Not just in the meme sense. Not just in the aesthetic sense. But in a deeply cultural, almost generational way.
Nostalgia as Our National Language
When my students spoke of Rizal, I noticed how much of our love for him is not just admiration but longing—for an imagined past, for what could have been if history had played out differently. And isn’t that so Filipino? We are a species addicted to nostalgia. We look back to the “good old days,” whether it’s in songs, old TV shows, or even politics. It comforts us, but also traps us. Nostalgia is the lullaby we sing to ourselves in the face of an uncertain present. I mean, come on, only in the Philippines can you experience a nation wherein they oust a Marcos just to bring them back again in the next elections.
When my students spoke of Rizal, I noticed how much of our love for him is not just admiration but longing—for an imagined past, for what could have been if history had played out differently. And isn’t that so Filipino? We are a species addicted to nostalgia. We look back to the “good old days,” whether it’s in songs, old TV shows, or even politics. It comforts us, but also traps us. Nostalgia is the lullaby we sing to ourselves in the face of an uncertain present. I mean, come on, only in the Philippines can you experience a nation wherein they oust a Marcos just to bring them back again in the next elections.
Wanting Without Surrender
Filipinos are dreamers. We want progress, freedom, and a better life. Don't we all like a better life? I mean, I asked this briefly to my students and they all agreed. But at the same time, we resist the pain that comes with true change. We want, but we want on our own terms. It’s that push-and-pull dynamic of desire—like a lover who says “oo baby, mahal kita--pero" there is a moment of retreat. He retreats the moment commitment feels heavy. We sabotage our own longings because the reality of them feels too demanding. Or too tasky, dreamy and whatnot.
Filipinos are dreamers. We want progress, freedom, and a better life. Don't we all like a better life? I mean, I asked this briefly to my students and they all agreed. But at the same time, we resist the pain that comes with true change. We want, but we want on our own terms. It’s that push-and-pull dynamic of desire—like a lover who says “oo baby, mahal kita--pero" there is a moment of retreat. He retreats the moment commitment feels heavy. We sabotage our own longings because the reality of them feels too demanding. Or too tasky, dreamy and whatnot.
The Government as Our Toxic Love Affair
And then there’s our relationship with the government, perhaps the most sadboi trait of all. We complain, we curse, we call it out for betrayal. Yet when election time comes, we circle back, whispering to ourselves, “baka this time magbago na siya.” We know the cycle is toxic, but we can’t break free. It’s the political version of “one last chance.” To quote a comedian's famous adage: "if you elect clowns, expect for a circus"
And then there’s our relationship with the government, perhaps the most sadboi trait of all. We complain, we curse, we call it out for betrayal. Yet when election time comes, we circle back, whispering to ourselves, “baka this time magbago na siya.” We know the cycle is toxic, but we can’t break free. It’s the political version of “one last chance.” To quote a comedian's famous adage: "if you elect clowns, expect for a circus"
Centuries of Collective Heartbreak
Our sadboi-ness is not accidental. It comes from centuries of heartbreak. Colonization, corruption, poverty, calamities—our story is one long narrative of resilience in the face of loss. And so, we learned to carry sadness not just as a burden, but as part of our identity. That’s why we sing our grief in karaoke, tweet our despair with humor, make memes via Capcut, inadvertently star an online war between the Tagalogs and Bisayas, and turn tragedy into hugot. We are a nation that transforms wounds into words, and still find humor in it. Mind you, it is a double-edge sword.
Our sadboi-ness is not accidental. It comes from centuries of heartbreak. Colonization, corruption, poverty, calamities—our story is one long narrative of resilience in the face of loss. And so, we learned to carry sadness not just as a burden, but as part of our identity. That’s why we sing our grief in karaoke, tweet our despair with humor, make memes via Capcut, inadvertently star an online war between the Tagalogs and Bisayas, and turn tragedy into hugot. We are a nation that transforms wounds into words, and still find humor in it. Mind you, it is a double-edge sword.
The Beautiful Curse
So yes, we are a sadboi nation. But maybe that’s not entirely a curse. Because in being sadbois, we have learned to be poets of our own pain. We have learned to laugh even while crying, to hope even while doubting, to love even after being betrayed a thousand times.
Maybe being a sadboi nation is not just about sadness—it’s about the beauty of survival. And in that, there is something profoundly Filipino.
So yes, we are a sadboi nation. But maybe that’s not entirely a curse. Because in being sadbois, we have learned to be poets of our own pain. We have learned to laugh even while crying, to hope even while doubting, to love even after being betrayed a thousand times.
Maybe being a sadboi nation is not just about sadness—it’s about the beauty of survival. And in that, there is something profoundly Filipino.
But then again, would you date a sadboi if you ever met one?
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