Inherited and Learned Rudeness

 

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Yay eksakto na pamatasan!

A friend once recounted how a certain couple raised their child to mirror their own unkindness. Once prominent figures in their circle, they were often the subject of hushed whispers about their discourteous behavior. In the end, even those who knew them best could only agree with one enduring truth: you cannot buy class.

Manners are integral in daily encounters. They are the subtle expressions of respect and consideration that shape how we move within the shared spaces of society. More than gestures of politeness, manners reflect the depth of one’s upbringing and awareness of others. They bridge differences, soften conflicts, and nurture an atmosphere of civility in an increasingly impatient world.

Yet with the growing influence and complexities introduced by technology and media, people now engage in a multitude of behaviors, many of which stray from the greater good. Even professionals, who are expected to uphold discernment and integrity, sometimes distort definitions to suit their own perspectives, insisting on their version of what is right. Such tendencies often trace back to one’s upbringing, patterns of thought and conduct learned early on, now manifested and defended as truth.

Scholars have also observed this moral shift in the digital age. As Turkle (2016) asserts, constant connectivity has fostered a culture of self-validation rather than self-reflection, weakening empathy and ethical awareness. Similarly, Postman (2005) warned that media-saturated societies risk prioritizing entertainment over moral reasoning. These shifts reveal that manners and ethics, once rooted in upbringing and social norms, are now increasingly mediated by algorithms and online approval, challenging the very idea of what is “good” or “correct.”

The way we eat, the way we converse and truly listen without being absorbed by our phones, the way we respond to online comments, and even the way we present ourselves, all these mirror our manners. These behaviors are learned and gradually woven into our daily actions, silently revealing who we are. Yet what is more unsettling is the thought that others may emulate these behaviors, believing them to be right simply because they are commonly practiced. In this sense, manners are not only personal reflections but also social influences, shaping how others learn to define what is acceptable and good.

Some people claim that they need not conform to societal norms, insisting on being accepted for who they are. Yet beyond individuality lies the enduring presence of universal values, foremost among them, respect. True freedom does not exist in the absence of responsibility; it flourishes when guided by conscience and concern for others. The concept of the greater good must remain at the heart of this freedom, for when liberty is exercised without restraint or regard for others, it no longer uplifts, it descends into disorder. Indeed, democracy thrives not through unbounded expression, but through the balance of rights and respect.

Manners must still be uplifted and practiced. In an age where self-expression often overshadows respect and where digital spaces blur the boundaries of civility, the simple act of showing courtesy becomes a quiet but powerful assertion of humanity. Manners are not mere formalities; they are the invisible threads that hold communities together, reminding us that dignity is mutual and kindness is universal. To practice good manners is to affirm that, despite the noise of modern life, grace and respect still matter, and they begin with each of us.

Long after words are forgotten, it is our manners that people remember.

Where Compassion Begins

 

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Malakip an iban!

Lately, social media has become a cacophony of voices talking about mental health, sparked by the tragic news of Emman Atienza’s passing. Timelines are flooded with messages of sympathy, calls for kindness, and campaigns urging compassion for those battling anxiety and depression. Yet, amid this chorus of empathy, quiet contradictions drift beneath the surface: voices that speak of compassion, but hearts that falter when it is most needed.

You see, mental health is not confined to cases of depression that lead to self-harm. It also encompasses other conditions, often overlooked, where individuals struggle with psychological disorders that may cause them to harm others.

When we talk about mental health, we often picture depression or self-harm, but the reality is broader and more complex. Some psychological conditions, such as untreated personality disorders, unresolved trauma, or chronic stress, can manifest in behaviors that hurt others, not always through physical aggression but through emotional harm, manipulation, or insensitivity. Research shows that disorders like narcissistic, borderline, or antisocial personality patterns can lead individuals to act in ways that damage relationships and emotional well-being (American Psychiatric Association, 2022; Campbell & Miller, 2011). Still, it is essential to remember that most people with mental health conditions are not violent; harmful behaviors arise when psychological issues remain unacknowledged or untreated.

Yes, we often extend compassion to those who suffer in silence, but what about those who choose to inflict pain loudly and deliberately? What about the people who insult others in public spaces, or the leaders who oppress because they’re intoxicated by their own power? What about those who refuse to listen, who dismiss feedback, and continue to wound others just to satisfy their pride? How do we respond to them? What kind of compassion do they deserve?

When someone is told they exhibit such behaviors and simply shrug it off with, “That’s just who I am,” it shows a lack of self-reflection and perhaps even self-awareness. Denial, when left unchecked, becomes a cycle; and when that cycle persists, so does the madness.

According to Goleman (2006), self-awareness is the foundation of emotional growth, it allows individuals to recognize how their actions affect others. When people remain in denial, they create a psychological barrier that prevents change and reinforces dysfunctional patterns (Vaillant, 1992). Without reflection, this cycle of denial and defensiveness can harden into behavior that harms both themselves and those around them.

A superiority complex is, in many ways, a mental health concern, but it’s rarely talked about. Society often normalizes it, especially when displayed by those in positions of power. This mindset often evolves into something more systemic, seen not just in individuals but in institutions where authority feeds delusion. We tend to accept that some leaders or government officials are entitled to act that way, as if arrogance were part of authority. Recent studies even suggest that corruption among some congressmen, contractors, and officials within agencies like the DPWH persists not merely because of greed, but because people have learned to tolerate it (Acemoglu & Robinson, 2019). When entitlement goes unchallenged, it becomes a cycle sustained by silence.

Yes, we extend compassion to those who are struggling with depression, but accountability must also be part of the conversation. We must not remain silent toward those who misuse their power and cause harm to others, individuals whose unresolved psychological issues manifest as oppression or emotional abuse. Those in authority (like those with excessive greed) bear an even greater responsibility for their own mental wellness, for their actions affect not only themselves but the people they lead. When they refuse to acknowledge their behavior or seek help, society’s role is to raise awareness, not to ridicule, but to confront such dysfunction so they may regain clarity and seek professional intervention.

In the end, we also have the right to protect our own peace: to guard our mental well-being from those who threaten it, don’t we?

When Will We Ever Learn?

 

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Unoy pa gajod mahitabo para maleksyon…

There’s a saying that goes, learn from your mistakes. It sounds simple enough, but not everyone is wired to take that route. It takes a certain level of self-awareness, and perhaps a measure of humility, to pause and say, maybe I was wrong.

But that’s not how it works for everyone. Take those who often struggle with self-reflection, for instance. They seldom consider that the mistake might be their own, finding it easier to place the blame elsewhere. Such a mindset makes learning more difficult, and the repetition of the same lesson almost inevitable.

Research suggests that self-reflection and emotional regulation are key components in learning from failure, yet not all personalities are inclined toward such introspection. Some individuals with a heightened sense of self-focus, for example, tend to externalize blame and struggle to acknowledge their own faults, making it difficult for them to benefit from personal setbacks (Miller, Campbell, & Pilkonis, 2007). This resistance to accountability can hinder growth and perpetuate the same errors over time.

When a person does not acknowledge a higher or divine presence, much like those who rely solely on their perceived control, they often fail to grasp the idea of divine or external interventions. Instead of recognizing a force greater than themselves, they anchor their confidence on their own superiority. Even in cultures steeped in beliefs of karma or moral balance, such individuals may still dismiss these concepts. Their sense of entitlement and self-righteousness overrides any openness to the idea that consequences may stem from forces beyond their own making.

As a result, they fail to see their mistakes or negative experiences as potential signs: whether divine warnings or the universe’s quiet response to the energy they project. Instead of viewing setbacks as meaningful reflections of their actions, they often dismiss them as mere coincidences or the fault of others.

So, when does a person ever truly learn? Must one encounter even more disastrous experiences before pausing to reflect, questioning whether these events are warnings or consequences? Or will they continue to dwell in the illusion of being all-knowing, resistant to insight and untouched by humility?

Ultimately, growth depends on a person’s ability to step back and question their own assumptions. When someone consistently dismisses their role in setbacks or avoids the idea that there might be something to learn from difficult experiences, change becomes unlikely. It’s not always about divine warnings or cosmic balance, but sometimes, paying attention to patterns and outcomes is what quietly pushes a person forward.

The true test is not in what happens around us, but in whether we choose to notice, or must we again await something grander, harsher, or more devastating to remind us of the quiet wisdom humility has always sought to impart?

Perhaps humility has never been absent, only unheard beneath the noise of our own pride. When we finally choose to listen, not through grand events or painful reckonings but through the quiet rhythm of everyday life, we rediscover what it means to be human: to see, to feel, and to be grateful for even the smallest truths that call us back to grace.

 

When We Are Shaken

 

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Hujong pati an kayag!

When the earth shook, we were reminded of how fragile our sense of control truly is. In that fleeting moment, all that seemed certain was swept away, and we found ourselves clinging to the divine. Some called out to God in fear, others in quiet surrender, but all were united by the same yearning for safety and grace.

Cristina Chi of The Philippine Star reported that a magnitude 7.5 earthquake struck off the coast of Davao Oriental at around 9:43 a.m. on October 10, triggering tsunami warnings and widespread alarm across Mindanao. Initially recorded at magnitude 7.6 before being later revised, the powerful tremor’s epicenter was located offshore near the municipality of Manay and was strongly felt in several parts of Mindanao and neighboring regions.

We were on the fourth floor of a hotel for an educational engagement when the tremor struck. I calmly instructed the participants to follow the safety procedures we had long practiced during earthquake drills, yet many instinctively ran for safety in panic. As I took cover under a table, I silently prayed for the shaking to stop. The thirty seconds felt much longer: intense, disorienting, and deeply unsettling. When it was over, several of my companions were visibly shaken, some even traumatized by the experience.

Later, as emotions poured out on social media, mixed with humor, fear, and even a flood of memes, I found myself reflecting on our collective response. Have we become so desensitized that even calamity becomes a subject of entertainment? In moments like this, I wonder if we are gradually losing our empathy and evolving into an indifferent species.

Natural disasters often expose both our vulnerability and our humanity. In moments of crisis, such as during an earthquake, individuals respond with instinctive fear or calm composure depending on their sense of preparedness and meaning making (Becker et al., 2017; Lindell & Perry, 2012). Yet, as emotions spill over into social media, reactions can shift from empathy to detachment, where humor and memes blur the line between coping and desensitization (Vasterman et al., 2005). This raises moral questions about our collective sensitivity and compassion in a digital age that easily turns tragedy into spectacle (Bloom, 2016; Zaki, 2020).

The calamities we experience in the Philippines continually remind us of our shared vulnerability and our enduring humanity. They compel us to take precautions and to care not only for ourselves but also for those around us. In moments like these, our priorities are realigned toward what truly matters. Material possessions may fade or be lost, but the kindness we extend and the relationships we nurture endure. Ultimately, the meaning of our existence is not measured by what we accumulate, but by how deeply and selflessly we serve others.

Those who fear the most are often those deeply attached to their possessions. Their anxiety stems from the thought that everything they have worked hard for, their homes, cars, and material investments, could vanish in an instant, reduced to rubble. The greater the attachment, the deeper the fear. When our sense of security is anchored on what we own, we become vulnerable to losing peace of mind the moment these things are threatened.

The tremors we experienced remind us to remain humble and grounded. They teach us to focus on what truly matters, rather than investing our emotions in things that are fleeting. In the face of uncertainty, we are called to place greater value on what endures: genuine relationships, acts of kindness, love for the environment, and respect for others. These are the foundations that sustain us when everything else begins to shake.

In the end, every tremor reminds us that nothing in this world is permanent, except the strength of a humble heart and the goodness we share with others.

When One Ignores Resistance

 

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Magbantay lamang kay bas mahitukyod!

Resistance exists everywhere, especially when individuals are placed in uncomfortable situations brought about by natural phenomena, imposed by leaders, or enforced by institutions.

At its core, resistance is a human response to power and control. Foucault (1978) argues that where there is power, there is also resistance, suggesting that opposition is a natural counterbalance within any social system. Similarly, Scott (1985) explains that even ordinary individuals find ways to resist authority, whether through open protest or subtle acts of defiance. Institutions, such as schools or governments, often establish rules that may not always align with the values or comfort of the people, which in turn can spark resistance (Giroux, 2011).

Leaders of institutions or even small organizations must recognize this phenomenon, not to simply yield to the whims and demands of their members, but to genuinely consider the well-being of the people they serve. Neglecting this responsibility may drive individuals to express their discontent in various forms of resistance, ultimately placing leaders at risk of being displaced.

Recent national events reveal visible forms of resistance, such as rallies, protests, and walkouts from schools and government offices. These actions stem from widespread frustration over blatant corruption, systemic oppression, and the deep social inequalities perpetuated by politicians, political dynasties, and even contractors and engineers who allegedly misuse public funds for personal comfort.

Such collective actions reflect how citizens challenge systems of power that appear to favor the elite while disregarding the needs of ordinary people. Tarrow (2011) notes that collective action often arises when inequalities become too visible to ignore, while Scott (1990) emphasizes that resistance can be both overt, like protests, and covert, through everyday acts of defiance. In the Philippine context, Abinales and Amoroso (2017) highlight how corruption and patronage politics have long fueled public dissent, showing that resistance is deeply rooted in the struggle for fairness and accountability.

The lesson for any individual, especially those in management and leadership roles, is to embrace a leadership style rooted in genuine care rather than being driven by selfish intentions born of unchecked desires or psychological deficits. Leaders must cultivate self-awareness and ensure that equality and fairness are consistently upheld within their organizations, creating environments where people feel valued and respected.

Otherwise, resistance will become increasingly difficult to address and may manifest in ways that undermine organizational stability and harmony.

Ultimately, resistance is not merely an obstacle but a signal, a reminder for leaders to ground their actions in care, fairness, and self-awareness. When leadership fails to honor the dignity and well-being of people, resistance becomes inevitable; but when it succeeds, it transforms potential conflict into collective strength.