The iPhone Duo Is Here and My Wallet Folded Before the Phone Did

After years of rumors, Apple finally unveiled the iPhone Duo, its first foldable smartphone, at a special event on September 9. The device unfolds from a 5.4-inch outer display into a 7.6-inch inner screen, making it part smartphone and part compact tablet. It features a redesigned hinge that Apple believes would make the display crease less noticeable. 

apple.com/ph

I got interested in it because of the size of its unfolded screen. At 7.6 inches, it is only slightly smaller than the 8.3-inch iPad mini, but larger than a typical Kindle, which I often use for reading. In other words, the iPhone Duo is not only a folding phone but also a small tablet I could fit in my pocket. 

It is another thingamajig from Apple that I would want to lay my hands on.  But then, I learned about the price. I started doing calculations in my head.

At the Apple Store Philippines, the iPhone Duo starts at P159,990 for the 256 GB model and goes up to P175,990 for the 512GB variant. Don’t ask me about the 1 and 2 TB iterations because I am not the target market for those.  I can only imagine the retail price with local taxes and retailer markups included.

I started calculating and thinking about all the other things I could buy with that amount of money. Several pairs of running shoes, weeks or even months of groceries, a new MacBook, or even a domestic vacation (especially after the government announced a three-day holiday in November). I could even buy an iPhone and an iPad separately, or a Kindle Colorsoft, if I wanted to. Someone told me that I could buy a new motorcycle with that money.  It’s funny that  I'm not comparing the iPhone Duo with other smartphones, but instead comparing it with other items I could buy for its price.  Realizing what I can get at this price point, I consider it a luxury item.

I know new technology is expensive: it has to go through research and testing, may require the creation of new parts, and more before it even goes into production. Add to that the ongoing AI-driven crisis, which is making parts such as memory so expensive.  So maybe this first version of a foldable iPhone was never meant to be a mass-market device, but more aimed at early adopters and tech enthusiasts who want the latest and most advanced gadget available and have the resources to boot.

apple.com/ph

I am also interested in how it compares with existing foldable phones. Brands like Samsung have spent years refining their similar products, with premium foldables in the Philippines typically selling for around P90,000 to P120,000 depending on the model and configuration. By comparison, the iPhone Duo appears to be positioning itself at the top of the foldable market, both in terms of branding and price. 

You are probably asking if I would love to try one.  Of course. I would be lying if I said no.

But would I buy one once it's available? My wallet would protest.  Maybe a few years from now, when foldable phones become as common as today's smartphones and affordable. For now, I will admire it from a safe distance and keep my cash and credit card securely in my wallet. 

apple.com/ph

Images downloaded from apple.com/ph. No copyright infringement intended.

The Nine Lives of a Bookshop Cat is Not an Ordinary Cats and Books Story

I just finished reading this charming book, The Nine Lives of a Bookshop Cat by Kentaro Utsugi.  This title has been popping up in my Facebook cat groups, and some members recommended it as a must-read for people like me who love both cats and books.  However, don't be misled by the title into thinking this is a cozy read, because deep down, it is a story of loneliness, resilience, second chances, survival, and yes, the complicated relationship between humans and cats.  Told from a cat's point of view, the novel blends fantasy and history; it pulled me in so much that I finished it in a day.

The story follows Kinnosuke, a grumpy black cat who, at the start of the novel, is already on his ninth life.  He is still a kitten, yet after eight previous lives, he has become so cynical and distrustful of people that he doesn't want anything to do with them.  When his mother and siblings left one day to check a house where they found food and never returned, he instantly assumed that they have become pets.  He set out for town by himself, ending up in a busy area where people ignored him as they went about their business.  Wandering off to find a quieter place, he came upon the mysterious Hokuto-do (Big Dipper) Bookshop, run by a woman named Erika Kitahoshi.

Initially apprehensive about going to the shop, he stayed away from the shop and its occupants.  Aside from Kitahoshi, the shop also houses four cats who urge him to stop being stubborn and come inside because it is his destiny.  However, Kinnosuke also regarded them with disdain for being pets, which he considered the lowest a cat could go.  Eventually, his need to survive won, and he ventured into the shop where everyone called him Kuro, or black, because he wouldn't tell them his true name.

Once inside, Kinnosuke realized how weird the bookshop actually was.  Erika, whom the other cats call the witch, could actually talk to cats: not the one-way talk we usually do with our kitty, but she could have a conversation with them and understand what they were thinking and saying.  Then there were the books that the shop never seemed to run out of, even when there were no deliveries.  The oldest cat in the group, Lulu, explains everything later while doing the shop inventory on her hind legs and clutching a pen with her paw. 

It is also here in the bookshop that Kinnosuke would open up to us readers about his past lives, which he spent in various crucial moments of Japan's history.  Here he explains why he finds it difficult to attach emotionally to other people, including Erika, except for the writer whom he lived with in his third life.  By the way, he learns that all the other cats in the shop once lived with authors, and the annex of the book shows that these were Japanese literary greats.  

Later, he meets a young girl who aspires to be a writer, and when she falls into unfortunate circumstances, Kuro has to overcome his cynicism to help her. It's also here that he finds out about the real story of the bookshop and Erika and restores his faith in humanity.

AI-generated image

What surprised me about this book is its emotional depth. It's not a simple, feel-good, whimsical story of a cat in a bookshop as its title suggests.  Instead, it explores complex emotions of distrust and love, of resilience in adversity, compassion, life, and death.  Kinnosuke is such a complicated main character that his narrative becomes reflective and almost meditative.  Couple that with Utsugi's almost soothing and easy-to-follow writing style, and you find yourself completely drawn to the story.  

A word of warning, though.   The story tackles some aspects of animal life and suffering that pet lovers would find difficult and heartbreaking to read.  As a cat parent, I felt a lump in my throat each time the main character loses his life.  They bring back memories of the cats I lost in the past.

In the end, this is not just a story about books and cats, but also compassion and how important it is to give everyone, animal or human, a second chance.  This may be why I, along with the other members of our cat group, found it worth reading. 

The Nine Lives of a Bookshop Cat

Kentaro Utsugi

Sylvia Gallagher  (Translator)

Kindle Edition,  187 pages

A Hazy Start to September: Transboundary Haze Reaches the Philippines

 Many of us in Metro Manila woke up on the first day of September to a thick haze hanging over the city, blurring the skyline and obscuring buildings that we normally see even from afar. At first glance, it looked like the typical pollution that plagues the city or, since we had experienced continuous rains before it happened, lingering rain clouds. But we later learned that it was haze that actually traveled hundreds of kilometers, originating from burning forest and peatland fires in Indonesia and carried to the Philippines by the southwest monsoon, or what we call the habagat.

We in Metro Manila were not alone. Social media was full of posts saying the haze also affected parts of Central Luzon, CALABARZON, MIMAROPA, and the Visayas.   Authorities warned us to limit outdoor activities and wear face masks when going outside because of the worsening air quality. I put on a face mask when I left the house for the office, and seeing other people in the streets wearing face masks reminded me of the pandemic six years ago. Some local governments across the country also suspended classes to protect the children from Metro Manila's acutely unhealthy air.

AI-generated image

Unsurprisingly, the Philippines was not the only one affected. Our fellow Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) member countries Malaysia and Singapore also experienced haze and poor air quality from the Indonesian fires. They were even the ones that bore the brunt of the current transboundary haze because of their proximity to the fire-affected areas. Their air quality reached hazardous levels, disrupting daily life, schools, work schedules, and transportation. 

Transboundary haze from Indonesian fires is not new to the region. Southeast Asia experienced major haze crises in the last three decades. I even remember when an edition of the Southeast Asian Games in Singapore was plagued by haze, making some officials worry about their athletes' health. But for me, what made this episode remarkable was that the Philippines, which, as far as I can remember, had largely been unaffected by past events, found itself directly impacted.

I know the previous incidents led the ASEAN leaders to adopt the Agreement on Transboundary Haze Pollution, where member states agree to work together to monitor fires, share information, and help prevent future haze episodes. I am now watching how ASEAN responds to this latest incident under the Philippines' chairmanship. It would be interesting, given that ASEAN's principle of non-intervention often leads to inaction.

What I find even more unsettling is that this was not a natural disaster. News reports linked the ongoing forest and peatland fires in Indonesia to land-clearing activities for corporate agriculture. Unlike typhoons or earthquakes, these incidents are often preventable. Some reports also indicated that parts of Indonesia are experiencing a long dry spell, contributing to fires spreading in areas not meant to burn. It is quite frustrating to know that actions taken hundreds of kilometers away could make us here in Metro Manila worry about the air we breathe to the point that we need to wear masks and limit our outdoor time. 

Thankfully, it started to rain again yesterday. The environment office hopes the continuous rain helps wash floating smoke particles out of the atmosphere and improve air quality in Metro Manila and other affected areas. Just this morning, the air quality index in the Metro was considered good, meaning air quality was safe for normal outdoor activities, even for those with respiratory sensitivities. However, people sensitive to air pollution still need to take precautions when going outside.  Unfortunately, air quality in the Southern parts of the country, like Mindanao, remains acutely unhealthy.

The haze reminded me how vulnerable we are to the effects of our neglect of the environment and nature. It also showed how the air we breathe connects us, and how we need to do our part to protect it.

Exploring San Fernando, Pampanga: Arts, Food and Faith (Last of 3 Parts)

 After lunch, we continued our trip with a visit to the Sunken Shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes in Bacolor. The shrine stands as a powerful reminder of the devastation brought by the eruption of Mt. Pinatubo in 1991. Massive lahar flows buried much of the original church, with only the roof visible from street level. Today, the shrine continues to serve as a place of worship, but it also stands as a monument to the community's survival and resilience.

One of the shrine's most remarkable features is its altar, carved from the very lahar that once buried the church and surrounding communities. The altar retains the rugged texture and gray tones of the hardened volcanic deposits, creating a stark yet beautiful contrast with the sacred statues and decorations around it.  I stood before the structure in awe of nature's power and in admiration of the resilience and creativity of the people who rose above their misfortune.

At the center of this altar stands the original image of Our Lady of Lourdes, preserved despite the destruction brought by the eruption. The image appears to triumph over the tragedy as it stands atop the lahar deposits. At the same time,  the altar served as a powerful reminder of how devastating nature can be when it unleashes its fury. Yet it also shows how communities can rebuild, recover, and find meaning even after immense loss.

We climbed a stairway behind the altar, which brought us closer to the Our Lady of Lourdes image. There, I touched the image's veil and quietly offered a short prayer. It was a simple yet meaningful moment that added a personal and spiritual dimension to our visit.

Earlier in August, the shrine was flooded after heavy rains from the southwest monsoon, locally known as "habagat."  The statue of our Lady had to be moved to the parish office for safety.

 Our driver later told us about another church in the area that had been buried by the lahar, with only its bell tower and dome still visible above ground. Curious to see it, we set out to find the site. Unfortunately, despite following directions from people we asked on the street, we couldn't find it.  My brother later found out there was indeed another sunken church, but it was in the opposite direction of the route we took.

 Since we couldn't locate the church, we decided to take a break at Our Cafe, considered the largest cafe in the country. I don't know how many customers it could accommodate, but one thing I am sure of is that you wouldn't have to look hard to find a seat there. 

Before heading home, we made one final stop at L.A. Bakeshop, famous for its cheese bread. I bought a box of 16 pieces while my sisters bought other pastries such as the ube ensaymada.  I've tried the cheese bread before when we visited Pampanga, but we bought it from a branch in another location. I really enjoyed it the first time, that's why I included buying it during this trip in my to-do list. 

We had a great day in Pampanga and experienced more than just sightseeing. Each stop exposed us to the arts, cuisine, and other aspects of Pampanga's heritage and character. It was a day filled with learning, good food, and memories.

Exploring San Fernando, Pampanga: Arts, Food and Faith (2nd of 3 Parts)

After our museum visit, we had lunch at Souq (pronounced "sook") Restaurant along Lazatin Avenue. Souq offers a creative fusion of Kapampangan cuisine, widely regarded as among the best in the Philippines, alongside other Filipino and Asian dishes. Since we wanted to sample a variety of flavors, we ordered several dishes to share.

One item I instantly liked was the restaurant's take on Okoy, a favorite Filipino treat traditionally made with shrimp and vegetables. Souq's version was both familiar and unique, a combination of grated papaya, kamote (sweet potato), and kalabasa (squash), topped with shrimp. The fritters did not have the usual patty-like appearance; they looked like a bird's nest and were crunchy and tasty. 

I ordered the crab rice, which I found very good. The rice was soft and must have included malagkit (glutinous rice), and the crab flavor was rich and creamy. Its savory taste made it satisfying, and it paired well with the other dishes we ordered.

My sisters also tried the kare-kare, which featured tender pork belly instead of the usual ox tail or tripe. My sisters, however, found the peanut sauce much sweeter than what we typically expect from a traditional kare-kare. The sweetness was quite pronounced, and I even suspected that the cook might have used peanut butter instead of actual peanuts to make the sauce. Of course, that was only my personal impression, and some diners may enjoy this variation. However, I prefer a more savory and nuttier kare-kare that lets the flavors of the meat, vegetables, and bagoong stand out.

I also had the opportunity to try the Asado Matua, a Kapampangan take on the Chinese dish asado. The dish featured pork shoulder slow-cooked in tomatoes, soy sauce, and calamansi, resulting in a deep, savory flavor balanced by a nice tanginess. The meat was tender and absorbed the rich flavors of the sauce. In a previous trip to Pampanga, I learned that "matua" is the Kapampangan word for traditional or old-style, which made the dish even more interesting. The Asado Matua is the pride of Kapampangan cooking, often served during celebrations and important occasions.  

We also ordered the Pasta sa Taba ng Alimango, or pasta in crab fat sauce. I did not get the chance to try it because I had already ordered the crab rice and didn't want to double down on crab dishes. My sister sampled it, and judging from how little she ate, I suspect she was not particularly impressed. 

Since I was not the one who paid for lunch, I do not actually know how much the meal cost. However, my sisters were very happy with the bill and felt that we received excellent value for the quality and quantity of food we enjoyed. They even said that we probably would have paid considerably more for a similar lunch in Manila. We appreciated the experience even more because of that observation. Overall, we thoroughly enjoyed our meal at Souq, and I'd gladly go back to try their other dishes. 

Original images taken during our trip. No intended copyright infringement.

Apple Pay Finally Arrives in the Philippines

 

Image from apple.com/ph

Apple Pay has finally arrived in the Philippines. After years of wondering when I would be able to use it, Apple Pay launched in the Philippines today, August 4, 2026. The service allows users to make secure payments in stores, apps, and online using their Apple devices.

As someone who already prefers cashless transactions, I’ve been looking forward to this feature on my iPhone and Apple Watch for a long time.

At its launch, Apple Pay had partnered with four banks: Chinabank, GoTyme Bank, Metrobank, and UnionBank, which became the first institutions to support the service, allowing eligible Visa and Mastercard cardholders to add their cards to Apple Wallet and begin using Apple Pay. I have the GoTyme Bank app on my phone, but hopefully, more banks will join in the months ahead as the service gains traction locally.

So far, according to the Apple website, merchants such as Abenson, Anko, Ayala Malls Cinemas, Ayala Malls, Beyond the Box, Coach, Digimap, Foot Locker, Globe, HOKA, Hollister, Jollibee, Lush, Power Mac Center, Rustan’s, SaladStop!, Shake Shack, Smart, The Loop, The Matcha Tokyo, The Movie Snackbar, The Underbelly, and WalterMart Supermarket, and apps and websites including foodpanda, Jollibee, Rustan’s, and Shopee, will accept Apple Pay on launch date. 

To use the service in a participating store, double-click your iPhone’s side button, authenticate with Face ID, and tap the payment terminal. When shopping online, selecting Apple Pay lets you check out without repeatedly entering card details and billing information.

Security is another major advantage. Apple Pay does not store actual card numbers on the device or share them with merchants. Instead, it uses a Device Account Number. Every transaction also requires authentication through Face ID, Touch ID, or your passcode, ensuring that payment information is not compromised. What’s more, if your iPhone gets lost or stolen, you can use the Find My app to quickly locate, lock, or suspend payments from that device.

Like any new service, Apple Pay Philippines still has some limitations. Only four Philippine banks and a limited number of establishments currently support the service. Some merchants may not be familiar with Apple Pay just yet since the rollout is so new. I expect adoption to grow as more banks and businesses come on board.

Even with those early limitations, Apple Pay is, I think, an important step forward for digital payments in the Philippines. It’s a small convenience, but one that makes everyday transactions faster, easier, and more secure. I am already excited to use it for my next in-store or online purchase.

Exploring San Fernando, Pampanga: Arts, Food and Faith (1st of 3 Parts)

We went on a road trip to San Fernando, Pampanga last month, and it was both a memorable and enriching experience.   It took us almost two hours to reach the city, and our day trip gave us a glimpse of the many facets of Pampanga’s heritage, including paintings and religious artifacts, Kapampangan food, and historic churches.

Our morning started with a visit to the Museum of Philippine Arts and Culture, where we explored an impressive collection of works by some of the country's most celebrated artists, including Juvenal Sansó, Ang Kiukok, H.R. Ocampo, Malang, and Magsaysay-Ho.

The museum's collection, divided into two sections, included works by artists who received the Presidential Merit Award and those who were honored as National Artists of the Philippines. While each gallery showcased a different artistic perspective, together they painted a compelling portrait of Filipino life, history, and identity.

One fascinating detail we learned from our guide, Seb, was that artists such as Ang Kiukok and Juvenal Sansó often included a small dot or distinctive mark in their paintings to help identify the work as an original. Some visitors might overlook that detail, but it added another layer of appreciation for the artist's personality.

 

The art pieces are part of the personal collection of former Commissioner Andrea Domingo, and I noticed that many of the paintings celebrated Filipino women. Although expressed and painted in different styles,  they all seemed to capture the grace, strength, beauty, and femininity of the Filipina. The women portrayed in these works were not merely subjects; they were central figures in the story of Filipino life and culture.

 

Another recurring theme in the collection was Philippine rural life. Many of the paintings featured scenes such as farmers planting rice in lush fields, fishermen bringing in their catch, women weaving baskets by hand, and others gathering fruit from trees or carrying the day's harvest. Seb explained that many of the artists drew inspiration from the places where they lived, and it was easy to see how their communities, landscapes, and everyday experiences found their way onto canvas.

 After viewing the paintings, we went to another building in the complex that houses a collection of historical and religious artifacts. Among the most notable pieces were the many images and statues of the Virgin Mary and the Santo Niño. The images reflect the deep Catholic faith that has shaped Filipino’s belief and culture for centuries. 

The collection also included old pots, earthenware, and other ceremonial objects that offered a glimpse into how the earlier generations lived.

While I found the artifacts fascinating, I could not help feeling a little sad as I looked at some of them. Many of the religious images were clearly very old, and several appeared worn, faded, or in need of restoration. Their appearance may give them character and authenticity, but it also raises the need for their preservation.

Nevertheless, these artifacts, along with the artworks of Filipino masters, would someday help us better understand and remember the cultural, artistic, and spiritual foundations of our society.

Original images taken during our trip. No copyright infringement intended.

More Than Strays: Why Communities Fight for Their Cats and Dogs

Events in recent weeks have shown just how deeply Filipinos care about community animals. From UP Diliman's beloved campus dogs and cats to Melody, the much-loved cat of Wildflour in BGC, social media was flooded with posts, appeals, and conversations defending animals that many people felt were being treated as unwanted.

I was struck not just by how loud the reactions were, but by the affection behind them. Thousands of people spoke up for animals they did not actually own but had come to know through daily encounters. Students worried about campus dogs they passed on their way to class. Office workers checked for updates on Melody. Volunteers, animal lovers, and ordinary citizens all rallied around a simple idea: these animals mattered.

In UP Diliman, reports of plans to remove or impound community animals triggered concern among students, alumni, and animal welfare advocates who viewed them as part of campus life. In BGC, the disappearance of Melody from her usual spot outside Wildflour generated a wave of online criticism and concern before the restaurant clarified that she had been temporarily rehomed during renovations.

The strong response revealed something important: these were never just stories about stray animals. They were stories about community, belonging, and the unexpected bonds that form between people and the animals that share their spaces.

Anyone who has spent time in university knows how stressful campus life can get. Exams, deadlines, thesis defenses, graduation requirements, and the general chaos of university life can leave students feeling drained. Yet for many, seeing a familiar campus dog lounging near a building or a friendly cat wandering through the grounds offered a brief moment of relief.

The same is true for office workers in business districts like BGC. After long meetings and responding to endless emails, encountering a familiar cat like Melody could be the unexpected highlight of a difficult day.

These animals don't even know they're providing emotional support. They simply exist. They are completely unaware that their presence alone often brings comfort, familiarity, and a sense of connection. That may sound like a small thing, but during overwhelming periods of the year, small things can matter a lot.

The good news is that both situations appear to have been resolved. Melody was reported safe and under care, while animal welfare groups said the planned eviction of the furry residents in UP Diliman was abandoned.  Stakeholders in the university continued pushing for humane and community-centered approaches to managing campus animals.

I have a simple takeaway on this: community-based solutions are more sustainable than simply removing animals whenever concerns happen.

The reaction to both the UP and Melody incidents showed just how much people care. These animals were not seen as pests, but as familiar companions who made campuses, workplaces, and neighborhoods feel more welcoming.

I believe communities, establishments, and animal welfare groups should work together to care for them responsibly. Vaccination, spaying and neutering, and organized volunteer support are far more effective than treating these animals as problems to be moved elsewhere.

The real lesson from these stories is that community animals are part of the community. They may not attend classes or sit in meetings, but they contribute something just as valuable: moments of comfort, connection, and joy. And in a world where many people are struggling with stress, deadlines, and uncertainty, that's no small thing. Sometimes, the smallest members of a community leave the biggest paw prints. 

Images generated with AI

Childhood Obesity Is Rising. What Can We Do About It?

 When we think about malnutrition, we often imagine children who don't have enough to eat. But another nutrition problem is growing in the Philippines: more children are becoming overweight or obese.

Recent data show that overweight and obesity among Filipino school-age children and adolescents have increased significantly over the past decade. This matters because obesity in childhood can increase the risk of diabetes, heart disease, and other health problems later in life.  And what’s more: eating habits formed in childhood often last a lifetime.  

Childhood Obesity Has Been Rising

 

Source: DOST-FNRI Expanded National Nutrition Survey 2023.

Image generated with AI

So what's driving the trend?

It is tempting to think that childhood obesity is simply a result of eating too much and exercising too little. In reality, things are much more complicated. 

The reality is, children today are surrounded by advertisements for sugary drinks, fast food, and highly processed snacks. These products are often affordable, convenient, and available almost everywhere. Meanwhile, healthier foods are not always the easiest or cheapest option for many families.

Experts call this the food environment: the world around us that shapes the food choices we make every day.

Small Changes at Home Matter

The good news is that parents don't need to be nutrition experts to help their children build healthier habits.

A few simple steps can go a long way:

🍌 Make healthy snacks easy to grab. Keep fruits, boiled eggs, corn, or nuts within easy reach.

🥪 School baon can also be an opportunity to build healthy habits. A balanced lunch does not have to be expensive or complicated. An egg with rice and fruit, a tuna sandwich and banana, or leftover chicken and vegetables from dinner can provide a nutritious meal for the school day.  

Image generated with AI

💧 Choose water more often. Replacing sugary drinks with water is one of the easiest ways to reduce excess sugar intake.

🚶 Make movement fun. A family walk, bike ride, dancing, or shooting hoops can be just as valuable as organized sports.

📵 Create screen-free mealtimes. Children are more likely to pay attention to what they eat—and enjoy family conversations—when gadgets are put away.

Most importantly, children learn from what they see. When parents model healthy habits, children are more likely to develop those habits themselves.

Parents play a vital role, but they cannot do it alone.

 The environments around children influence their choices every day. That's why many countries are introducing clearer food labels, restricting the marketing of unhealthy foods to children, and strengthening policies that encourage healthier eating.

Several proposals in Congress seek to do exactly that. These measures would help families identify healthier products, reduce children's exposure to unhealthy food marketing, and support better nutrition choices.

By combining stronger policies with everyday actions at home, we can give Filipino children a better chance to grow up healthy, active, and ready to thrive.

After all, healthy habits begin at home.  But healthy environments help those habits succeed.

Magnifica Humanitas: Living in Faith in the Age of Artificial Inteligence

When Pope Leo XIV released Magnifica Humanitas in May 2026, it did not feel like just another Church document. Instead,  it was like a voice stepping directly into the confusion of the present moment, speaking not only to Catholics, but to anyone trying to make sense of a world increasingly shaped by artificial intelligence. 

Reading it, I had the feeling that the encyclical is less about technology itself and more about the deeper question beneath it: what does it mean to be human at a time when machines are beginning to imitate, assist, and sometimes even replace aspects of human life?

Image created using AI

The document opens with a sense of urgency. Pope Leo describes our time as one of decisive change, where humanity stands at a crossroads. The rise of artificial intelligence is not treated as just another technological innovation, but as something more profound—something that challenges how we understand progress, society, and even ourselves. 

He frames this moment with two powerful biblical images: the Tower of Babel and the rebuilding of Jerusalem. One represents a world built on pride, control, and the illusion of self-sufficiency; the other reflects a world built patiently, with God at its center, attentive to the dignity of each person.

As I examine that contrast, it became clear that the encyclical is not asking me to judge AI as good or bad. Instead, it is asking a harder question: what kind of world am I helping to build, even in small, everyday ways?

What struck me next was how the Pope situates this moment in a longer story. He draws a line from earlier social encyclicals, especially Rerum Novarum, reminding us that the Church has always tried to speak to the “new things” of each era. But there is something different about this moment. Artificial intelligence seems to blur boundaries that once felt stable—between human and machine, labor and automation, truth and manipulation. The encyclical suggests that this is not simply another issue to be addressed using existing categories; it is a development that presses us to rethink those categories themselves. 

At the center of all this reflection is a deceptively simple claim: human dignity is absolute. It does not depend on our abilities, our productivity, or our usefulness. In a world that increasingly measures everything—efficiency, attention, performance—this insistence feels almost countercultural. It is also deeply reassuring. It reminds me that my worth is not something I earn or optimize. It is something I receive. 

That insight becomes especially important as the encyclical turns to the realities of work and the economy. Artificial intelligence promises productivity and innovation, but it also carries the risk of displacing workers and concentrating power in the hands of a few. Yet Pope Leo’s concern is not only economic. It is human. Work, he reminds us, is more than a way to earn a living; it is a way of participating in creation, of contributing to the common good, of expressing something of our own humanity. When work is reduced to a function that can be optimized or replaced, something essential is lost. 

As I read this, I found myself examining how easily I slip into making my own work in terms of deadlines, outputs, measurable results. The encyclical gently challenges that mindset. It invites a deeper reflection: not just “What am I producing?” but “What kind of person am I becoming through what I do?”

Pope Leo XIV signing Magnifica Humanitas
photo from Vatican Media website

The document also lingers on the subtler ways technology shapes daily life. It speaks of truth, communication, and relationships, pointing to the dangers of misinformation, manipulation, and the quiet erosion of attention. In a digital environment designed to capture and hold our focus, the risk is not only that we will be misled, but that we will slowly lose the capacity for reflection itself.

This part felt uncomfortably familiar. It is easy to think of technology as something external, something we use. But the encyclical suggests something more unsettling: that technology also uses us, shaping our habits, our desires, even our sense of reality. The call, then, is not to withdraw from the digital world, but to inhabit it differently: with awareness, discipline, and a commitment to truth.

The global dimension of the encyclical brings the conversation to an even more serious level. Artificial intelligence is not only transforming economies and personal lives; it is also reshaping power. The potential use of AI in warfare, the concentration of data in private hands, and the growing inequalities between those who control technology and those who do not all raise urgent moral questions.

Here, Pope Leo offers a stark contrast between what he calls a “culture of power” and a “civilization of love.” The former is driven by domination and competition; the latter by justice, solidarity, and peace. It is a familiar theme in Catholic social teaching, but in the context of AI, it takes on new urgency. The tools we are creating are powerful enough to amplify whichever path we choose

Reading all of this as a Catholic, I found that the encyclical was not primarily asking me to take a position on artificial intelligence. It was asking me to examine my own life more deeply. It reminded me that being human is not about keeping pace with technological change, nor about maximizing efficiency or productivity. It is about relationship—with God, with others, and with the world.

As such, even ordinary choices take on new meaning. How I use technology, how I spend my attention, how I relate to others in a digital environment, all of these become part of a larger moral landscape. The encyclical invites me to resist the temptation to drift passively with technological currents and instead to act intentionally, guided by a sense of responsibility.

What I found most powerful, in the end, was the quiet insistence that nothing essential about the human person has changed. Even in an age of artificial intelligence, the deepest truths remain: that we are created, that we are loved, and that our dignity is not contingent on anything we produce or achieve.

Magnifica Humanitas does not offer easy answers. It does not pretend that the challenges of AI can be resolved through simple guidelines or regulations. But it does something perhaps more important. It calls us back to first principles. It reminds us that the future is not determined by technology alone, but by the values and convictions we bring to it.

And in doing so, it leaves me with a question that lingers long after the reading ends: not what artificial intelligence will become, but what we, as human beings, will choose to become alongside it.

For those who want to read it firsthand, the full text of the encyclical is available here:

👉 Magnifica Humanitas on the Vatican Website

Image used without intended copyright infringement

Kumusta or Kamusta?

It began with a speech that unexpectedly drew attention to a familiar part of everyday Filipino conversation: the simple act of asking, “How are you?” In a session discussing an incident in their office, a lady legislator had a complete meltdown because, according to her, some of her colleagues did not reach out to ask how she was doing. "Wala man lang nangamusta sa amin," she said. Nangumusta is a verb form of "kumusta," or "how are you." That brief comment, almost incidental to the larger issue, quickly spread online, and from there, the conversation took an interesting turn.

People began focusing not just on the act of checking in, but on the word itself. Should it be kumusta or kamusta?

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At first, it felt like one of those light, almost trivial debates you’d see online. But the more people joined in, the more it became clear that this wasn’t just about spelling. It was about how Filipinos actually use language in everyday life.

Technically, kumusta is the standard form you’ll find in dictionaries and formal writing. Rooted in the Spanish greeting “¿cómo está?” it didn’t stay exactly the same. It changed, adjusted, and eventually took on a form that felt more natural to Filipino speakers. Somewhere along the way, variations like kumusta and kamusta settled in.  Many Filipinos naturally say kamusta in everyday life. It’s what shows up in conversations and casual greetings.

Both are widely used and widely understood.  No one would stop you mid-conversation to clarify which one you meant. There’s no confusion, no misunderstanding. It’s just one of those cases where the “proper” version and the “everyday” version exist side by side.

And that’s really the point: language evolves the way people use it. One form may be more formal, the other more conversational, but neither feels out of place.   

Still, the discussion goes back to something more important than spelling. Whether you say kumusta or kamusta, the meaning is the same: it’s a simple way to check in and connect with family and friends.  Something very important to us Filipinos. 

So in the end, it’s not about choosing the “right” word. You don’t have to overthink it. You can say kumusta. You can say kamusta. Either one works, and most people won’t give it a second thought.
What matters more is to say it and mean it when you do.  Because sometimes, that small question, however you spell it, becomes an act of reaching out and, small as it may seem, keeps that human connection alive.

Happy Easter! He is Risen!

 

My Experience, My Data: Using Autoethnography for Research

So, here’s something I didn’t see coming in grad school: apparently, my own experiences could count as research. I know, it sounds a little strange. I was trained to trust data, reports, and policy frameworks, not my day‑to‑day experience with how I do research. But then I learned about autoethnography, and it completely changed how I think about public policy and how it actually works in real life.

I first heard about autoethnography from my thesis adviser during my master’s program, when we were still trying to figure out how to deal with my research topic for my thesis.  Autoethnography, introduced and promoted by scholars like Carolyn Ellis, Arthur Bochner, and Tony Adams, encourages researchers to use their own experiences as part of the analysis, as long as those experiences are connected to bigger social and institutional realities. At the time, the idea felt a little unusual, but also exciting. It made me wonder whether my own encounters with policies and institutions might actually matter as research material.

Like many researchers, I was trained to value data, reports, and evidence-based frameworks. Numbers, models, and official documents were the tools I trusted most. But when I started working on my master’s thesis, I realized that these tools don’t always provide the depth of a particular issue. Using autoethnography pushed me to pay attention to everyday moments, meetings, group discussions, and even decision-making processes that often get lost in research amd analysis but say a lot about how I incorporate knowledge into my outputs.

Indeed, autoethnography allows a researcher to not only write down their experience but also to take a step backward and look at the data before them, analyzing how their experiences relate to societal norms, values, and issues.

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As I wrote my thesis, reflection became part of my research process. I began asking simple but important questions about my own experiences with research: Why did I use this information rather than that? Why use data from other regions instead of our neighboring countries? What I initially thought were just personal reactions often turned out to reflect institutional issues, like official preferences and other constraints.

The process wasn’t always easy. Writing about my own experiences meant being honest about uncertainty and discomfort. Still, it helped me see policy from another perspective. Abstract concepts suddenly felt real, and my research felt more grounded in lived reality than mere theory.

Using autoethnography allowed me to uncover the different ways I incorporate my knowledge in my area of expertise in my research. Only through careful reflection did I realize these practices existed. This process changed how I approach my job and deepened my understanding of my field.

Looking back, the biggest lesson I took from using autoethnography is this: good public policy research isn’t only about getting the analysis right, it’s also about paying attention to how we do our research, on the things we consider when we make our recommendations. Autoethnography taught me that reflection can be a strength, not a weakness, and that sometimes the most useful insights come from the everyday moments we often overlook.

Discovering UCC Nespresso-Compatible Coffee Capsules: A Must-Try for Coffee Lovers

I usually start my morning work with the comforting hum of my Nespresso machine brewing my coffee.  I’ve been using mine for almost four years now and am honestly happy with it.  While the original Nespresso coffee capsules are generally great, I’m also always on the lookout for capsules from other coffee makers that deliver both quality and character. Recently, I stumbled upon UCC’s Nespresso-compatible capsules, and I have to say they’ve earned a spot in my coffee keeper.

A brief background on the maker.  UCC, or the Ueshima Coffee Company, is a Japanese brand with a long-standing reputation for coffee craftsmanship. When I learned they had capsules compatible with Nespresso Original Line machines, I was curious.  Coffee at local UCC Cafes is far better than what you find in popular stores. I wanted to try the ones in the capsules to see whether they were just as good.  Spoiler alert: they were, and in some ways, they exceeded my expectations.

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So far, I go for two variants: Espresso Forte No. 09 and Lungo Forte No. 06.

When I need a strong start to my day, I reach out for Espresso Forte No. 09.  It offers a medium-to-full-bodied cup with warm, toasty notes. It is bold without being harsh, and the aroma is inviting, and some people in the office couldn’t help but notice.  It’s perfect for a quick shot or a creamy latte. I usually add oat milk to make a latte because of my lactose intolerance.  If you love a balanced espresso that doesn’t overpower, this one’s for you.  

When I prefer a longer cup, I make coffee with Lungo Forte No. 06. It’s gentler and aromatic, with cereal-like undertones and a lighter body than the Espresso Forte, and it hits the sweet spot.  Brewed as a lungo, it’s ideal for sipping while reading emails or enjoying a quiet moment. It feels like a warm hug in a cup.  Lungo literally means “long” in Italian.  It is made by using more water and a longer extraction time than a standard espresso shot. 

Both variants come in aluminum capsules, which means freshness and consistent extraction every time. They fit perfectly in Nespresso Original machines, so there are no awkward jams or weak crema. 

At around ₱420 for a pack of 10, these UCC offerings feel premium without breaking the bank. You can find them in UCC online platforms and local supermarkets. That’s a big win for us local coffee lovers.

If you’re looking for a high-quality alternative to original Nespresso capsules, UCC delivers. If you like your espresso bold, Espresso Forte No. 09 is perfect for you, but if you prefer a gentler, longer cup, then go for Lungo Forte No. 06. Both variants bring convenience and quality to your daily coffee ritual.

Personally, I love that UCC combines Japanese quality with flavors that feel comforting and familiar. It’s a small upgrade that makes my mornings feel a little more special.

Disclaimer  

This blog is an independent review and is not affiliated with, sponsored by, or endorsed by Nespresso or UCC. All opinions expressed are based on personal experience and research for informational purposes only.

The Black Nazarene: History, Devotion, and a Tradition That Moves a Nation

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Every January, Manila transforms. Streets fill with barefoot devotees, yellow and maroon banners rise above the crowds, and the familiar rhythm of prayer echoes not only in Quiapo but even across the archipelago. The Feast of the Black Nazarene, reverently called Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno by his devotees, is more than a religious event.  It is a cultural phenomenon that reveals how faith, identity, and collective memory continue to shape Filipino life.

The Black Nazarene is a representation of a dark-skinned Christ carrying His cross on the right shoulder, wearing a maroon robe. He looks up towards heaven with a pained expression on His face.

The story of the Black Nazarene traces back to 1606, when Augustinian Recollect missionaries brought a life-sized image of Christ carrying the cross from Mexico to Manila. Carved from dark mesquite wood, the image’s color has long sparked myths. One popular belief I heard as a child was that the reason for the dark color of the image was that during its trip from Mexico to Manila, the ship it was on caught fire, and the image was burned, but only on the surface. People considered this a miracle. Later on, I learned that its origins are simpler: the wood it was made from itself was naturally dark.

The image quickly became a major focus of devotion from its first home in Bagumbayan to its later transfer to Intramuros.  In the 1700s, it found its permanent home in Quiapo Church, where it later on survived fires, earthquakes, and even the devastation of World War II. For the devotees, its survival through these almost catastrophic events reinforced their belief that the image is miraculous.

Over the centuries, the Black Nazarene has drawn people from every corner of the country: workers, students, vendors, professionals, families, and pilgrims who carry stories of struggle and hope. The church has become a sanctuary for those seeking healing, guidance, or simply a moment of contemplative surrender to the Poong Nazareno.

The heart of the devotion to the Poong Nazareno is the annual Traslación, held on January 9. This reenactment of the historic transfer of the image from Intramuros to Quiapo took shape at the 400th anniversary of the image in 2006, and has grown into the largest yearly expression of Catholic devotion in the Philippines.  I remember that before that time, the procession was only around the Quiapo district and its environs.  I even had an experience when I was in the area during the procession when there was a rush of people wanting to get near the Nazareno.  I had to take cover along with other people inside a bakery; otherwise, we would be crushed by the surge of devotees.

Millions of devotees join the procession each year, many walking barefoot as an act of humility and solidarity with Christ’s suffering. Others reach for the ropes of the andas, a wheeled platform heavily adorned with flowers and lights bearing the image, and pulled by devotees.  They believe that even the slightest touch of the ropes can bring healing or protection.

Even as I write this post, the celebration is already underway, and crowds are already gathering at the Luneta Park for Masses and other devotional activities.  There is even a nine-day novena prayer in Tagalog available from the Hallow app, which I pray after the Angelus. The novena includes the hymn Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno, composed by National Artist of the Philippines, Lucio San Pedro, to honor the image.

from hallow.com

The Pahalik, which takes place a day before the Traslación, is an act of devotion where pilgrims and devotees, some coming from far provinces, line up to touch, kiss, wipe with a handkerchief, or just pray before the life-sized statue of the Black Nazarene.   The scale of participation, often reaching millions, reflects not only religious fervor but also the deep cultural roots of this tradition. Devotees would line up for hours, yet they patiently wait and consider this part of their sacrifice and an expression of their faith.

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The enduring devotion to the Black Nazarene reveals something essential about Filipino spirituality: faith is not a passive act. It is embodied, communal, and resilient. Some experts theorize that the Poon’s dark complexion forms a rich connection to the devotees.  Here is a Christ who looks familiar, who feels close, who understands the weight of human suffering.

In a country shaped by colonial history, natural disasters, and social challenges, the Black Nazarene stands as a symbol of perseverance. Every year, the Feast acts as a reminder that hope is not abstract; it is lived, carried, and shared.

From Our Family to Yours, A Happy and Blessed New Year