Humanizing AI

 

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Pati pagbati, AI na!

There was music playing that suddenly caught my attention: a cover of Sharon Cuneta’s “Bituing Walang Ningning.” It was sung so beautifully, so smoothly, like butter melting on warm skin. Curious, I searched for the source and discovered an entire trove of covered OPM songs. Each one was impeccable. The pitch, the phrasing, the musicality, almost disturbingly perfect.

Then it struck me: why the perfection?

That was the moment of realization. These songs were not performed by human voices but generated through Artificial Intelligence. And just like that, my senses were thrown into disarray. If music, once the most intimate expression of human emotion, can now be replicated with such precision, what does that mean for performance, for artistry, for authenticity?

Music is being quietly invaded by AI, and the unsettling question lingers: what’s next?

This unease is mirrored in education. There is a growing trend among universities and higher education institutions to administer examinations and assessments in oral form. This shift aims to assure professors that the ideas, insights, and reasoning being presented genuinely originate from the learners themselves rather than from AI-generated engines. By foregrounding spontaneous articulation, critical thinking, and real-time reasoning, oral assessments attempt to reclaim authenticity in an era increasingly shaped by artificial intelligence.

Of course, we appreciate AI. It relieves us of tedious tasks, and the very intention behind its invention, to make work easier and more efficient, is a gift in itself. However, when people begin to allow AI to think on their behalf, when learners merely type prompts to generate answers without engaging in understanding, reflection, and intellectual struggle, the narrative changes entirely. At that point, convenience risks replacing learning, and assistance quietly turns into dependency.

This concern is not merely personal but scholarly. While artificial intelligence offers significant support in streamlining academic tasks, researchers caution that its uncritical use may undermine deep learning and cognitive engagement. When learners rely excessively on AI-generated outputs, they risk bypassing essential processes such as critical thinking, synthesis, and conceptual understanding. Rather than serving as a scaffold for learning, AI may become a substitute for intellectual effort if not guided by pedagogical frameworks that foreground human agency, reflection, and ethical use (Kasneci et al., 2023).

Music, education, and even laboratory results are now being uploaded into AI engines for analysis and interpretation. While these technologies offer speed and efficiency, they also pose a quiet threat when dependence begins to replace discernment and judgment. This reality calls for a critical discourse that moves toward humanizing AI, where technology remains a tool guided by human ethics, intention, and responsibility. In the end, it must still be people who decide, question, and think, not the other way around.

The moment we stop thinking because machines can, we begin forgetting what it means to be human.

The Revenge Lens

 

Mag-isip nan halayom kay bas mosiway…

A vlogger has recently made waves on social media by comparing supervisors in the United States and the Philippines. While he clarified that not all supervisors engage in what he calls the “Visitation of Gods” in schools, many netizens resonated strongly with his observations. His critique, striking as it is, highlights a persistent conversation about leadership behavior and professional accountability.

Though such comparisons may seem inequitable given the many factors involved, some of the practices he noted still exist. At the same time, many supervisors are gradually shifting toward more work-focused visits and exercising greater discretion in their conduct, reflecting a broader cultural awareness. In today’s information age, public scrutiny and ethical consciousness are shaping expectations for professional behavior across institutions.

This discussion gains further depth when viewed through the lens of James Kimmel Jr.’s The Science of Revenge. Kimmel notes that roughly 20 percent of people who perceive themselves as deprived of something they believe they deserve go on to plan acts of revenge. Such behavior is not simply emotional or situational—it is driven by ingrained psychological and neurological mechanisms that reinforce retaliatory impulses. This framework explains why some individuals invest significant time and resources in actions like defaming others or undermining positions of authority: their behaviors are motivated by a desire for psychological relief or restored balance.

Leaders who harm those around them may, in theory, be predisposed to such behavior, shaped by unresolved experiences of injustice or deprivation in early life. In leadership contexts, power can become a tool for reenacting or compensating for these past wounds. Kimmel’s research further demonstrates that revenge operates like an addiction, engaging the brain’s reward system in ways similar to substance dependence. Crucially, however, this pattern is not irreversible. Through cognitive strategies, forgiveness practices, and supportive environments, individuals can mitigate revenge-driven impulses and cultivate healthier behaviors.

Viewed in this light, the vlogger’s critiques may stem from personal experiences of perceived injustice, subtly reflecting his own impulses for retribution. Yet, as Kimmel emphasizes, such impulses are treatable and can be transformed. Recognizing and managing them offers the opportunity to replace cycles of retaliation with constructive insight, empathy, and growth—both for individuals and the communities they serve.

Ultimately, The Science of Revenge reminds us that revenge is not an inevitable human trait but a modifiable process. When acknowledged and addressed, even the strongest impulses toward retaliation can become pathways for understanding, healing, and ethical leadership.

Erosion

 

Amoy tagalong na mawaya sa passing.

It was around four in the morning in the ship’s tourist accommodation when an elderly woman placed a call. Her voice rang loudly through the cabin as she spoke to the person on the other end of the line, seemingly unaware of the passengers still asleep around her. Moments later, her husband joined in, and together they issued repeated instructions to the unseen listener. One by one, nearby passengers were startled awake, the quiet of the early morning broken by their insistent voices.

In another instance, distinct yet thematically related, there is a woman in her prime who appears to carry an adolescent spirit within her. She invests heavily in gadgets for vlogging and often presents herself with the exuberance of a BTS-screaming fan. While such expression is not bound to age, it becomes concerning when performed at the expense of her responsibilities.

These moments raise an important question: how has technology shaped our manners, as well as the way we decide and perceive the world? Are such actions manifestations of unmet needs: long-held hungers that now surface through excessive gadget use, slowly clouding our values and sense of propriety?

Scholars have noted that the pervasive use of digital technology has reshaped social behavior, often blurring boundaries of appropriateness and attentiveness in shared spaces. Turkle (2011) argues that constant connectivity can diminish face-to-face sensitivity, as individuals become more absorbed in mediated interactions than in their immediate social environment. This immersion may serve as a compensatory response to unmet emotional or psychological needs, where technology becomes a conduit for validation and self-expression. Consequently, manners and value judgments risk being obscured, not by technology itself, but by how it is used to fill personal and social voids.

Once again, the discourse on self-assessment and self-awareness resurfaces. Individuals must critically examine whether the technology they use has begun to encroach upon the values and manners they are expected to embody in shared social spaces, including those within social media.

This reflective process is crucial because unchecked technology use can gradually recalibrate social norms, normalizing behaviors once considered intrusive or discourteous. Research indicates that habitual engagement with digital devices in public and interpersonal settings reduces situational awareness and empathy, as attention is continuously divided between the physical and virtual worlds (Misra et al., 2016). Without deliberate self-regulation, individuals risk allowing convenience, validation, or visibility afforded by technology to override the ethical and social standards that sustain respectful communal interaction.

This discourse may be aptly concluded with a telling incident: during the Liturgy of the Eucharist at Mass, a phone suddenly rang. The woman who received the call not only answered it but proceeded to engage in a video call, turning her phone’s camera toward the priest at the very moment he was venerating the Body of Christ, an act that starkly underscored how digital immediacy can eclipse reverence and communal awareness.

When technology begins to speak louder than conscience, reverence, and self-restraint, it is no longer merely a tool—it becomes a quiet erosion of who we are in shared human spaces.

Self Care

 

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Mag uno dakan man baja?

A routine classroom observation turned tragic on January 7 when a 58-year-old public high school teacher in Muntinlupa City collapsed before her students and later died in hospital, leaving the education community in shock and disbelief.

In the aftermath, some teachers and netizens expressed on social media that rated classroom observations should be abolished, arguing that they increase stress and anxiety. Many suggested that classroom observations should instead emphasize mentoring and coaching rather than numerical evaluation.

In response, the Department of Education clarified in its latest advisory that classroom observation should be conducted in a supportive and respectful manner. It emphasized that observations are no longer the sole basis for evaluating teacher performance and that policies are under review to ensure the process is collaborative and focused on instructional improvement rather than inducing stress.

Within the DepEd RPMS cycle, classroom observation is a vital part of performance monitoring. It allows school leaders to closely examine instructional practices, ensure alignment with curriculum standards, and safeguard the quality of teaching and learning in classrooms.

If both the teacher and the observer clearly understand its purpose: to uphold instructional quality and support effective teaching and learning, why should classroom observation be a source of anxiety?

Educational research shows that anxiety around classroom observation often stems from misperceptions of its purpose rather than the process itself. Studies indicate that when observations are framed as collaborative, transparent, and aligned with professional growth, teachers are more likely to perceive them as constructive and less threatening (Danielson, 2013; Goe, Bell, & Little, 2008).

Considering the recent incident, it might seem that the classroom observation process is being blamed for the teacher’s untimely death. However, other factors, such as the teacher’s existing health condition at the time of the observation, must also be considered. Research highlights that pre-existing conditions, such as cardiovascular issues, chronic fatigue, or stress-related illnesses, can increase physical vulnerability during routine tasks, including classroom observations (Kyriacou, 2001; Montgomery & Rupp, 2005). Attributing such tragedies solely to professional processes overlooks the complex interplay between personal health and work-related demands.

If routine professional tasks are constantly linked to such tragedies, there is a risk that teachers, and workers in other fields, might begin to fear essential aspects of their work. For instance, lesson planning, a fundamental responsibility of every teacher, could be unfairly seen as hazardous. If this perspective prevails, any routine duty inherent to a job might be perceived as potentially fatal, undermining both professional practice and rational assessment of workplace risks.

Ultimately, while the tragic passing of Teacher Agnes Buenaflor is a sobering reminder of life’s fragility, it should not overshadow the essential role of classroom observations in maintaining and enhancing educational quality. These observations are not mere formalities—they are crucial tools for nurturing effective teaching, fostering professional growth, and ensuring that every learner experiences meaningful and well-guided instruction.

Rather than casting routine educational practices as threats, the focus must remain on supporting teachers’ well-being, promoting collaborative learning, and upholding the standards that transform classrooms into spaces of excellence. In honoring her memory, the education community can reaffirm its commitment to both teacher welfare and the enduring pursuit of quality teaching and learning.

Blessed to Work Again

 

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Magtrabaho na sab ta!.

The first day of work for the new year is just around the corner, and social media is already filled with posts dreading its arrival. Many wish the vacation could stretch a little longer. Even some teachers share sentiments that make returning to work sound like something to mourn. Yet these expressions, harmless as they appear, can send mixed signals to younger people who look up to adults. After all, work is not merely a routine we endure; it is the source of our stability, livelihood, and often, our sense of purpose.

When a job feels stripped of meaning, it easily becomes a routine: just another set of tasks to get through. But when we see our work as purposeful, something connected to a larger picture, the ordinary shifts. Even the familiar becomes engaging, and the day-to-day carries a quiet sense of excitement.

What has become of us? Perhaps this is one result of living in a world shaped by instant gratification. With quick entertainment available at every pause, we’ve grown used to easing boredom with a simple scroll, chasing that brief dopamine lift from TikTok and other platforms. Research suggests that constant exposure to instant rewards, from online games to fast-paced digital content, may contribute to anxiety, restlessness, and difficulty sustaining focus among young people. Technology brings convenience, but it also reshapes the way we cope and find satisfaction.

Studies have found that problematic patterns of social media use are linked to higher levels of anxiety, depression, stress, and other psychosocial concerns (Keles, McCrae, & Grealish, 2020; Lin et al., 2016; Pantic, 2014). Similar effects surface in the use of short-form videos and online games, which have been associated with increased anxiety and depressive symptoms (Liu et al., 2025). These findings suggest that the instant-reward design of digital platforms plays a role in shaping mood and emotional well-being.

Could this growing weariness toward work stem, in part, from a lifestyle defined by constantly checking what others are doing online, where the “good life” seems to mean vacations, gaming, or the latest TikTok trend? It sometimes feels as if many of us are being quietly drawn into a culture where social media dictates what is normal or desirable, blurring the line between genuine rest and the pressure to imitate what we see on our screens.

We are sentient beings, capable of understanding our values and the purpose behind our education: so we can work, grow, and sustain ourselves. Wishing work away is like a plant trying to avoid the rain even as the soil beneath it dries. Work, much like the rain, is what keeps us grounded, nourished, and moving forward.

We are fortunate to have work that sustains us. Let us meet the days ahead not with dread, but with gratitude and renewed excitement.

Intentional Will

 

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Hamok na plano.

There are those who begin the year by contemplating new resolutions, some hope to lose weight, others plan to start a healthier diet, and many aspire to be kinder in 2026. Yet too often, these promises remain mere words, spoken with good intentions but never carried into action.

Take, for example, people who aim to be kinder because they recognize times they may have hurt others. Some traits are deeply rooted and difficult to change, while others may not even be fully noticed, small, impulsive reactions and habits that sometimes emerge unexpectedly during interactions, showing the more challenging sides of one’s character.

Changing long-standing habits is often more complex than simply declaring a new intention. As Duhigg (2012) explains, behaviors are shaped by deeply embedded habit loops that require conscious effort and sustained practice to transform. Similarly, Goleman (1995) emphasizes that emotional patterns, especially those formed over years, often resurface in moments of stress or conflict, making genuine behavioral change challenging. Together, these readings highlight why resolutions rooted only in words rarely lead to lasting transformation.

But then again, there is the matter of will, what some call the intelligent will. When a person recognizes their flaws and consciously chooses to work on them, change becomes possible. It requires sustained effort and constant self-awareness, but over time, the old tendencies can gradually lose their hold. In their place emerges a new, learned disposition, one shaped with intention and aligned with what is good and life-giving.

The capacity for personal transformation is grounded not only in self-awareness but also in this intentional or intelligent will. When individuals acknowledge their maladaptive tendencies and commit to modifying them, they activate a deliberate process of behavioral change.

Research on habit formation and self-regulation supports this, suggesting that such change requires sustained effort, consistent reflection, and the repeated practice of alternative responses (Duhigg, 2012; Goleman, 1995). Over time, these intentional actions can weaken ingrained patterns and foster the development of new, prosocial traits that better align with one’s desired identity and contribute to the greater good.

Only then can a renewed version of oneself truly emerge, one shaped by intention rather than impulse, and such transformation is not confined to the turning of a new year.

Ultimately, real change comes not from yearly resolutions but from the daily choice to confront our flaws with honesty and to reshape our habits with intention. When we commit to this steady inner work, transformation becomes possible, quiet, enduring, and not bound by the turning of a new year.

Devoid of the Spirit

 

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Kinahanglan mahamok hasta mabibo.

Materialism inevitably surfaces during the Christmas season, as seen when teachers express concern over delayed salaries and benefits, claiming they cannot prepare meaningful activities for their class celebrations. This reflects how holiday expectations, particularly the need to provide food, gifts, or tokens, have become intertwined with a sense of adequacy and responsibility, revealing a socially reinforced material pressure that extends even into professional spaces.

The emphasis on food, gifts, branded items, and elaborate gatherings illustrates a form of relational materialism, where goods serve as symbols of affection, gratitude, or social responsibility rather than personal luxury. In a society where pamasko, aguinaldo, and gift exchanges are embedded in tradition, material giving functions as a mechanism for maintaining social ties and avoiding hiya (shame) or perceptions of inadequacy.

Scholars note that Filipino holiday practices blend cultural obligation with consumption-based expectations. Pertierra (2002) and Rafael (1993) observe that Filipino social life is deeply shaped by utang na loob, pakikisama, and the moral economy of giving, which often manifest in material expressions during communal events. These practices reveal that gift-giving is not merely transactional but an essential part of sustaining relationships and social identity.

Yet while material pressures grow, the spiritual essence of Christmas often recedes into the background. At its core, Christmas is a profoundly religious celebration, inviting believers into quiet reflection on the mystery of the Incarnation, how God became flesh and embraced humility by being born in a manger. The hymn Silent Night, Holy Night reinforces this contemplative dimension, reminding us that the true meaning of the season lies in stillness, reverence, and the simplicity of the nativity story rather than in noise or excess.

At the same time, commercialization shapes expectations. Retailers and product-driven industries craft marketing strategies designed to entice consumption, defining what a “proper” Christmas should look like. These campaigns often leave many feeling stressed or inadequate when they cannot purchase cakes, lechon, ham, or other holiday staples. In effect, the pressure to consume has subtly replaced the simplicity of celebration, turning what should be a meaningful tradition into a source of anxiety.

This societal pressure may also explain why feelings of depression tend to intensify during the season. Ready-made “templates” of merriment, abundance, fulfillment, and constant cheer, contrast sharply with personal realities, leaving individuals with a painful sense of inadequacy or isolation. The pressure to perform happiness, rather than experience it authentically, becomes an emotional strain that overshadows the season’s genuine significance.

To counter this, we must reclaim the power to define happiness on our own terms. True joy cannot flourish when we are burdened by debt simply to meet society’s prescribed standards of celebration. Contentment emerges not from external conformity but from embracing simplicity, authenticity, and the values that genuinely nourish well-being.

Ultimately, Christmas should awaken the heart, not empty the pocket. True celebration lies in love, presence, and gratitude, not in the weight of material expectation.