Contributed by Abdurrahman Canacan Jr. (BS Information Systems 4)

I had finally watched Hello, Love, Goodbye (2019) months after everyone else had raved about it. By then, it had been years since it had broken records at the box office, and I was curious and maybe even a bit skeptical about why it struck such a chord. 

The film follows Joy, an overseas Filipino worker (OFW) in Hong Kong who’s juggling multiple jobs to support her family, all while dreaming of a new life in Canada. Then there’s Ethan, my favorite character, who is a bartender stuck in a limbo of uncertainty between his family responsibilities and his personal ambitions. 

Their paths cross in the bustling streets of Hong Kong, and a deep connection begins to form despite their opposing priorities. Joy’s determination to leave for Canada creates tension, especially as Ethan becomes increasingly invested in their relationship.

What caught me off guard was how the conflict never boiled down to a particular villain. There was no kontrabida to fight against, only their own internal struggles to resolve: Joy’s anxiety over her future and Ethan’s fear that he’ll lose someone he cares about.

This felt like a refreshing break from the usual Filipino drama formula I grew up watching, especially telenovelas like Kadenang Ginto (2018), Wildflower (2017), and Pangako Sa’yo (2000). These stories are built on a clear-cut dynamic between the bida and kontrabida. The hero endures endless hardship and triumphs only by defeating the villain, leaving little room for introspection or personal growth. 

This contrast makes me wonder: why do we, as viewers, gravitate so often toward external enemies, rather than stories that focus on internal conflict?

I suspect it has something to do with our collective history, in which external oppressors have often played a defining role. Under Spanish colonization, Filipinos fought to preserve their identity and traditions. During American rule and Japanese occupation, we fought to defend the short-lived independence we’d barely tasted. Even after colonial rule ended, the Martial Law period brought a battle to protect democracy from authoritarianism. Today, disputes over the West Philippine Sea with China continue this long history of resistance. 

We’ve learned, through centuries of injustice and hardship, to identify threats outside ourselves—oppressors, dictators, corrupt officials—as the reason for our struggles. It’s almost become second nature to see problems as something “out there” to conquer.

This mentality trickles not just into media but into every corner of our lives. In politics, we often place our faith in leaders who promise to eliminate corruption or solve all our problems. Even in everyday situations, such as when we’re stuck in traffic and berate reckless drivers, we rarely consider the flawed systems that cause these annoyances. 

But maybe we’re getting used to the old story and we want a new one. 

As much as I love Joy, for me, it was Ethan’s journey that was the heart of it all. He challenges the idea that relationships must anchor him, that the people he loves can never leave his side. Through this, he confronts a painful but crucial question: do these beliefs still serve him in his current reality? He doesn’t demand that Joy change her dreams. Instead, he tries to find the strength to finally adapt to changing circumstances. 

In some ways, we as Filipinos can see ourselves in Ethan. We can acknowledge our own part in the bigger picture but not declaring ourselves as the sole problem. It’s not about denying structural failings or excusing those who abuse power; it’s about ensuring our perspectives are more informed and our actions more intentional. If we can look inward more and understand why we think and act the way we do, then we can engage in more meaningful conversations and become more active participants in fixing what’s broken.

The release and success of its sequel, Hello, Love, Again (2024), signalled a growing willingness among Filipinos to examine our struggles and hopes through a different lens. We can still acknowledge the external challenges—historical traumas, political battles, economic hardships—but we can also dare to ask ourselves harder questions.

Editor’s Note: This article was first issued in the January to May 2026 Second Semester Newsletter of Atenews.