Ibohammed Eshakt’ur
Sincerity, Post-irony, Irony, Meta Irony
- Joined
- Nov 3, 2024
- Posts
- 8,310
- Reputation
- 15,888
I love how loud we are. Like, full volume everything—talking, laughing, karaoke at 2am, arguing over nothing.
No muted conversations here. We fill the room, the street, the whole damn neighborhood. And I’m done pretending that’s embarrassing. It’s energy. It’s life. It’s us.
I love the food that hits different. Adobo that stains your shirt and your soul. Sinigang that makes you sweat happiness. Lechon that crackles like it’s clapping back.
We don’t do “light” meals. We do feasts that say “you’re staying, walang uuwi hangga’t hindi busog.”
I love the chaos of family. 50 titas and titos showing up unannounced. Everyone has an opinion on your life, your hair, your future kids you don’t even have yet.
It’s overwhelming? Yeah. It’s also the only place on earth where you’re never truly alone. Someone’s always watching your back, even if they’re roasting you while doing it.
I love the way we turn every situation into a story. Traffic? Epic saga. Lost phone? Conspiracy theory. Small win? National holiday-level celebration.
We don’t just live events, we narrate them like telenovelas. And it makes everything feel bigger, funnier, more meaningful.
I love the resilience baked into us. Typhoons, blackouts, politicians that disappoint on loop, yet we still find ways to joke, to help each other, to keep going.
Bayanihan isn’t just a word we learned in school—it’s muscle memory. We lift houses, we lift people, we lift the vibe when everything’s underwater.
I love the skin tones. Morena glowing under the sun like it was made for it. Fair, tan, dark, in-between—none of it needs fixing. We’re the whole damn spectrum and we look good in all of it.
I love speaking Taglish and not feeling like I have to choose.
“Uy pare, ang ganda ng view dito ha, pero traffic pa rin tangina.”
It’s not broken English. It’s Filipino English. It’s ours. And it slaps.
I love the memes. The unhinged Facebook posts. The group chats that never die. The way we clown on ourselves harder than anyone else could.
Self-deprecation so advanced it circles back to confidence.
I love that when someone asks “where you from?” I can say “Philippines” and watch their face light up because they know someone who knows someone who’s Filipino.
We’re everywhere. We’re the tito at the airport, the nurse who held your hand, the engineer fixing your shit, the artist making the world prettier.
We show up.
And yeah, I love the little things too:
The smell of sampaguita after rain.
The way jeepneys are basically rolling art galleries.
The sound of videoke at every birthday, wedding, funeral, Tuesday.
The fact that “bahala na” is both a philosophy and a battle cry.
I used to shrink from all of this.
Thought it was too much, too loud, too brown, too Filipino.
Now I’m leaning all the way in.
This is mine. This is us.
And I fucking love it.
If you’re Filipino and reading this—claim it, bro.
We’re not “almost” anything.
We’re the main character.
Sarap maging Pinoy.
Let’s keep the energy up.
No muted conversations here. We fill the room, the street, the whole damn neighborhood. And I’m done pretending that’s embarrassing. It’s energy. It’s life. It’s us.
I love the food that hits different. Adobo that stains your shirt and your soul. Sinigang that makes you sweat happiness. Lechon that crackles like it’s clapping back.
We don’t do “light” meals. We do feasts that say “you’re staying, walang uuwi hangga’t hindi busog.”
I love the chaos of family. 50 titas and titos showing up unannounced. Everyone has an opinion on your life, your hair, your future kids you don’t even have yet.
It’s overwhelming? Yeah. It’s also the only place on earth where you’re never truly alone. Someone’s always watching your back, even if they’re roasting you while doing it.
I love the way we turn every situation into a story. Traffic? Epic saga. Lost phone? Conspiracy theory. Small win? National holiday-level celebration.
We don’t just live events, we narrate them like telenovelas. And it makes everything feel bigger, funnier, more meaningful.
I love the resilience baked into us. Typhoons, blackouts, politicians that disappoint on loop, yet we still find ways to joke, to help each other, to keep going.
Bayanihan isn’t just a word we learned in school—it’s muscle memory. We lift houses, we lift people, we lift the vibe when everything’s underwater.
I love the skin tones. Morena glowing under the sun like it was made for it. Fair, tan, dark, in-between—none of it needs fixing. We’re the whole damn spectrum and we look good in all of it.
I love speaking Taglish and not feeling like I have to choose.
“Uy pare, ang ganda ng view dito ha, pero traffic pa rin tangina.”
It’s not broken English. It’s Filipino English. It’s ours. And it slaps.
I love the memes. The unhinged Facebook posts. The group chats that never die. The way we clown on ourselves harder than anyone else could.
Self-deprecation so advanced it circles back to confidence.
I love that when someone asks “where you from?” I can say “Philippines” and watch their face light up because they know someone who knows someone who’s Filipino.
We’re everywhere. We’re the tito at the airport, the nurse who held your hand, the engineer fixing your shit, the artist making the world prettier.
We show up.
And yeah, I love the little things too:
The smell of sampaguita after rain.
The way jeepneys are basically rolling art galleries.
The sound of videoke at every birthday, wedding, funeral, Tuesday.
The fact that “bahala na” is both a philosophy and a battle cry.
I used to shrink from all of this.
Thought it was too much, too loud, too brown, too Filipino.
Now I’m leaning all the way in.
This is mine. This is us.
And I fucking love it.
If you’re Filipino and reading this—claim it, bro.
We’re not “almost” anything.
We’re the main character.
Sarap maging Pinoy.
Let’s keep the energy up.
