did, even before graduation, people were quick to say, “Wow, sana all!” I smiled, but deep down, I knew this wasn’t the job I had imagined for myself. I didn’t wake up one morning thinking, This is what I want to do for the rest of my life. But when bills start knocking and opportunities are scarce, practicality often wins over passion. So, I took the offer. I told myself that maybe, with time, I’d learn to love it.
At first, everything felt new and exciting—my first company ID, my own desk, my first paycheck. I thought this was the sweetness everyone talked about, the taste of adulthood. There was pride in being able to say, “I’m employed.” My parents were proud. My friends congratulated me. I convinced myself this was a beginning worth celebrating.
But as the months rolled in, the sweetness began to fade.
The daily routine became monotonous: wake up early, sit for eight hours staring at the same screen, then drag myself home only to repeat it the next day. What once felt like an opportunity started to feel like an obligation. The fruit still looked ripe from the outside—but it no longer tasted as good.
My tasks were manageable, and I was lucky to have kind coworkers who made the workload lighter. But the problem wasn’t the work itself—it was the environment. I couldn’t move freely because every action had to be monitored. A single misunderstanding could spark my boss’ anger, sometimes over the smallest things.
One coworker even advised me not to do my best because it could lead to abuse or more tasks.
As a fresh graduate eager to prove myself, that hit me hard. I wanted to contribute, to grow, to do well. But slowly, I learned that excellence here wasn’t rewarded—it was punished.
I later found out that I wasn’t alone. The AXA Mind Health Report (2024) revealed that work-related stress is at its highest among millennials and Gen Zs in the Philippines, with many reporting feelings of burnout, anxiety, and mental exhaustion. The report found that younger employees are increasingly prioritizing work-life balance, yet still find themselves in rigid, high-pressure environments that compromise their well-being. Many stay in their jobs not out of fulfillment, but out of fear of unemployment. After all, even with an official unemployment rate of just 3.7 percent in mid-2025, the quality and stability of available jobs remain uncertain.
I thought of resigning. I felt stuck, stagnant. Yet the phrase kept echoing in my head: “Be grateful you have a job.” A sentence meant to silence rather than comfort.
So, I stayed. I smiled through it all and clung to the illusion of stability. But behind that façade, I realized I was losing more than I was gaining—time, motivation, and, sometimes, even myself.
The sweetness had turned bland. Then the blandness became toxic.
There were days I caught myself staring at the clock, counting down the hours like a prisoner waiting for release. Work became a fruit I had to chew on, even when every bite drained the joy from my day. I told myself it was temporary, that maybe this was just how adulthood worked. You don’t have to love your job; you just have to survive it.
But then I started to wonder: When did survival become the standard? When did we start equating endurance with success?
Excellence shouldn’t be measured by how long we can tolerate monotony, but by how we continue to learn, adapt, and grow despite it. Yet here I am, trapped in an orchard that once promised sweetness, now filled with fruits that look ripe but taste hollow.
Maybe the job isn’t entirely to blame. Maybe it’s me—expecting fulfillment where only stability was promised. Still, I can’t help but hope that one day, I’ll find a fruit that nourishes rather than drains.
Until then, I keep chewing. Because for now, it’s the only fruit I’ve got.
From our Opinion section | |
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History Month: Celebrating the stories of our people | |
Every August, the Philippines observes History Month — Buwan ng Kasaysayan. The National Historical Commission of the Philippines (NHCP) leads the 2025 celebration with the theme “Diwa ng kasaysayan, kabilin sa kabataan” (Spirit of history, heritage for the youth), focusing on educating and engaging the younger generation. Read more |
BY AARON S. MEDINA
Filipinos tend to put more importance on cultural practicesand traditions like “palaspas” on Palm Sunday
In late 2011, a big change occurred in the Catholic Church: the release of the new English translation of the Mass. The response “And also with you” became “And with your spirit.” “I am not worthy to receive you” was now “I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof.”
One change aroused controversy: the more frequent use of the longer Nicene Creed than the shorter Apostles’ Creed. It was controversial because of the theologically-heavy word “consubstantial.”
Many years ago, in a conversation about that very topic, a now Jesuit priest told me: “Hindi iyan maintindihan ng mga tao, ng mga masa.”
And it hit me: This, in my humble opinion as a religious educator, is an issue with the Church in the Philippines. Here, there is a tendency for Catholicism to be more about convenience and less about intellect and effort. It’s more about cultural practices and tradition—more about palaspas during Palm Sunday and puto bumbong during Christmas and less about an actual, day-to-day conversion into becoming better people.
What do I mean by this rather provocative claim?
In the USA, where I lived for two years as a graduate student at Yale University, I was blessed with the most beautiful of faith experiences. Normally, a church in the US would limit their Sunday Masses to around three, with one of those Masses being a Solemn Mass. A Solemn Mass would likely feature incense, a trained choir, use of the pipe organ, and the priest chanting the prayers of the liturgy.
In the Church of St. Vincent Ferrer in New York City, run by Dominican priests, their Sunday Solemn Masses were always at noon. It always had incense, and the priest would solemnly chant the liturgical prayers from start to finish, all within one hour. And, to my joy, the church was always filled with young people! And yes, those Masses were in English, not in Latin.
Another observation, this time on Church music. Churches in the US take their liturgical music and choir training very seriously. The music director of my go-to parish, St. Mary Church in New Haven, Connecticut, holds a doctorate in music. Yes, you read that right: a doctor of music for a church choir. The choir would carefully and meticulously base their music on the antiphons and readings for that Sunday. They didn’t just keep reusing their version of “Tinapay ng Buhay” or “Purihin ang Panginoon” out of convenience.
I benefited significantly from those faith experiences, to say the least. And I was incredibly moved by them. Why? Because both priest and congregation prayed with real intentionality and disposition. Each and every Solemn Mass was a loving devotion to God, to be prepared for with thoughtful minds and open hearts. For them, Mass and other liturgical experiences were about contemplation, deep reflection, and conversion.
Meanwhile, here in the Philippines, the atmosphere I constantly feel is that Catholic life has come to mean attending Masses of convenience. Meaning, let’s just fit Sunday Mass into the schedule so we can go shopping after the service at the mall chapel finished.
Meaning, let’s just stand outside the church so we can leave right away after the final blessing—even before the priest has left the altar area. Meaning, after Mass, we can just go back to our usual ways of lying and cheating other people. It’s an undeniable observation: This is what’s occurring in the Philippines.
Let’s stop and think about all of this very seriously. Is our faith simply a faith of convenience and of feeling good? A faith that’s just cultural practice? A faith that only comes alive during Palm Sunday because of palaspas and Simbang Gabi because of puto bumbong?
The call of Jesus Christ is to love and sin no more, as He says to the woman caught in adultery in the Gospel of John. The faith that Jesus calls us to have is a faith that demands a conversion of our whole selves. It’s a faith that demands justice and our time and effort. Why? Because the grace of our God is worth more than anything in this world! Grace transforms us and those around us beyond our expectations. Indeed, Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
So, here is my call, from both a religious educator’s perspective and a proud member of the lay faithful:
To our beloved Filipino Catholic bishops, priests, and clergy, I sincerely appreciate all your efforts and service. But don’t be afraid to challenge us. After all, you are our spiritual shepherds here in the Philippines. Pray the Mass with intentionality, solemnity, and dignity. Do not rush the prayers because of your 30-minute homily in which you just say the same thing again and again. Go straight to the point. And please, encourage better song selections and choir quality for the Mass.
To my fellow lay faithful, let us use our skills, talents, and time for the good of the Church and of society. We are all called to be holy. All of us. Not all of us can be doctors in music, and many of us are busy with our demanding jobs that we need to earn our keep. But there are so many of us. Imagine the good that can be reaped if we combine our forces and talents.
To God the Holy Trinity, who loves and calls us to love, be glory and honor, now and forever. Amen.
It’s crazy to think that we Gen Zs can spend millions of hours on social media instead of enjoying what Earth has to offer.
I recently spent eight hours bed-rotting, scrolling through TikTok, watching YouTube videos, and chatting with my friends on Messenger. And yet, it feels empty—it feels shallow and disconnected. It made me ask: Are we really experiencing what modern life is, or has it made us more distant from one another?
Modern media has absolutely changed the way we communicate. With a simple tap on our screen, we can reach friends anywhere, keep up with the news, and even build communities that we once had to be physically connected to. Social media, messaging apps, and digital platforms have allowed people to connect, share ideas, and stay informed about important issues. Many of us think that social media is more than just entertainment—it is an aid for connection.
It has been an instrument for spreading awareness about social issues, organizing help during crises, and giving unheard voices a platform. This was especially evident during the height of the pandemic when news, donation drives, and charity efforts peaked in helping those in need.
I remember when I was in senior high school—my class and my university sent out charity donations to those who could not afford basic necessities like face masks, alcohol, and clean clothing. We also organized numerous donation drives to support fellow students who struggled to afford expensive medical bills after surviving COVID-19. Even something as simple as an oxygen tank was a harsh financial burden in an already struggling economy.
But alongside these benefits, modern media has also brought new challenges. One of the most concerning is the rise of content biases. Algorithms tailor our feeds to show content we agree with, making it easy to fall into a cycle of confirmation bias, which can lead to the spread of misinformation.
This has played a significant role in political discussions in the Philippines, where social media has become both a platform for opinions and a breeding ground for misinformation. Rather than bring people together, these digital communities often push us further apart, making meaningful conversations difficult.
When people ask why I don’t have X (formerly Twitter) or engage in threads, it’s because of the toxicity and harmful comments directed at what could have been decent discussions. Instead of civil arguments and constructive criticism, people resort to profanities, rage-baiting, and even death threats.
Modern media has also changed the way we form relationships. Conversations have been reduced to emojis and quick replies, making interactions feel shallow. A laugh that was once heard and shared in real-time is now just a simple “haha” in a chat. While social media has made it easier to stay connected, it often lacks the depth of actual conversations. Many of us spend more time curating our online personas than building real-life relationships.
We see photos of people’s lives—filtered and edited—leading to pressure to measure up. This can contribute to feelings of discontent and isolation, especially among younger generations who grew up in the digital age.
Have you ever compared your life to someone else’s perfectly curated Instagram posts and felt a sense of FOMO? Have you ever felt pressured to maintain a TikTok streak just to keep a connection alive, even when the conversations felt empty? Because I have. The stereotypes of having the perfect body, the perfect face, a good work-life balance, and more made me feel like I was wasting time and space, knowing I couldn’t live up to those ideals.
Where do we go from here? Should we just disconnect? That doesn’t seem like the answer either. Instead, we need to be intentional about how we use modern media. We can start by being mindful of the content we consume, stepping outside our homes, and engaging in deeper, more meaningful conversations. It’s also crucial to balance online interactions with offline relationships—taking time to be present with the people around us. Maybe that means putting our phones away when hanging out with friends or choosing to call someone instead of texting when they need us.
It may be easier said than done, especially with how convenient it is to maintain an online presence. But trust me, as an introvert who doesn’t like going outside or talking to people, you will need it.
As I log off and put my phone down after writing this piece, I ask myself: Are we truly using modern media to connect, or are we just filling the silence?
What would happen if, for just a moment, we choose to disconnect—to be present in the real world rather than the digital one? The answer, perhaps, lies in what we truly want to achieve. And those choices, no matter how small, can make life a tiny bit better—starting with simply turning your phone off.
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Sebastian Isaac Quiambao, 22, is a third-year digital journalism student at the Mapua University. He lives in Taguig City.
The world’s productivity comes at the expense of the quality of our lives. Opportunities unimaginable in the past have now become a reality for many, thanks to technology. So many are now able to earn a living in the comfort of their pajamas. People can now afford better experiences—food, travel, fashion, and gadgets.
And yet, we are lonelier than ever. Are we aiming for the wrong target? Could we be missing the point?
In November 2023, the World Health Organization declared loneliness “a global public health concern.” Studies have linked loneliness to health risks including heart diseases, stroke, and dementia. In 2024, US surgeon general Vivek Murthy declared loneliness an epidemic in America. He described loneliness as “feeling invisible,” “that if I was gone tomorrow, no one would notice,” and “having no one to be vulnerable with.”
For many of us, loneliness may just feel like a void, or that “there’s something missing.”
Acknowledging it at the right time allows us to find solutions. Ignoring it comes at a steep price. Here are some ways we make our lives lonelier and the antidotes to each.
1. Lack of awareness with one’s inner world. Many of our perceived problems are symptoms of something small. So many of us do not even know how we feel. All we know is that there’s a feeling of discomfort. Our low tolerance for the slightest discomfort prevents us from even being curious. We misdiagnose it as boredom so we soothe it with distractions. Drinking, binge-watching, eating, shopping—all these could be attempts to silence what’s begging to be heard inside of us.
Antidote: Make it a habit to check in with yourself in silence. Inquire into what’s happening in your mind and body. What sensations do you feel? What thoughts are running in your head that are causing the sensations? What emotions are emerging? Awareness alone could already be healing.
2. Shallow connections. Our deepest desire is to be seen and heard. The busy-ness of our calendar doesn’t equate to depth of connection. What determines the quality of our connections is how much of ourselves we share, not the number of interactions. Our inability to go deep is what keeps things at surface level.
Antidote: Find your person. Find someone who can be there to be present with you in exploring what’s beneath the surface thoughts, anxieties, and worries. Give words to your feelings even if they defy logic. In these moments, the best company is someone who allows us to feel safe to dive into the scary internal world we’ve created for ourselves.
3. Vulnerability. So many of us can’t have meaningful connections because we wear masks. We pretend to be okay even when we’re not. We mostly gaslight ourselves first, talk logic into validating our own emotions. Once we’re convinced, we convince other people of our lies, too.
Antidote: Find a way to feel a sense of safety within yourself. An image or sound in our mind that calms us is a great choice. Sometimes, it needs to be in the presence of someone you trust. Once you find this safe space, understand the torments that are happening inside. Are there fears, regrets, and hurts that are bubbling up? Just acknowledging their presence allows us to know ourselves better.
It’s a great start to have the space for vulnerability.
4. Being hyper dependent. We pride ourselves in being self-sufficient. Not needing anyone has become a goal. The ease with which we can achieve so many things has increased social isolation. This hyperpower has also given rise to the illusion that we are happy on our own. This illusion branches into thinking we are wasting other people’s time, and vice versa.
Antidote: Be part of a community. If this is something new, it may not feel good all the time, especially at the start. Familiarize yourself with giving and getting small favors. This is how networks begin. Having our presence acknowledged and our absence noticed are messages that our ewxistence matters. This is the best antidote for isolation.
5. Care for something. Somewhere along the way, we somehow got the idea that not caring is cool. Apathy and numbness are trending. With all the bad news going around, it makes sense to want to shield ourselves from the everyday trauma of reality. Taking the indifference to an extreme is bound to impact our own life experience.
Antidote: Choose an advocacy that resonates with you. Become an active or silent contributor of a positive vision. Allow yourself to feel pain for something you feel strongly about. This opens the passion to make a difference the opposite cause.
Loneliness and connections are two ways to go about life. The choice is ours, and ours alone. That choice determines the quality of our lives. Choose wisely.
