The LaSallian

Author: Michael Anthony Gabriel Go

  • Rant and Rave: Going from zero to hero with ‘Dispatch’

    Rant and Rave: Going from zero to hero with ‘Dispatch’

    In 2012, game developer Telltale Games released The Walking Dead, an episodic choices-matter graphic adventure game. With five episodes upon its release, it was the first of its kind to receive critical acclaim and was recognized as the 2012 Game Awards’ Game of the Year. This kicked off the golden age of the genre, with multiple games drawing inspiration from The Walking Dead and all attaining similar amounts of success.

    The decline of Telltale Games, however, would soon usher in a dormant period for the genre with the studio’s closure in 2018. This drought seeped into the new decade until last November, when AdHoc Studio, a studio composed of former Telltale developers, announced the release of Dispatch, a new episodic choices-matter game set in a world of battered superheroes and reformed villains. With a story orbiting around second chances, Dispatch breathes life into a tired genre, showing the true power of reinvention and redemption. 

    What makes a hero?

    What happens when a superhero loses what makes them “super?” Dispatch confronts this question through the story of a third-generation superhero named Mecha Man, who, after a reckless mission to avenge his father, loses his robotic suit and is sadly forced to hang up his cape. He is soon recruited by the Superhero Dispatch Network (SDN) to handle a ragtag team of ex-villains and teach them what it truly means to be a superhero.

    Dispatch is a deconstruction of the superhero genre. Instead of playing the dashing hero, you’re a dispatcher guiding the “real” heroes on various missions. Over the course of the game, it becomes glaringly obvious that its heart lies not in the explosive set pieces or relentless action, but in the team you have been entrusted to lead. The Phoenix Program’s eccentric ensemble is the game’s emotional center, their histories gradually revealing themselves as you further dig into why each one turned their back on crime. 

    Each member of this so-called Z-Squad comes with their own interesting quirks and riveting backgrounds. From the deadly assassin-for-hire turned hero Coupe, to the responsible yet goofy Blonde Blazer, the SDN crew is a whirlwind of charm and chaos, lovable in all the right and wrong ways. These characters come to life with a stacked cast of acclaimed voice artists, such as Aaron Paul, Jeffrey Wright, and veterans from the role-playing podcast Critical Role. Even gaming creators MoistCr1TiKaL and jacksepticeye deliver outstanding performances, rendering characters so true-to-life that they only make difficult decisions all the more devastating later on in the story.

    Each dilemma presented feels do-or-die as you grapple with the high stakes of each mission. Through its intricate world-building and vivid dialogue, Dispatch not only invites players into its world but incites their investment in its rich lore and magnetic cast of characters. If AdHoc Studio’s goal was to recapture what made the original Telltale games so special, they have certainly succeeded. A certified emotional rollercoaster, Dispatch will have you bawling your eyes out, rolling on the floor laughing, and seething with rage. Best of all, it not only offers a great premise but sticks the landing, signaling a comeback as inspiring as Mecha Man’s for the genre.  

    If it is not broken

    Like the games that inspired it, Dispatch is a choice-driven adventure where the player is presented with options that ultimately determine their narrative’s trajectory. Even seemingly inane decisions lead to grave and unforeseen consequences down the road. Too often, however, these types of games play more like TV shows instead of actual interactive experiences, with gameplay reduced to endless clicking through dialogue or uninspired quick-time events. 

    AdHoc absolves itself from this common pitfall with its main gameplay loop: the dispatching. As the handler of the Z-Team, you send them out on missions of varying needs, and you have to determine which hero is best for each pressing emergency. Assigning a character to a certain call may have them unavailable for another, leaving you to deal with whatever results come from your crucial choices as the team’s dependable dispatcher. The dispatching mechanic is a refreshing reinvention of the typical visual novel-esque experiences prevalent in the genre, with many players clamoring for its integration as the sole focus of a standalone title. 

    Still, the game is far from perfect. The mini-hacking segments featured throughout are quite simplistic and feel more like padding than actual gameplay, recalling the tedium of previous choice-based games. And while many choices feel critical in the moment, some ultimately fail to ripple throughout the storyline as they should. This lessened impact leaves much to be desired, especially for longtime fans of the genre. 

    Dispatch is driven by a story it is eager to tell. While that story is compelling, it can overshadow the interactive gameplay traditionally expected from the genre. Still, Dispatch takes a new spin on a familiar formula, keeping the format fresh while remaining accessible to both new and old enthusiasts. For those willing to embrace its story-first approach, a thrilling journey awaits—one that proves time and time again that heroes can rise in the most unexpected ways.

    A phoenix from the ashes

    Despite its issues, Dispatch is a “phenomamal” return to form for a kind many have written off. Not since the prime years of Telltale Games has the genre seen such critical and commercial success. Not only does it deliver through its story and characters, but it is also a joy to watch with its gorgeous art style and fluid animation. Many of its moments are simply mesmerizing, crafting an emotional and visual experience worth picking up.

    With its success, it is safe to say the legacy of Telltale Games is in good hands with AdHoc Studio. In a time so dominated by short-form content and fast-paced multiplayer games, Dispatch is a love letter from and for those who not only care about good narratives but also take the time to tell them well. When Dispatch asks what it means to be a hero, it sends us into the role—and through our choices and gameplay, we get to define what it means for us.

  • Pixelated pursuit: The pull and gamble of gacha games

    Pixelated pursuit: The pull and gamble of gacha games

    Gacha games, like Japanese gachapon machines, offer randomized pulls—via loot boxes or limited banners—to win characters or gear. Spanning genres from real-time strategy, turn-based role-playing games (RPGs) to massive multiplayer online RPGs, hits like Genshin Impact and Honkai: Star Rail wow players with their flashy visuals, intriguing lore, and captivating soundtracks. Through these features, gacha systems prey on impulses, as paid transactions fuel a disguised monetizing machine.

    Thirdy Romero (II, BSIS) and Sophie Sy (BSCS, ‘25) both began their foray into the world of gacha gaming on a friend’s invitation. Meanwhile, renowned gaming guide creator Sevy or SevyPlays on YouTube and Twitch first dove into the Hoyoverse after Genshin Impact’s Zhongli trailer lured her in. Five years since they stepped into the world of gacha, Sophie revels in the grind of gameplay; Thirdy splurges on exclusive banners to max out characters; and Sevy channels her passion through informative gamer guides. 

    From innocent introductions to full-fledged gaming routines, their journeys reveal how gambling culture leaks into seemingly harmless games, normalizing addictive loops among younger players. 

    With enticing chance-based pulls and appealing graphics, gacha games fuel not only excitement, but spending as well.

    Pulling planning

    “The idea of getting a 0.1 percent [drop-rate] character is extremely enticing,” Thirdy admits. Determined to pursue limited‐time banners, he often burns through in-game resources and his savings. “If it’s not here, it’ll be in the next—that high drives me to keep going,” he says, enthralled by the promise of a game-changing golden pull.

    While Thirdy chases rare drops to hasten progression, Sophie’s free-to-play (F2P) approach relies entirely on earned resources and meticulous planning. In her view, paying hands you “the keys to the lock” on premium characters, consequently bypassing the sense of achievement she gains from grinding: “It feels like all the hard work that I’ve earned kind of just gets burned away with some money.”

    For F2P players, the stakes remain high even without monetary investment. “You can beat end-game content without swiping, but in exchange for money, you are spending time,” Sevy notes. As such, many players debate whether a weapon or character is worth the purchase. 

    This conundrum is reflected in the many questions Sevy has received since her Genshin Impact playthrough channel’s launch. To ease her fans’ decision-making, she has since provided informative guides that weigh the pros and cons of pulling for specific items, carving out her niche as she navigates the gacha community alongside her fans.

    Beyond fun and games

    Gacha games take after other “freemium” game models that offer fun gameplay loops alongside microtransactions that improve the experience. Casino-like tactics like bright lights, lively animations, and beautiful designs further monopolize a player’s attention and spending appetite. In fact, the term “pulling” itself derives its meaning from the act of pulling on a slot machine.

    Cognizant of these mechanics, Sophie remarks, “I always say to myself that this is gambling.” Thirdy and Sevy also recognize it as such, with Sevy stressing its appeal of  “gambling without being told it’s gambling.” This thin line has landed video games in hot water before. In 2018, Belgium banned the use of random-chance “loot boxes” in games like Overwatch despite being optional. For the Belgian Gaming Commission, the loot boxes were considered a form of gambling easily accessible to children.

    As developers profit from gambling-like systems, players have developed their own labels around spending. The term “whale,” for instance, describes someone who has funneled an exorbitant amount of money into games. “I think I spent around P5000 in one afternoon,” shares Thirdy, a so-called “dolphin,” a player who sits between an F2P and a whale. 

    Such high numbers become less surprising when one considers the deceptive “dark patterns” that trick players into spending, usually through transactions that help players progress. The fear of missing out is also similarly exploited through time-sensitive events with must-have characters, driving impulsive purchases before the opportunity disappears. “That person will never get to access that event again if they don’t play it now,” Sevy emphasizes. 

    Despite this, gamers still play and spend even while aware of such schemes. “If the gameplay is really good, it’s my way of supporting the company,” explains Thirdy. To them, they are simply paying the price of having fun and sustaining that enjoyment.   

    Winner takes all

    The addictive aspect may entice players to keep rolling, but it’s the other parts of the gameplay that keep them engaged. The simplicity of the gacha system and its pay-to-win scheme forces players to critique games for their mechanics, design, and world-building. Sophie remarks, “Being free-to-play has made me engage with the game[‘s] mechanics. [Watching] whale showcases on YouTube is very fun, but I think the most fun I’ve had with any gacha game really is just using whatever [bad] units I have to build a really great team.”

    Meanwhile, Sevy appreciates content creators who highlight alternatives to spending. “I really value those who try to lessen the blow of the gacha gambling by giving as much information as possible related to what you get if you spend, and how you can make up for any gameplay gaps even if you don’t,” she claims, emphasizing the need for content that doesn’t punish players for missing out. 

    But even if players do miss out on content, Thirdy reminds, “[Limited drops] are always going to come back. That’s just [the developers’] way of hooking you in. If you really want to spend, just make sure you know what you’re doing.” Gachas never truly guarantee a win, so with real money at stake, players have much more to lose than a mere 50/50. Sevy asserts that players must stay vigilant against a system that ultimately works against them. 

    Risk and reward drive the thrill of gacha games, but players must remember to keep them as just that: games.  As immersive as some games may be, losses in a fantasy world are fleeting. There are always counterstrategies to overcome insurmountable trials, and any true gamer knows victory comes sweetest with every bit of effort it takes to get it.

    This article was published in The LaSallian‘s October 2025 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSOct2025.

  • Aboard the EDSA Carousel: The wheels that move a megacity

    Aboard the EDSA Carousel: The wheels that move a megacity

    Historically, Epifanio de los Santos Avenue (EDSA) has always been one of the most significant thoroughfares in the Philippines. Apart from bearing witness to a momentous revolution, it connects six of Metro Manila’s 17 cities and municipalities. Over the years, however, EDSA has also become infamous for its heavy traffic congestion, revealing the broader challenges of urban mobility in the capital region. 

    Combating this plaguing dilemma is the EDSA Carousel, a bus route traversing the entirety of the highway in its own dedicated lane, barricaded from the usual gridlock that paralyzes much of EDSA. Introduced in June 2020, the innovative busway operated fare-free until the start of 2023. Christiane Tia, a fraud representative, commutes almost daily from Cubao to Bonifacio Global City (BGC) using the Carousel. “It’s like night and day. On one side, there’s literally nothing passing through, and [in the bus lane] you just go like 80 miles per hour,” she shares astonishingly. 

    But with the anticipation of the EDSA Rebuild project, even the slightest possibility of the Carousel’s closure has stirred anxiety among daily commuters who have come to rely on its speed and efficiency as a rare reprieve from Metro Manila’s suffocating traffic jams.

    The EDSA Carousel is beyond a lane—it stands as a lifeline of struggling commuters under a flawed transportation system.

    The streets we call home

    Metro Manila, home to almost 15 million people, has its population density felt most in its public transportation: cramped train cars, shoulder-to-shoulder jeeps, and bustling bus stations. In these hectic environments, the EDSA Carousel provides an incredibly essential service to the workers of the capital. 

    “Inside the bus, it is very comfortable if you get seated,” says Dominic Ucab, a software engineer, describing his trips home on the Carousel as a way to decompress after a tiring work day. For many commuters, public transit is the last leg of an arduous journey, something to signal the end of another rough day at work.

    This is especially true for those who labor long after dark. As pointed out by Makati commuter Gieanne Maluto: “Buses can be found even during late nights,” referring to the EDSA Carousel’s 24/7 operations. In comparison, the LRT and MRT lines close their doors by around 10 pm. 

    More than convenience, the busway is also a matter of affordability. For the average commuter who may not afford their own private vehicle, it triumphs in terms of time and cost efficiency. “I’m sure that more people benefit [from the] bus lane than if we were to give it up for an extra lane for the cars,” Tia asserts. With every bus containing 60 passengers versus a car’s handful, more people are able to traverse through the Metro without slogging through the endless lines of parallel traffic. 

    Jumping on the Carousel 

    The existence of the EDSA Carousel demonstrates the insufficiencies of Metro Manila’s transportation options for commuters. Some see the Carousel as a mere band-aid solution; but for others, it is a life belt not to be tampered with.  

    Digging even deeper, such an attitude towards the bus lane underscores the capital region’s car-centric approach to urban planning and transportation. Ucab finds it “very unfair to say that because of the bus lane, it’s congested for the riders or the cars to go through.”

    Meanwhile, Tia predicts that the bus lane’s proposed removal would likely lead to an increase in vehicular traffic, rather than help alleviate it. One lane would be freed up, but thousands of bus riders would look to private cars or motorcycles, multiplying the very agents of traffic and thus worsening such conditions.

    Filling in deficiencies in Metro Manila’s transportation, the Carousel remains a primary point-to-point option for commuters like Tia who chooses to take the bus for its proximity to her home. “The MRT station is one tricycle [ride] away. So, you take a tricycle and then you walk [for] 10 minutes. [Meanwhile,] the bus station is like a two-minute walk,” she says. Maluto shares a similar experience, explaining, “Buses are more practical for me than the MRT as PITX is much closer to my residence in Cavite.”  

    Still, Tia points out the bus lanes’ many flaws. “You go through so many stairs and then you go through a footbridge. And then you go down five more flights of stairs to get to the bus stop just to cross the street,” as she narrates her usual hike through Ortigas Station. Such an issue should have been resolved with installed elevators, but these are often inoperable. This lack of accessibility affects disadvantaged commuters, especially the elderly and people with disabilities, as they are forced through a treacherous labyrinth of hurdles. 

    Rerouting toward change

    For commuters, whether workers or students, the EDSA Carousel is more than just a daily ride; it is a lifeline. Maluto hopes that the currently available methods of transportation not only expand but also enforce policies to make the rides go smoother. “Buses are often overcrowded, and conductors still try to fit in more passengers. It would also help to add clearer signs and better security [measures],” she imparts.

    Tia, on the other hand, echoes a larger concern: transportation planning often centers around already developed business districts while neglecting inner communities and less connected neighborhoods. “To only limit our train lines to those bigger cities is such a huge disservice to the inner communities of the city,” she conveys. 

    Ucab shares this sentiment, adding that decentralizing Metro Manila’s business districts must go hand in hand with streamlining the commuting experience. One of his key hopes is the implementation of a unified payment system across all modes of public transit. “[The] MRT and LRT [already use] Beep cards. [The government] might as well [implement] it in all buses [so] you can easily go through and not worry about getting change or physical money,” he suggests. Even with the promise of the Metro train fares allowing debit and credit cards as payment, this convenience is still not shared by the Carousel.

    The three commuters emphasize how the story of the EDSA Carousel is more than just a debate over its lanes. It is a reflection of how we Filipinos value the time and dignity that go into commuting. While its flaws are real and in need of urgent fixing, the bus lane stands as a rare instance of public infrastructure working efficiently for the people who need it most. Because until our transportation systems learn to prioritize moving people over vehicles, the Philippines will keep going in circles—when what we really need is to move forward.

    This article was published in The LaSallian‘s June 2025 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSJune2025.

  • Coloring the silver screen by diversifying queer narratives

    Coloring the silver screen by diversifying queer narratives

    In the Philippines, the topic of queerness has always been in an odd limbo between acceptance and rejection. It is not necessarily indifference, as many Filipinos simultaneously accept and admonish the LGBTQ+ community. This stagnance is evident even in the local film industry. 

    While the country is no stranger to presenting queerness on the silver screen, it often portrays a stereotype. LGBTQ+ actors like Vice Ganda are frequently cast in the same tired eccentric gay character that audiences point to and laugh at. Opportunities to tell authentic stories of the queer experience are instead packaged into playsafe content to market to the majorly conservative Filipino viewership.

    But this is changing. As Filipinos grow increasingly conscious of LGBTQ+ experiences, the demand for stories telling genuine queer stories has skyrocketed. The critical success of movies like Die Beautiful, which weaves a narrative of trans acceptance in an unaccepting environment, has audiences hungry for movies just like it. 

    The increase in authentic queer representation in Filipino cinema allows viewers to feel seen through the big screen.

    For many LGBTQ+ individuals, film is their chosen weapon of resistance. Jason Liwag, a screenwriting professor and film programmer for the Quezon City International Film Festival, credits the role of independent film in this transformation. In the age of the Internet, aspiring filmmakers can showcase their art to millions for free, allowing a general audience to see the world from a perspective that often goes unheard.

    Seeking genuine representation

    Philippine cinema has not always painted queerness with vibrance. In its earlier years, these portrayals were monochromatically limited to archetypal characters. “Medyo limited or wala at all ‘yung queer love [stories],” comments Department of Communication Lecturer Fatrick Tabada,  who wrote for the dark comedy piece Patay Na Si Hesus. “Why are we only talking about gays [as] crossdressers or queer people as parloristas…it’s much harder to find a compendium of similar size about lesbians, for example, right?” Liwag also probes.

    (There is little representation of queer love stories.)

    Harmful as they were, both Liwag and Tabada acknowledge that these stereotypes still paved the way for queer representation. There is nothing wrong with the outlandish parlorista as they do exist in real life, but Tabada stresses the need to shed light on the nuances of queer characters. “[It’s] more about how they’re perceived; how well we flesh these characters out. [Because if a character] is poorly written, that’s a bigger injustice,” Liwag says. 

    Multidimensional queer characters make them more relatable for queer audiences who seek authentic representation on screen. For one, Pao* (III, AB-CAM) feels that it is through colorful films that he finds a safe space to relate to, such as by dressing up in the same flamboyance as Vice. “[Kasi] nung bata ako, ‘di ko naman alam ‘yung mga [queer] terminologies. So it kind of helped me in becoming the person I am now,” he ponders. 

    (Because when I was younger, I didn’t know all these queer terminologies.)

    Much like the experiences of Pao, themes central to the queer community are now more accessible on the big screen. “I think that’s also tied to this boom in short films. Because of digital filmmaking, it became much cheaper and it could be done by everyone,” Liwag posits. As technology makes filmmaking less far-fetched, LGBTQ+ films and filmmakers themselves now conveniently and effectively reach broader audiences who are in different stages of exploring their queerness. 

    Sublimation of the queer

    The redundancy of certain archetypes, entertaining as they are, can strike as reductive of the queer experience. For instance, these characters are often resigned to providing comedic relief and little else. And even when given center stage, queer leads might come across as one-note when remaining positive in the face of strife, written to stay digestible for viewers.

    On this constraint from screenwriters, Liwag notes, “There’s this pressure to sanitize or sand the most complicated parts of ourselves.” It is a form of censorship that is imposed by studio heads in order to cater to wider audiences by playing safe. In turn, such expectations have pressured writers into necessitating these measures for their work to be greenlit. Studios may not realize it yet, but presenting solely agreeable queer protagonists can make plotlines fall flat. Uninhibited authenticity resonates best, as depicting a story that is shameless can impact even non-queer viewers. 

    Alternatively, it can be limiting to expect LGBTQ+ films to be proponents of societal progress. “By trapping it in this frame of importance or education, we’re losing out on so many stories and we’re devaluing different types of filmmaking,” Liwag muses. After all, the purpose of this medium is to tell all sorts of stories—the new and the old, the inventive and the derivative, the relatable and the downright insane. 

    Girl, boy, bakla, tomboy, et cetera

    Although it should not fall onto queer filmmakers alone to hold the audience’s hand along the way, it is through risk that the breadth of on-screen stories can expand beyond what studios have cycled through for decades. “Nagkataon lang talaga na I’m a queer [person] and I love telling queer stories. So, ngayon, I think sobrang helpful din ng film sa pagpalaganap ng [LGBTQIA+] stories,” explains Tabada on how personal experiences can mold passion projects. Simultaneously, these need not be the sole driving force behind the topics explored.

    (It just so happens I’m a queer person and I love telling queer stories. So, now, I think films are very helpful in the proliferation of LGBTQ+ stories.)

    Queer Philippine cinema is only beginning to stretch its legs, and where it is headed is still a blank slate. Filmmaking as a whole has become much more accessible given the wide array of video-capturing equipment available across price ranges. Anyone can pick up a lens and create, perhaps even making for a much more raw and intimate encapsulation of varied experiences.

    With this shift, inspired individuals who seek to venture into the unknown are both able to spin tales sans studio censorship and seek appreciation. “What I’m liking about this crop of filmmakers that are emerging now is that they’re less interested [in] explaining the culture because the expected reader is no longer the cisgender, straight audience member,” observes Liwag of the paradigmatic shift in viewership, which makes it so queer storytellers need not service certain parameters.

    There is plenty of excitement and ambition now that there is room to deviate from formulaic expectations of what queerness should be. And it allows for more than one type of narrative to triumph. 

    This article was published in The LaSallian‘s March 2025 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSMarch2025.

  • Where grief rests, love lingers

    Where grief rests, love lingers

    Birthdays, graduation, weddings, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve—these celebrations are sweeter when spent with family, whether the ones we were born into or the ones we choose. Nothing beats the comfort and contentment of being surrounded by loved ones in celebration of milestones in life. Yet, these moments may also be bittersweet reminders of missing faces and empty seats.

    “It’s heartbreaking to spend a holiday without someone you love,” shares Dolores*. In 2023, her family celebrated Christmas Eve in the hospital where her brother was confined for heart complications. “We greeted each other [a merry Christmas] for the last time without even knowing it,” she says wistfully.

    2024 marked Dolores’ first Christmas without her brother. Admittedly, she doubts that yuletide celebrations would ever feel the same for her family. The holidays are often symbolized as a period of joy and togetherness, but for some people like Dolores, it instead became a challenging time to navigate grief.

    A silent night

    When someone passes on, everything changes, as what was meant to be constant no longer is. This was the case for Juliana Alincastre, a psychology student from Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan, who lost her father seven years ago. Since his passing, every year felt a bit lonelier. Her mother had it the hardest. “She just lost the love of her life, of course it’s hard,” she mentions, gutted. In previous years, her mother would keep the spirit of the holidays alive and shining; now, the house grew much quieter.

    “We didn’t really celebrate Christmas anymore,” Alincastre says. For the bereaved, it’s difficult to get into the joyous holiday spirit when such a meaningful part is missing: family. That first Christmas without Alincastre’s father was particularly painful. She spent it immersed in memories of him, weighed down by guilt amid the fanfare over unresolved resentment. “I didn’t get to tell him [that] I love [him] when he was still alive.” 

    She described past celebrations lasting until the break of dawn. These nights turned somber as her family headed off to bed well before midnight. “But suddenly, after he died, we just lost that tradition,” she shares. Even when they would try to reignite that spark once again, it never shined as bright as it once did. It is as if when her father died, a bit of the Yuletide went to rest with him.

    Now speaking to gravestones and portraits, families navigate through celebrating holidays after losing a loved one.

    Living in memory

    Though the holidays may press at old wounds, time finds a way to reshape the ache left behind. Christmas might never feel the same for Dolores and Alincastre anymore, but the two of them have found a quiet acceptance in grief’s enduring nature. For them, the festive seasons have become a perennial reminder of the love that continues to linger past loss. 

    For Alincastre, the quiet yet jolly Christmas mornings spent with her late father have transformed into a familial pilgrimage. She fondly looks back on the way her relatives, once scattered due to their own bearings on grief, now come together to travel during the holiday season as she carries her father’s ashes with her to honor his memory. She recalls, “[During the holidays], we come together to cope. We have each other.”

    Dolores’ journey with her holiday sorrows follows a similar trajectory—only in her case, the quietness of shared memories precede over grand cathartic gestures. The weight of her grief is still present, but it has been admittedly softened by the intimate moments spent with her family reminiscing over her brother. In listening to his voice notes and browsing through his pictures, there is a shared understanding of the pain and love that quietly deepens the night in Dolores’ home. 

    In these new ways of life, the shifting nature of grief becomes evident. But whether it be through mere recollection or in the search for solace from others who share the same wound, the heart of remembering remains the same: in the fervent hope that love does not vanish with absence but persists through remembrance.

    Slowly, then all at once

    “It all happened very fast, and if I could only rewind the time to spend more time with him, I would,” confesses Dolores. Try as one might, but there is no turning back the clock. We can peer into the past for  memories of a more joyous time, but that grief will still remain—a weight that never seems to get lighter. But it is in blown candles, exchanged gifts, and the comfort provided by loved ones that this burden can be shared. After all, shared joy is double the joy while shared sorrow is half the sorrow.

    Grief, as something ever present, stains and coats; it cannot be ignored nor should it be. Grief is how we remember someone after they pass, and how we remain connected to them long after they have gone. “Ultimately, grief is just love,” Alincastre concludes, explaining why it feels the strongest around the holidays. In times when we are meant to love the most, that is when we grieve the hardest. Because grief, much like love, comes slowly and then all at once. 

    *Names with asterisks are pseudonyms.


    This article was published in The LaSallian‘s March 2025 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSMarch2025.

  • Tailing nonprofits in their goal for paw-sitive change

    Tailing nonprofits in their goal for paw-sitive change

    EDITOR’S NOTE: This article contains mentions of animal abuse. Readers are advised to proceed with caution. 

    Dogs are known to be man’s best friend. However, many of our beloved pets are being worked to the bone, chained, or abandoned. When these images sink in, it’s instinct to look away in fear and pain, but this will not change their heartbreaking reality. It is only in love’s saving grace that our furry friends are freed from a life of neglect and suffering. This love is manifested through the unwavering dedication of nonprofit organizations (NPOs) that safeguard the welfare of animals in the country. 

    What began as a paw-ssion project from a family of dog lovers has now flourished into Hound Haven, the country’s first and only organization for the rescue, rehabilitation, and adoption of former military and working dogs. Co-founder Jerome Arcebal spotlights the lack of care received by these retired canines: “In the US, they’re treated like soldiers… But for us, in the Philippines, at least right now, they’re still treated as equipment.” Tragic as it is, the termination of their service also constitutes an end to their life. 

    Animal Kingdom Foundation (AKF) shares the same mission of abolishing these practices. According to AKF President and Program Director Atty. Heidi Marquez, the organization aims “to create a world where animals are free from cruelty and exploitation…so that tomorrow they will be in better houses or in better situations.” AKF has saved over 300 dogs, 55 cats, and numerous non-domestic animals that have been victims of inhumane conditions, ranging from the devastating 2020 Taal volcanic eruption to the lucrative dog meat trade industry. 

    Nonprofit organizations like Hound Haven rescue animals from a life of abuse and neglect, promising them a second chance at finding a forever home.

    The fervor to em-bark change

    These initiatives do more than just rescue animals; their zeal to eradicate animal maltreatment drives them to lobby for systematic reform. 

    AKF saw that there was a limit to the impact of rescue and rehabilitation. “Hence, we’ve introduced education and free community services like spay, neuter, [and] vaccination,” Marquez says as she describes the expansion of the NGO to tackle the issue of dog meat trading holistically. 

    Like Marquez, Arcebal also recognizes the need to expand their work. “May needs din naman yung mga retired working dogs natin.” He also shares that the NPO was invited by the Senate to give insights on animal welfare, where they actively push for better recognition for the retired working dogs in budget discussions.

    (Our retired working dogs also have needs.)

    Nonprofit organizations like Hound Haven rescue animals from a life of abuse and neglect, promising them a second chance at finding a forever home.

    As there are no specific laws that deal with retired working dogs, the US’ Robby’s Law is a benchmark template for legislation in the Philippines. The writing requires retired military dogs to be cared for and adopted after their service. Replicating this policy in the Philippines is the “ultimate goal” for Hound Haven. 

    Dealing with the price of love

    Nonprofit organizations rely entirely on the goodwill of the community. From daily operations to utilities, the expenses are shouldered solely by the organization without any real sustainable way of making any of it back. This setup puts many of these organizations in a bind as they try to manage what little finances they have, getting increasingly difficult to keep the lights on. Additionally, professional care of the housed animals brings its own share of expenses. “Our vet bills can run up to 100,000 [pesos] a month,” Arcebal mentions.  

    Without a stable source of income, they face several logistical issues, including growing their team. “It sometimes gets very challenging for us to reach out [and] answer all our emails and messages,” Arcebal says. One of Hound Haven’s two handlers, Rico Dimaano, expresses his gratitude to volunteers from local veterinarian colleges, who sometimes visit to take care of the dogs.

    Nonprofit organizations like Hound Haven rescue animals from a life of abuse and neglect, promising them a second chance at finding a forever home.

    Despite these challenges, the organizations are not shackled by them. AKF runs a bed and breakfast establishment within their facility lovingly named Bed, Bark, ‘n’ Breakfast at AKF, where people can spend their vacation with their pets. Part of the proceeds from this arrangement are used to fund their various programs. They have also started cultivating crops to supplement food costs. “We would [grow] malunggay to help us feed our dogs,” Atty. Marquez elaborates.

    Oftentimes, taking care of these beloved animals can feel like a thankless endeavor. However, for NPOs like AKF and Hound Haven, the look of happiness on their animals’ faces is all the reward they will ever need.

    Unleashing em-paw-thy 

    Beyond donations and volunteering, small acts of kindness fan the flames of the cause. Raising awareness through online campaign messages and posts can spark a chain reaction, allowing other advocates to discover and aid the mission of these animal care organizations. 

    For Arcebal, receiving visitors is nearly essential in spreading Hound Haven’s advocacy. “We feel that the more hands-on people are in getting to know the canines and Hound Haven, the better [the] position they will be in to tell others about it [our mission],” he expresses. After all, the key to fostering a culture of com-paw-ssion for our animals lies in the lasting connections we form with them. As Marquez puts it, “Basic human-animal bonds can be developed in simple tasks and approaches. And if it spreads, a change in how we treat animals will become a norm in every community.” 

    Nonprofit organizations like Hound Haven rescue animals from a life of abuse and neglect, promising them a second chance at finding a forever home.

    Cementing this change also necessitates seeing animals as more than dear companions, but as “living beings [who are just as] capable of loving…[and] suffering,” Marquez delineates. In developing these lenses of empathy, we can then begin to realize the interdependent relationship we have with animals. “We don’t just talk about animal welfare alone now. We are talking about ‘one welfare,’ [and] how animal welfare impacts human welfare,” she affirms, factoring in human emotions of familiality and fulfillment as part of a reciprocal demonstration of love. 

    For those ready to sink their teeth into advocacy and volunteer work, one may finally meet a life-long companion and grant them the gift of a new life—their own fur-ever home. 

    Donation channels

    Animal Kingdom Foundation: 
    akfrescues.org/support

    Hound Haven: 
    houndhavenph.org/donate

    This article was published in The LaSallian‘s Menagerie Special 2025. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSMenagerieSpecial2025.

  • Rant and Rave: No crown is too heavy for ‘Arcane: Season 2’

    Rant and Rave: No crown is too heavy for ‘Arcane: Season 2’

    For a long time, video game adaptations were considered shallow cash grabs that leveraged the game’s popularity without delivering substance. That perception changed in 2021, when Riot Games and Fortiche Productions set out to create the Arcane TV series based on their most popular game, League of Legends. The show was a critical success—winning multiple awards and captivating both avid fans and non-players. In just nine episodes, Riot’s excellent storytelling and Fortiche’s stunningly beautiful animation proved that video game adaptations can become truly compelling works of art.

    Fast forward to 2024, Arcane returns for a much-awaited second and final season. The simmering animosity between twin cities Piltover and Zaun has fully erupted into an all-out war. As Zaun responds to oppression with terror, Piltover grapples with a foreign totalitarian takeover.  Be prepared to say goodbye to Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, and the rest of the beloved Arcane cast as they pick up the pieces of their breaking world.

    It’s safe to say that Arcane: Season 2 has successfully recaptured the magic of its first season, with each of the nine episodes rating above a 9.0 on IMDb and yet another nomination for Best Adaptation in the coveted Game Awards.

    Paint the town blue

    Arcane’s world of Runeterra is littered with nations deadset on wiping each other off of the map, and the plight between Piltover and Zaun display this grim fate well. A sense of duality can be felt by viewers while watching, as the portrayal of polarity is evidently intertwined with its characters. In its second installment, the writers did not cut corners in displaying what lengths the characters will go to forge their own paths, blurring the lines between heroism and villainy. 

    Despite the amazing world-building of the series, this season seemed to have struggled with pacing. While Acts I and II delivered a literary masterclass in building tension and setting the stage for the inevitable clash between the warmongering Noxian empire and the dual city-states, Act III leaves a lot to be desired. With the exception of Episode 7, the few breadcrumbs that viewers feast their eyes upon is still not enough to make up for the sudden—and arguably forced—climax. Noxus’ attempt to conquer Piltover and weaponize the man-made magic of Hextech, the series’ Macguffin, feels underdeveloped.

    Inconsistency aside, one particular aspect that deserves praise is Fortiche and Riot’s meticulousness in displaying the humanity in their characters. There is no Mary Sue among the cast as they all had their own faults—Vi was prone to ignorance, Caitlyn was consumed by vengeance, and even figures like Jayce, Viktor, and Heimerdinger were blinded by pride despite their good intentions. 

    Season two especially shines in its execution of fan-favorite League character, Ekko. The video game giant and French animation studio spared zero quarter in giving one of the best storylines to the young firelight from Zaun, who displayed what it means to truly be a hero. Drawing inspiration from the Spider-Verse series of films, Ekko’s subplot simultaneously weaves tragedy, romance, and redemption. Even when presented with an alternate timeline where everything goes his way, Ekko still chose to return to his own world in the hopes of saving everyone he cared for—despite losing everything for himself.

    Watch it all burn

    Arcane has always been a playground of twists and turns. Following the aftermath of Jinx’s attack, the cast finds themselves pulling switcheroos as they reevaluate their loyalties and the values they once held so dearly. Much like the now-eerie rendition of its iconic opening, some of the characters undergo a chilling transformation, quite literally becoming the Enemy they once despised. Vi embodied this trope after she joined forces with the wardens of topside, the people responsible for the death of her parents. 

    Though the tides have turned, Arcane revisits Viktor’s words from the previous season: “In pursuit of great, we failed to do good.” What follows is a snowball of events spiraling into an amalgamation of greater forces, posing a threat far beyond the life of the cast. Heimerdinger’s warnings about the dangers of fiddling with magic come full circle as the arcane’s destructive power reaches its zenith. Albeit crammed into the nine-episode run, the stellar animation vividly captures the unfolding chaos. As the conflict between the two cities rages on, it is soon overshadowed by the mystical force that looms over them both. 

    In the storm of it all, however, the League series intricately explores themes of love and loss by drawing parallels among the characters. Even after Vi concedes that her beloved Powder is lost to her, her deeply buried sisterhood with Jinx remains ever-present. Similarly, the once inseparable duo of Jayce and Viktor cross paths once again as they grapple with the consequences of Hextech despite their diverging ideals. The series unapologetically shows the characters in their most vulnerable states—moments filled with passion and warmth, offering viewers a glimpse of what could have been. 

    But alas, Arcane has always been a tale of tragedy. Juxtaposed with the emotional bonds of its characters, every episode puts and leaves you on the edge of your seat, fully aware of what’s at stake. 

    In a league of their own

    As the dust settles in Piltover and Zaun, it’s clear that season two of Arcane once again knocks it out of the rift. Thanks in no small part to Fortiche, who continue to blow the animation industry out of the water with their jaw-dropping animation. This, coupled with the stellar performances from Ella Purnell, Hailee Steinfeld, and the other voice actors, creates a recipe for one of the best shows in recent memory. But what truly makes Arcane generational is its writing—an incredibly compelling story of love, loss, and political intrigue that sinks its hooks in the viewers and refuses to let go. Top to bottom, Arcane is a masterpiece lovingly crafted by those who really paid respect to its source material. 

    While it’s time to bid farewell to Caitlyn, Ekko, and the rest of the cast, it’s only the beginning for Riot. During season two’s production, the game developer acquired a significant share of Fortiche, setting their fictional worlds up for a larger push into the multimedia space. Showrunner Christian Linke teased that Arcane is only the first of a series of projects with the production studio, with another already in development. For fans of Runeterra, regions Noxus, Ionia, and Demacia have been hinted as possible sites for future projects.

    Arcane: Season 2 marks the series finale for the cult classic, signaling the end of a beloved story that has captured the hearts of millions worldwide. It has somehow managed to catch lightning in a bottle twice, breathing fresh air into a genre of animation that desperately needs it. In an era where consistent animation is often unseen, Riot and Fortiche defied the odds and proved to the world that they’re in a League of their own. 

    Rating: 4.0/4.0

  • Tagos hanggang buto: The stain of period poverty

    Tagos hanggang buto: The stain of period poverty

    From the cradle to the grave, the female sex endures physical struggles built into their bodily functions, such as menstruation. Women’s monthly periods can range from mild discomfort to debilitating pain and suffering. But for a natural biological process experienced by half of the population, the topic of menstruation remains forcefully swept under the rug. 

    Ninai Chavez, founder of the non-government organization We Bleed Red, notes in Filipino, “Ironically, the Whisper napkin is called Whisper because we still hide discussions on menstruation.” This culture of silence plays a part in the widespread disenfranchisement of menstruators from proper access to information to their reproductive health needs. 

    Bleeding money

    The inaccessibility of menstrual hygiene basics and information, especially among the less fortunate, is described as period poverty. This issue manifests in several forms; in particular, man-made challenges such as the “pink tax”—a discriminatory gender-based strategy by charging higher prices on women’s personal care products—increase the financial burden of these health essentials for menstruators. The consequences of this phenomenon economically strangle menstruators while the stigma keeps them screaming in silence, effectively burying the necessary discussions on women’s health. 

    The financial burden becomes even more evident when the only apparent option for menstruators on a budget is making do with 90 percent plastic-made products. These menstrual necessities, particularly plastic sanitary pads, are the only option readily available in mainstream markets. Options such as organically-made pads—although labeled as a “healthier alternative”—are more expensive for Filipinos, who would rather prioritize cost over quality. But even cheap sanitary pads can sometimes be a big strain on one’s wallet; when menstruators struggle with affording basic sustenance, menstruators are left with no choice but to create makeshift pads. 

    This is palpable among Filipino menstruators in far-flung areas. Chavez shares that due to the inaccessibility of mass-produced period products in these places, women are forced to be inventive with what they have. “They make their own reusable pads,” Chavez illustrates. “Gagamit sila ng lumang basahan, dry leaves—just to absorb the blood—newspaper, and all that.”

    (They would use old rags.)

    Obstetrician-gynecologist Dr. Viktoria Matibag emphasizes that the lack of access to proper menstrual hygiene causes serious health problems such as infections. And when these conditions happen frequently, they can lead to troubling misconceptions which may cause more alarming problems. “Maybe for them, infections and irregular menses are normal,” Dr. Matibag speculates. “Maybe irregular menses [are] a blessing because you don’t have to use pads every month, right? So that leads to them not seeking [proper] healthcare.” 

    With basic health necessities for menstruators financially becoming out of reach, these normal female biological attribute turn into bigger gender-based societal disparities when government policies fail to recognize the prevalent issue. Recently, lawmakers in the Philippines have been pushing for tax exemption on menstrual products, citing how taxes on basic health products exploit the necessity of menstrual hygiene for female reproductive health. 

    Amid the stigma surrounding menstruation, women in impoverished communities lack access to clean menstrual supplies.

    Coagulating matters

    Unfortunately, the problem behind period poverty extends beyond gender-biased tax policies; the lack of accessibility to proper reproductive health also hinders menstruators’ rights to understand their body. 

    With little advocacy for menstrual health as a national health concern, public period education is spotty at best. Chavez conveys common questions posed by the communities We Bleed Red visits: “They wonder why their periods are stronger, why they’re weak, or why their cycles aren’t regular.“ Though these concerns are natural, women in these communities experience periods without really knowing what they go through. She shares, “Some moms don’t have the exact information of what menstruation is. They just know that there’s blood coming out. All they’re saying to their children is to buy a napkin.”

    Many young menstruators rely on wisdom passed down from their mothers or other women in their community to navigate their periods. However, they often lack an explanation for the bloodiest parts of the cycle: premenstrual syndromes and fertility concerns. Dr. Matibag and Chavez detail cases of women having debilitating dysmenorrhea and menopausal symptoms, exacerbated by the anxiety of being unable to understand the changes in their bodies. “We already have the Reproductive Health Law, but a lot of the information still [gets distributed by] the private sector rather than coming from the government,” Dr. Matibag comments.  

    “The fact that they don’t teach [these topics] in school [means] you’ll just end up maybe noticing it but not acknowledging it,” Chavez remarks. Periods mark the start of the female body’s maturity, often accompanying the drastic bodily developments from puberty. With girls getting their periods progressively younger than in previous years—some as early as six years old—it becomes a priority to equip young menstruators with all they need to know about menstruation before they draw their first blood. She insists, “If you are already aware of what your body is capable of as soon as you hit puberty, that would already provide a lot of…empowerment to know what kind of choices [you] can make for [your] body.”

    Down to the last drop

    Bandaids do not fix bullet holes; common initiatives like providing free menstrual products in schools and public spaces are insufficient to patch up neglected demands for accessible reproductive healthcare. It can take years to institutionalize the basic needs of women’s health, and the pink tax is all but one hurdle to accessibility. But Chavez underlines that local government units could lead the charge by requiring OB-GYNs in their barangay health centers and medical missions. She asserts in Filipino, “Reproductive and menstrual health should be included in general medicine. [Mayors] don’t have to wait for a law to do that. They just need to make an ordinance.”

    Accessibility shouldn’t stop at physical means; it must extend to education. Dr. Matibag admits that the monolingual nature of most reproductive education initiatives leaves much to be desired regarding audience reach. “We need to translate [the information] to other languages, especially to Filipino and other dialects,” she declares. In the same vein, We Bleed Red practices using the proper terms for private parts in their educational seminars. “We do not use period euphemisms. Saan lumalabas ang dugo? Sa puke,” Chavez contends, “There is power in naming—in using the right words.”

    (Where does the blood come out? From the vagina.) 

    Reproductive health rights affect everyone; therefore discussions are—and should be—open to all. “Makikita mo talaga ang difference kapag naiintindihan ng mga kalalakihan ‘yung mga pinagdadaanan ng mga babae,” Dr. Matibag posits. Chavez recommends including men in period conversations, which could be as simple as asking them to check for period stains. The key to normalizing period talks is openly discussing and mentioning them with our peers, regardless of gender. 

    (You will really see the difference when men understand what women go through.) 

    Period poverty saturates any discussion on Philippine reproductive healthcare. Until menstrual products and education become readily available to all levels of society, the price of women’s health remains too high to be justified. As a society, we must work toward letting the topic of periods naturally flow into daily conversations, in hopes that the tides of reproductive rights will soon turn.

  • Inumagahan: Celebrating the Filipino Simbang Gabi

    Inumagahan: Celebrating the Filipino Simbang Gabi

    In celebrating the Christmas season, most Filipinos can attest that the absence of Simbang Gabi renders the period incomplete. The nine-day novena is a longstanding Filipino tradition held in the early mornings in anticipation of the birth of Jesus Christ.

    Though referred to by many names and practiced in different countries around the world, Simbang Gabi can be traced to Spanish origin. Also known as misa de gallo, which is Spanish for “rooster’s mass,” the tradition is said to have been held before dawn for farmers to pray for good harvest, as they started their days before the cocks would crow. Eventually spreading to the Philippines during the Spanish colonial period, Simbang Gabi became heavily entwined with the culture of religious Filipinos.

    While universally known as a Roman Catholic tradition, various Christian denominations in the country have embraced the practice with their own set of interpretations and adaptations. Yet despite doctrinal differences, it remains an enduring tradition that brings families together to celebrate their faith and community.

    Amid the joy of a community gathering for one faith, the tradition of Simbang Gabi remains an intimate personal experience.

    Puto bumbongs before Christmas Eve

    At the crack of dawn, the buzzing breeze and the creak of food carts softly greet churchgoers waking up to the aroma of freshly baked pandesal, bibingka, and puto bumbong. In this atmosphere, diverse beliefs come together in one bite, for one tradition.

    For Mara Nicole Flores (IV, EEDECED), it’s in a hot plate of puto bumbong, bibingka, or breakfast food that she finds the motivation to get up at 4:30 am. A devout Catholic, Flores’ experience of Simbang Gabi has been through the lens of her dad, who is a barangay kagawad. Her early mornings consist of the common sight of sleepy kids and styrofoam cups filled with 3-in-1 coffee mixes, as she helps organize the food program along with other youth volunteers during the nine-day celebration.

    Meanwhile, at the San Isidro Labrador Parish in Pasay City, Bro. Val Renon has found service and sentimental value through food during the communal celebration. “Biruin mo, sa pagkain lang pala magga-gather ‘yung mga tao para mas lalo natin makilala ‘yung isa’t isa,” he shares with a warm smile. He also recounts how the community gives back through their church’s program, “Media Noche Niyo: Regalo Ko Para Kay Kristo.” During Simbang Gabi, mass attendees are invited to pledge an amount in exchange for food packages, which will be given to less fortunate members of the parish.

    (Can you imagine? It’s only through food that people gather and really get to know one another.)

    As a Born Again Christian, Maria Rowena “Weng” Avila warms at the found common sentiment, sharing how their church would also bring out food carts with coffee, hot chocolate, and bread to add to the Christmas festivities. In contrast, Simbang Gabi is only commemorated by Born Again Christians one day before Christmas. Avila explains that their preparations truly center on encouraging people to engage in the celebration. Friends, family, or friends of family—everyone is invited to a community of the same faith.

    The United Church of Christ in the Philippines (UCCP) Protestant groups consider themselves familiar with this routine of shared union in mass. But Fr. Jerome Baris, a senior pastor at the UCCP Cosmopolitan Church, explains their more intricate implementation. They celebrate in accordance with a theme curated by their three boards and approved by their Church Council, the legislative body of their Church. Fr. Baris then says that it’s the value of fellowship that follows—the vibrancy in the strengthening of faith as one community.

    Coming from different religious beliefs, Filipinos share their purpose in fulfilling the nine days of Simbang Gabi—devoting oneself to the proclamation of His word, giving service to the community, and like the rest of us, finding mundane moments in inaumagahang kape’t pandesal shared with friends and family.

    A personal Simbang Gabi

    No matter what reason church members have for attending the mass at such early hours, there’s no denying that the practice of Simbang Gabi has become a cornerstone of Filipino culture. It’s an inspiring commitment that invites observers to ponder how this tradition took hold in the first place, let alone transform into the cultural juggernaut we see today.

    Br. Renon talks about the superstition that surrounds Simbang Gabi, that if someone were to complete their nine-day commitment, their prayers would be answered. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched to attribute such belief to its popularity. However, he’s quick to point out their dogma that not all wishes are granted after fulfilling this tradition. “Tinitignan din dito ni God if our intentions are pure, if our intentions will be helpful to others, and [if] eventually it will be helpful to us. Maybe [then] God will answer yes,” he muses.

    (God also observes if our intentions are pure.)

    But the derivation of meaning and significance from Simbang Gabi lies beyond superstition—it instead underscores the Filipinos’ personal connection to the tradition, revealing how they are shaped and formed through their participation in Simbang Gabi.

    To Flores, attending Simbang Gabi strengthened her relationship with her family and loved ones, as it became a routine she shared with her siblings. As a kid, she cherished playing with them after going to church, making the time they spent after the mass just as important. But as she grew older, Flores dove deeper into her faith. “It’s really become different in a way that is more fruitful and more purposeful,” she mentions.

    To Avila and many Born Again Christians, it’s a renewal of faith. “It’s the birth of our God. So, it’s a reminder for me that God isn’t dead, right? He’s so powerful…He remains ever-present,” she expresses in Filipino. But Avila sees it as a way to not only reconnect with her faith, but with old friends she hasn’t seen in a long time, making the celebration truly special for their community.

    Revitalizing Filipino devotion

    Since its inception, Simbang Gabi has evolved to be more than just a Eucharistic celebration held for workers who start their days before sunrise, and more than an obligation for devout followers of Christ. Regardless of Christian denomination, participating in Simbang Gabi has become a voluntary commitment of sacrifice in preparation for the celebration of Jesus’ birth.

    For Filipinos, the practice is an avenue for strengthening the bond between family, friends, and the community through shared spiritual devotion and a love for good food. This sense of intimacy can be compared to the ever-familiar breaking of Christ’s bread and wine for his beloved disciples, a symbol of His unconditional love.

    “When we have the genuine intention to attend Simbang Gabi, we then make it a commitment to spend this time with our family; to spend this time with God in this beautiful season that He provided us with,” Flores imparts with a smile. Christmas in the Philippines lives on through purpose and communion, and the season of giving continuously transforms into something all the more special and personal because of the Filipino spirit.

  • Rant and Rave: Wading through worlds with “The Boy and the Heron”

    Rant and Rave: Wading through worlds with “The Boy and the Heron”

    Studio Ghibli is reputably known for films that tug at the heartstrings; more than mere animations, their body of work serves as windows to the soul. These timeless creations encompass decades of life, love, and longing in a matter of minutes. Their stories, while embellished with fantasy and magic, evoke humanity in its purest form. 

    For what is allegedly Hayao Miyazaki’s last film with Studio Ghibli, it seems only fitting that he returns to his patented themes of grief and acceptance, intertwining them beautifully with mystical Japanese folklore. The Boy and the Heron follows a young boy named Mahito Maki who, after losing his mother in a fire, moves with his father to a house in the Tokyo countryside. There, he meets a plethora of interesting beings that change his reality as he knows it: his new stepmother, a peculiar tower, and a nosy gray heron. 

    Weaving together a tapestry

    In The Boy and the Heron, Miyazaki takes his audience back to the familiar setting of Japan during the Second World War. The film starts in medias res: the grief-stricken Mahito Maki is forced to face the realities of war while he confronts major familial change. But this is no ordinary tale of grief, loss, and change. As Mahito learns to cope with his sorrow, he explores a strange new world together with the Heron on a quest to rescue his stepmother.

    Studio Ghibli films are known for their flawless worldbuilding, marked by rich symbolism and imagery. True to its brand, The Boy and the Heron is no different. Like Ghibli classic Spirited Away, the film explores the mystic and magical. It introduces fantastical elements and creatures, and plays it off as normal everyday things. Even the protagonist, Mahito, the audience’s medium for exploring the world seems familiar with the world around him, needing little in the way of exposition to explain the strange world around him.

    As the audience feasts their eyes on the unfamiliar elements, the film tends to forego exposition. Instead, it allows viewers to create their own context and develop their personal understanding of the narrative—a style that is rarely witnessed in movies today. Miyazaki is not simply throwing ideas on the wall to see what sticks. Every detail has a larger significance in the overall plot. 

    Birds play an active role in the film’s imagery, used to communicate some of its deeper themes. Each bird represents an aspect of the war that the characters are experiencing. For example, the film capitalizes on the traditional Japanese association of death and funerals for The Heron, as it continually reminds Mahito of losing his mother in a bomb attack. The pelicans, on the other hand, which are seen feasting on the defenseless Warawara, depict the tragedy of war. They mirror how people are forced to make terrible decisions for their own survival. Lastly, the parakeets resemble the hyper-militaristic and fascist ethos of Imperial Japan, a reminder of how a society as such can often lead to its own demise.

    Through these abstract and at times bewildering elements, The Boy and the Heron distinguishes itself from films that tackle similar themes and transcends its meaning to create something special.

    A masterclass in characterization

    While the themes of death and grief are quite common in popular media, Miyazaki approaches it differently. While a young boy such as Mahito is expected to lack the emotional capacity to confront loss, Miyazaki rejects this presumption through a character that is rather mature and accepting of his circumstances. Mahito may show a desire to shut the world out, but he does not become paralyzed by his grief. 

    This reaction to grief and death also connotes a loss of innocence amid the horrors of war. Often, Mahito takes on responsibility, even choosing to save his stepmother willingly, knowing full well of the dangers that stand before him. His experiences, feelings, and traits blend seamlessly together to present a thorough and intricately layered character at the helm of the movie, which makes the story even more compelling. 

    The excellent characterization is not amiss in the other figures of the film. Natsuko makes leaps and bounds despite her sporadic appearances throughout the movie. While she grieves for Mahito’s mother, her sister, she also deals with the challenges of pregnancy. Incredibly, Miyazaki uses Natsuko’s persona, not only to display and encapsulate the complexities of being a stepmother but also the struggles and uncertainties of parenthood and particularly, motherhood.  The film succeeds in telling Natsuko’s story without making her spread too thin or half-baked. Her growth especially elicits sympathy and resonates with the audience deeply.

    Beneath an endless sky

    Studio Ghibli delivers something truly exceptional with The Boy and the Heron, from its intricate and compelling characters all the way down to the dream-like, classic cartoon art style that the studio is known for. The slower, traditional animation suits the organic movements of the characters engaged in mundane activities such as dressing themselves or preparing a sandwich. The consistency in Studio Ghibli’s designs effectively creates timeless masterpieces that transport the soul from past ages to the present, regardless of when one chooses to watch them. 

    Nearly seven years in the making, the film has tenderness woven into its every element.  Every close-up shot of the characters’ faces and their interactions with the world around them is crafted deliberately. From the lived-in maximalist abodes of the characters to the colorful pulsing ridges in caves, every detail is given full and purposeful attention. 

    And while it may not be Miyazaki’s most heart-wrenching tale, it soothes a jaded spirit and offers a moment of repose from the pressures of reality. Mahito falls into the underworld and takes us with him. He exemplifies the ambivalence of growing up in turbulent times and finding kindness amid malice and violence. His story displays accepting grief in plain sight. In that sense, The Boy and the Heron’s message may seem a touch too simplistic, but it directly reflects how people tend to overcomplicate things that need only a moment of simple reflection. Sometimes, the question is not of how one will manage to carry literal worlds within their palms—that discovering how to live and exist as oneself is just as significant. 

    Last film or not, The Boy and the Heron cements itself as one of Miyazaki’s most profound works, and yet another work under Studio Ghibli that will soon be a time-honored classic. It proves that artistry is undying and tenacious, and so is the human spirit. For in the most dire of times is hope born and in the certainty of time passing can we find peace.

    Rating: 4.0/4.0