When Senate hearings stall, documents go missing, and witnesses suddenly recant on live television, I feel the familiar knot in my stomach. These are not coincidences to be brushed aside; they are warning signs of a systematic effort to hide the brains behind massive corruption. I take a hard stance here: what we are seeing is not mere incompetence, but the quiet choreography of a cover-up.

I have watched enough congressional inquiries and heard enough Commission on Audit reports to know how patterns repeat. Lawmakers grandstand for cameras, agencies issue carefully worded denials, and private contractors hide behind layers of subsidiaries and lawyers. The spectacle paints the illusion of accountability, yet we rarely see the masterminds named, let alone jailed. It is an indication of how power, once pooled, learns how to shield itself.

Then there are the so-called “miracles” and “magical events” people whisper about—key individuals with intimate knowledge of kickback trails who suddenly become unreachable. Official records say one thing; the grapevine suggests another. I am careful not to indulge in fantasy, but I am equally unwilling to ignore what happens when the public is denied transparency. In a country where fugitives have historically slipped through borders with ease, skepticism is not cynicism; it is survival.

Organized syndicates thrive on this multi-layered confusion. They leverage bureaucracy the way magicians use misdirection—keep the audience focused on the noise while the real trick happens elsewhere. Government agencies, some staffed by honest workers and others by willing accomplices, become part of a tangle where responsibility is endlessly deferred. Tracing accountability in such a setup is like chasing smoke with bare hands.
What troubles me most is how normalized this has become. We joke about it over coffee, shrug it off as “ganyan talaga,” and move on with our lives. Humor helps us cope, yes, but it also dulls outrage. Over time, that quiet acceptance becomes an unwritten policy, allowing corruption to navigate freely through institutions meant to stop it.

I do not believe that all lawmakers are villains, nor that all agencies are rotten to the core. The reality depends on factors. There are people inside the system who try to push back, who risk careers by asking the wrong questions. But without unwavering public pressure, these individuals are isolated, and the machinery of concealment rolls on, smooth and well-funded.

The damage here goes beyond stolen money. It seeps into how citizens view law, governance, and even each other. When truth feels negotiable and justice selective, trust becomes a scarce resource. We begin to assume that every scandal will fade, every culprit will vanish into legal fog or foreign anonymity, and that assumption reshapes our civic character.

We must refuse to be distracted by theatrics and insist on boring but brutal clarity—paper trails, independent prosecutions, and relentless follow-through. I am convinced that corruption fears light more than anger. The task, then, is to keep the lights on, even when those in power keep reaching for the switch.

THAT gospel episode about the multiplication of the loaves and fishes where Christ shocked his disciples when he told them to feed the big crowd with the very few things they had on hand (cfr. Mk 6,34-44) clearly reminds us that we should just give whatever we have, all the way to the limit, in pursuing God’s will for us. That’s because, as often said, we should just do our best and God will do the rest.

We should not be afraid when we would already find ourselves at our wits’ end, knowing that we are always in God’s hands. He knows what to do when we would already feel we are at our breaking point or at the end of the rope.

Let’s keep this truth of our faith alive so we can continue moving on despite whatever difficulty or failure may come our way. We should never give up. We should put away all forms of doubts and hesitation. With a sporting spirit and good sense of humor which should be the effects of our living faith, we know that even the impossible becomes possible. Christ proved it, and the saints who followed him closely did the same.

The important thing is for us to always keep in touch with Christ who is always around, ever eager to help us. Let’s hope that we can sincerely echo St. Paul’s words:

“Nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Rom 8,38-39)

We should just give and give. That’s the real language of love that is supported by a deep faith and a working hope. No matter how melancholic or phlegmatic our temperament may be, there should be in our mind and heart something that burns and drives us to action all the time.

We just have to train ourselves how to give our all, which is a tall order. But what is clear about this matter is that it is actually a call to enter into the will and ways of God which are supernatural. We are being asked to go beyond, but not against, our natural self. This is a call for us to approximate our identification with Christ.

If that pursuit for identification with Christ is strong in us, for sure we will also feel assured that everything would just be ok since Christ himself said: “Everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life.” (Mt 19,29)

We need to beg God’s grace to be able to meet this Christian standard. We just cannot rely on our human powers to abide by it. It actually is an invitation for us to take a leap to the supernatural world of God where God wants us to be, since we are his image and likeness, meant to share in his very life and nature.

We need to develop a keen sense of generosity and self-giving that is also a result of detachment. Let’s never forget that whatever we have comes from God who wants us to work for the common good. Thus, we hear St. Paul saying, “What do you have that you did not receive?” (1 Cor 4,7).

This was the most quoted phrase I heard today January 5, 2026; it is the collective sigh of sorts. Baga makuri pero tinood back to reality kita!

The fireworks are gone, the lechon bones picked clean, and the karaoke machines finally silent. Now comes the part we often dread going back to reality. And reality, whether we like it or not, is merciless. It demands paningkamot (hard work), disiplina (discipline), and pag-antos (endurance).

For professionals, January is not a continuation of the holiday hangover. It is a reckoning. Deadlines do not wait, and bills pile up faster than bonuses. In a fragile economy, complacency is a sin. A tinuod nga kalibutan (the real world) tells us: sharpen your skills, adapt to change, or be left behind. The New Year is not a vacation—it is a battlefield.
Students may groan at the return of exams and assignments, but reality is not negotiable. Education is the only ladder out of poverty. Pag-eskwela (studying) is not a burden—it is survival. In a nation where competition is fierce, the grind must be embraced. The New Year is not just another semester; it is another chance to prove that kusog ngan pagtuon (strength and learning) can outlast distraction.

Teachers, too, must face the relentless truth. The holidays may have offered rest, but the classroom waits. Lesson plans, grading, mentoring—none of it is glamorous, but all of it is essential. In a society where education is the only weapon against ignorance, teachers cannot falter. Their reality is heavy, but it is noble: shaping minds that will one day shape the nation. An mga maestra ngan maestro amo an haligi han kabataan (teachers are the pillars of the youth).

As Filipinos, we are masters of festivity. We stretch Christmas into January, we feast, we laugh, we sing. But reality is harsher than the glow of parol and the taste of bibingka. Inflation bites, governance falters, inequality persists. The New Year is not just about personal resolutions—it is about collective responsibility. Bayanihan must move beyond slogans. If we want a stronger Philippines, we must stop treating reality as something to escape and start treating it as something to confront.

“Back to reality” is not punishment—it is a test. It separates those who cling to comfort from those who embrace challenge. As professionals, students, teachers, and Filipinos,we must face the truth: the New Year is not about fireworks in the sky, but about our fire in the hearts.

So, let us go back to reality, and win!