
This might not be the typical expat blog, written by a German expat, living in the Philippines since 1999. It's different. In English and in German. Check it out! Enjoy reading! Dies mag' nun wirklich nicht der typische Auswandererblog eines Deutschen auf den Philippinen sein. Er soll etwas anders sein. In Englisch und in Deutsch! Viel Spass beim Lesen!
You plan to move to the Philippines? Wollen Sie auf den Philippinen leben?
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!
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Saturday, February 7, 2026
The Filipino multi-concept lifestyle store toasts its arrival in Bangkok with Thai spice and cocktails

National Arts Month 2026: Legarda seeks stronger support for Filipino artists, creative communities
At A Glance
- Senator Loren Legarda has made the call for stronger support for Filipino artists, artisans and creative communities whose work keeps local culture alive and drives innovation across the country.
Senator Loren Legarda has made the call for stronger support for Filipino artists, artisans and creative communities whose work keeps local culture alive and drives innovation across the country.

Legarda made the call when she marked the opening of February as National Arts Month 2026. This year’s celebration, “Ani ng Sining: Katotohanan at Giting,” centers on how artists and cultural workers confront contemporary challenges with courage and creative integrity.
“Every February, we celebrate the soul of our nation through the arts. This year’s theme reminds us that truth and courage are lived through the creativity of our people,” said Legarda, chairperson of the Senate Committee on Culture and the Arts.
“The arts continue to guide us toward justice, cultural strength, and progress,” she further said.
Two key measures she recently authored and sponsored that have passed on third and final reading in the Senate play a crucial role in promoting Filipino arts and culture:
the Aklan Piña Conservation and Innovation Center Act (Senate Bill No. 1425) and the Schools of Living Traditions Act (Senate Bill No. 1507).
SBN 1425 seeks to establish the Aklan Piña Conservation and Innovation Center in Kalibo to expand the planting of Red Spanish pineapple, build facilities for research and innovation, and strengthen cooperation among weavers, farmers, and educational institutions.
Meanwhile, SBN 1507 institutionalizes the Schools of Living Traditions (SLTs) as community based, intergenerational cultural education mechanisms.
“SLTs are sanctuaries of wisdom where cultural masters transmit knowledge to younger generations, ensuring that oral traditions, crafts, and rituals continue to inspire our future,” she said.
Legarda’s long-standing work in culture and heritage policy includes major laws such as the National Cultural Heritage Act, National Museum of the Philippines Act, Philippine Creative Industries Development Act, Philippine Tropical Fabrics Law, Cultural Mapping Act, and National Music Competitions for Young among others—collectively designed to make the cultural sector a driver of employment, innovation, and inclusive development.
The senator also initiated the National Arts and Crafts Fair (NACF), launched in 2016, which continues to give local artisans national exposure and market opportunities.
The 2025 edition, held at the Megatrade Halls of SM Megamall, featured over 300 exhibitors from Luzon, Visayas, and Mindanao, showcasing how heritage and culture can sustain livelihoods while preserving tradition.
She said this year’s celebration of the National Arts Month is both a celebration and a call to action: to honor Filipino artistry, to uphold truth and courage, and to ensure that culture continues to shape a fair and sustainable society.
“Every work of art and every piece of culture is part of the larger story of who we are as a people. When we stand beside the artists and cultural workers who keep that story alive, we also keep our future more imaginative, more just, and more humane," Legarda said.
The orchard called work
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.
Friday, February 6, 2026
When fear of failure ran my life
By Anna Mae Lamentillo
Published Feb 6, 2026 12:05 am
Fear of failure didn’t announce itself as fear. It called itself discipline. Ambition. “Wanting it badly enough.” It looked responsible from the outside. I was the person who stayed late, double-checked everything, said yes before I had time to think. What I didn’t understand then was that I wasn’t chasing success—I was running from the humiliation of falling short.
Failure, to me, was never abstract. It had a face. It sounded like people saying, I knew it. It felt like being exposed as someone who had overreached. I didn’t fear mistakes as much as I feared the moment afterward, when the room goes quiet and everyone decides who you really are. Fear taught me that one misstep could cancel out years of effort. That belief changed how I moved through my life.
I started choosing the safer version of myself. The project I knew I could complete instead of the one that excited me. The opinion that wouldn’t rock the table. The goal that looked impressive but didn’t risk public disappointment. Fear made me strategic, but also small. It taught me to measure my worth by outcomes, not effort, and to treat rest like laziness I hadn’t earned yet.
The irony is that I was often successful—and still terrified. Fear of failure doesn’t leave when you succeed; it raises the stakes. Now there’s more to lose. Now people expect something from you. Every win becomes a narrow ledge you’re afraid to fall from. I learned how to smile while thinking, This can all disappear.
But the hardest part wasn’t failing. It was trying to explain how afraid I was—and not being believed.
When I said I was struggling, people pointed to my résumé. When I said I felt stuck, they said I was lucky. When I said I was scared, they told me to be confident, as if confidence were a switch I was refusing to flip. Disbelief followed a pattern: if you look capable, your fear must be imaginary. If you’re functioning, you must be fine.
There is something uniquely destabilizing about being told your fear isn’t real while you are living inside it. You start to wonder if you’re weak for feeling it. You start hiding it better. You stop asking for help and start performing competence. Fear of failure thrives in that silence. It grows when it’s invisible.
Eventually, fear taught me another lesson: I was spending my life trying to be believed by people who only respected outcomes. People who praised me when I succeeded and disappeared when I struggled. People who confused my fear with ingratitude and my honesty with excuse-making. I kept explaining myself, thinking clarity would earn me understanding. It didn’t.
So this column is a line I’m drawing.
I no longer believe in the voices that only trust me when I win. I don’t believe in the advice that tells me fear is a flaw instead of information. I don’t believe in shrinking my goals just to avoid the look on someone’s face when things don’t work out.
Fear of failure has changed my life. It has cost me risks I didn’t take, words I swallowed, versions of myself I postponed. But it has also taught me something essential: belief starts inward. If I outsource my self-trust to people who only believe in success, I will always be at their mercy.
I am learning to fail in smaller, braver ways. To try without rehearsing my apology. To let disappointment be survivable instead of catastrophic. And when someone doesn’t believe me—when they dismiss the fear, minimize the cost—I remind myself: their disbelief is not evidence. It’s just a limit.
I believe myself now. And that, finally, feels like progress.









