They called me brave. Strong, even. A child praised for smiling through storms, not of her own making. But somewhere in the storm, I began to wonder if “Filipino resiliency” is truly a virtue, or is it just society’s way of telling us to shut up and suffer quietly?

Growing up, I was the poster child for resilience. While other kids celebrated birthdays with cakes and brand-new clothes, I mastered the art of pretending that hand-me-down clothes counted as birthday presents. My mother, a high school graduate and an overseas Filipino worker with unstable employment, held together what she could while oceans apart. My father, separated from us and chronically ill, was constantly absent and couldn’t bear the responsibility of raising his children. And like a true “resilient” Filipino family, we siblings were shipped off to relatives like overdue balikbayan boxes, each one of us finding new roofs but never real roots.

People applauded my strength. They admired how I “kept going,” how I still “smiled,” how I never “complained.” As if suffering silently was a badge of honor. As if poverty, broken families, and government neglect were just rites of passage to become a true Filipino.

They told me to thank my parents for bringing me into this world, even if they couldn’t afford to keep us in it comfortably. I was told that I am here for a reason, that every hardship is a test. But what if I never signed up for this? And worse, what if the test is rigged?

Filipino resiliency is the most beautifully wrapped lie we keep feeding ourselves. It is praised in songs, sermons, and state addresses. It is engraved in our national identity like a scar we’re told to flaunt. 

“Padayon. Kayanon ra nato.” Of course, we will. Because what choice do we have?

But perhaps that’s the real tragedy. We survive everything—corruption, calamities, collapsed roofs, and collapsed systems—and then call it strength. We are so good at adapting that we forget we deserve more than just survival. We treat suffering as a sport and smile through misery like it’s tradition.

Worse, our resiliency has become a convenient excuse for those in power to do less. Politicians take selfies in flooded neighborhoods while handing out relief goods that barely feed a family. They thank us for our bravery, then disappear into motorcades and gated mansions. And the public? We cheer. We vote. We say, “Maayo nalang kay naay gitunol.” Short-term gratifications have replaced long-term solutions. Breadcrumbs are now blessings.

It is not resilience when children walk kilometers to school barefoot. It is not bravery when workers endure twelve-hour shifts just to bring home minimum wage that barely scratches inflation. It is injustice disguised as dignity.

True strength is not in how we suffer but in how we resist the conditions that make suffering inevitable. We need to stop clapping for survival when we should be demanding systems that allow us to thrive.

Filipino resiliency, in its stereotyped form, must be put to rest. Not because we are not strong, but because we are tired of being expected to prove it. It is time we redefine resilience not as the ability to endure suffering but as the collective courage to confront and transform the conditions that produce suffering.

Editor’s Note: This article was first issued in the December 2025 First Semester Newsletter of Atenews.