Severina Ongpin
The first thing I noticed on my first trip to New York was how people stayed in the middle of a city that was constantly moving. Strangers lingered on public benches, children chased each other through parks, senior citizens played chess beneath trees, and students read nearby with coffee in hand.
A year later in Singapore, I observed the same quiet rhythm in their own spaces, such as hawker centers and waterfront promenades, where people from different backgrounds and generations gathered freely. What struck me most was that Singapore’s climate was the same, if not much worse than Manila’s humid and tropical heat.
In a world increasingly dominated by short-form content and constant technology, these third spaces offer something the internet cannot: genuine human presence.
Yet in Manila, where many social spaces are hidden behind entrance fees, commercial expectations, or concerns over safety and cleanliness, opportunities for connection often feel conditional.
These cities understood the value of what sociologists call third spaces: places outside of home and work where people can gather, linger, and interact freely.
Parks, libraries, plazas, community centers, and public benches allow connections to form naturally without the expectation of spending money.
In increasingly isolating urban environments, these spaces offer relief from the rigid routines of school, work, and crowded homes. This is especially important in the Philippines, where many young people live in densely populated areas with limited privacy or recreational spaces. While such spaces should be common in a city of millions, Manila tells a different story.
Here, social life is often confined to privately owned establishments, where staying requires spending money. Although the city has public areas such as Luneta Park, Arroceros Forest Park, and several plazas, their condition and accessibility often limit how people use them, as they lack security, cleanliness, and basic amenities.
As a result, many students buy drinks simply to secure a place to study, while groups of friends gather in shopping centers because few alternatives exist.
Although these places appear public, they remain shaped by commercial expectations. Malls have become the default gathering spaces for many Filipinos; they only fill a gap left by the absence of accessible parks, libraries, plazas, and pedestrian-friendly environments. In this context, the community itself can begin to feel transactional.
Even when public spaces are available, accessibility alone is not enough. A park may be open to everyone, but if it feels unsafe, unclean, or unbearably hot, it cannot function as a meaningful third space. The challenge is creating public spaces while designing them with comfort, safety, and dignity in mind.
By contrast, cities like Singapore demonstrate how thoughtful urban planning, through providing shade, greenery, cleanliness, and efficient public infrastructure, can transform even a humid tropical environment into one that encourages community interaction rather than isolation.
In Singapore, it was common to see people sitting along sidewalks, waterfront steps, or public walkways despite the heat because these spaces were intentionally designed for comfort. In Manila, however, sidewalks are often uneven, poorly maintained, or treated as extensions of the road rather than spaces for people. This suggests that the primary issue is not the climate but rather the condition of the environment.
When cities fail to create spaces where people feel safe and comfortable enough to gather, the consequences extend far beyond urban design. The absence of meaningful third spaces slowly reshapes the way communities interact, limiting opportunities for connection, affecting mental health, social trust, community, and relationships.
My experiences in New York and Singapore showed how public spaces can shape daily life. They allow strangers to interact, elderly residents to remain socially active, and young people to gather without the pressure of spending money.
If Manila hopes to foster stronger communities rather than deeper isolation, conversations about third spaces can no longer remain a secondary priority. When every social interaction is tied to spending money, community becomes increasingly exclusive and transactional. But when people are given safe and welcoming spaces to gather freely, connection emerges naturally.
Yet third spaces are sustained not only by urban planning but also by the people who use them. Respect, cleanliness, and consideration help to keep these environments safe and welcoming.
In the end, belonging is built by the shared decision to protect and preserve our spaces.
