The power of Filipino emotions

I’ve always believed Filipinos feel things more deeply than most. We’re not just emotional. We’re the most emotional, according to a recent Gallup survey: 60 percent of us said we experienced strong emotions — good or bad — the day before the poll. That was the highest rate in the world, topping 140 other countries. That’s no small thing. It tells a story not just about how we live but why poverty and emotion remain intertwined in our national life.

Poverty amplifies emotion. When resources are scarce, daily life gets raw. Joy is fierce. Grief is overwhelming. Hope can seem fragile. Emotion becomes louder because our circumstances demand it. In richer countries, daily distress is softened: you buy bottled water or go to the movies. But for many Filipinos stuck in poverty, every day is amplified: turning on the tap, filling up the jeep, paying for school — it’s emotional. You don’t just feel hunger. You feel desperation. You don’t just feel tired. You feel like you’re dying.

That emotional intensity shapes everything: business, politics, even our relationships. In business, it can be both a gift and a curse. On one hand, emotional engagement fuels creativity. Our advertising is powerful. Our service workers are warm. Filipino BPO centers are known for empathy and heartfelt communication. Emotion can close deals, build trust and make brands feel human. When a salesperson senses your mood, they respond in kind. That’s a skill. But there’s a downside. Our decisions are often too emotional. Investors get spooked easily. One bad headline robs us of millions. We ride the tide of sentiment instead of systems. We prize gut over analysis.

That’s why some foreign investors avoid long-term projects here — they worry about emotional instability: protests, lockdowns, fever pitch elections. They see emotion, not resilience. In politics, emotion is our stock-in trade. Campaigns here feel like telenovelas. Candidates cry. They hug families. They shout from balconies. It resonates.

But again, the same intensity can backfire. Emotional politics favors populism. Decisions come from rallies, not data. We react more than we plan. We celebrate passion but neglect policy. When leaders tap our hearts, they win. But when they neglect our problems, we suffer. This also shows up in how we treat poverty. We feed the hungry, clothe the cold, pray for the dying — and that’s good. But solutions are often emotional, not structural. We lobby with tears. We mourn with songs. But when responsibilities demand budgets, policies and regulations, we stall.

Emotion doesn’t build bridges. It doesn’t fix traffic. It doesn’t pass mental health laws. That takes consistency, not crying. In society, being so emotional means we connect easily. We’re warm, hospitable, generous. We help strangers. We cry at sad movies, rejoice at weddings, rage at injustice. The social bond is strong. It makes us resilient in calamity. Typhoon after typhoon, we rebuild — not just structures but communities.

Emotion binds us. It also burdens us. We cling to the past. We hold grudges. We gossip, and it hurts. We shame. We judge. We worry about what others think. Emotional experiences become collective memories — good and bad. We share trauma as much as joy, and both stick to our identity.

Being the world’s most emotional country, in many ways, is a blessing wrapped in a curse. It fuels our warmth, binds our communities and drives our creativity. It pushes campaigns to be passionate and brands to feel personal. But it also means we make decisions based on tears, not plans. We lead with sentiment, not sense. We treat symptoms, not causes. We celebrate emotion and forget discipline. If we want to thrive, we need to balance feeling with thinking. We need structures that harness emotion rather than be ruled by it. In business, that means systems that manage risk, not just charm clients.

In politics, that means policies grounded in data, not just tear-jerking speeches. In society, that means empathy that leads to action: fund housing, fund schools, fund mental health. We’re working on it.

The Mental Health Act got passed in 2018. It promised more care for those drowning in emotion — depression, anxiety, trauma — but it still needs funding, training and implementation. We’re seeing more nongovernmental organizations working on rehab after typhoons and the drug war. We’re more aware today of how poverty and disaster leave emotional scars. But awareness is the first step, not the finish line. We need to build systems that don’t just feel our pain but prevent it. We need to train kids not just to cry but to cope. We need to reward planning as much as passion. We must embrace emotion, yes, but channel it. Use it to motivate, not to mislead. Use it to heal, not to hijack. Use it to empathize, not just to entertain. I believe we can do that.

Our emotion is our power. It’s our heart. But a heart alone can’t win the world. It needs a mind that plans and a body that builds. We need the discipline to match our depth. We need to transform emotional energy into long-term action. Being the most emotional country isn’t a badge to hide under. It’s a responsibility. We feel the world more, yes. But feeling isn’t enough. We have to act. We must build. We must sustain. We need policies that outlast sympathy. We need leaders who feel and forge solutions. We need systems that honor our emotion by turning it into change. Until we do, we’ll remain emotional — and still poor. And we’ll ask ourselves, between tears and laughter, why so much feeling hasn’t led us any closer to real progress.

Source: Manila Times