Republic of the Philippines

Pasay City National Science High School

Schools Division Office - Pasay City

by: Henry Clark CabigonGraphics by: FreAnne Grace TenedorCopyedited by: Joebbie Gaugano When we are still children and even now as adolescents, we learn and develop, not by dictation but by experience. As the Swiss psychologist Jean Piaget says, “Play is the work of childhood,” reiterating that playing is not just a way for children to pass time or have fun but also their most important form of learning and development. But what if this play is not the conventional, traditional definition of playing with friends on the streets but rather on the dangerous abyss of online clicks, dice, and bets, which is online gambling? Currently, authorities are taking a step against this dangerous platform if unregulated. Government agencies like PAGCOR and lawmakers such as Senator Zubiri have filed bills to impose stricter regulations to shield minors from these predatory platforms. PAGCOR, on the other hand, orders the takedown of ads pushing gambling on billboards, aiming to eradicate its pushy and encouraging narratives. These efforts, blocking websites and demanding better age verification, are a crucial first line of defense. This digital form of gambling poses a more complex and unpredictable danger to young people today. Unlike physical casinos that have bouncers and stricter rules, online gambling is open around the clock and accessible from anywhere, including homes and public spaces, using only a smartphone. These sites, using creative graphics and exciting sound effects, are carefully made to appeal to young people, making it difficult to distinguish between real gambling and the mobile games we already enjoy. This transforms the idea of play from a fun, social activity into a lonely, high-stakes obsession that removes the value of patience and hard work, replacing them with the lie of easy money. These then turn into debt, failing grades, anxiety, and a diminished pathway to a better future. However, this is not a problem the government can solve alone. The internet is vast, and for every illegal site that is taken down, another can rise almost instantly. The fight against online gambling cannot just be won in Congress; it must also be taught in our homes and classrooms. The ultimate defense against this digital threat requires a united effort from all of us. For parents, it means having open, honest conversations about the real dangers hiding behind these screens and being aware of their children’s online activities. For our schools, it means integrating digital and financial literacy into the instruction, teaching students how to see past the marketing gimmicks and understand the consequences when we try to play with online gambling. And for us, the youth, it means being vigilant protectors of our own well-being and that of our friends, because if we don’t take a stand now, we may be gambling away not just money, but our very future.

by: Angel Mae SeCopyedited by: Jewel Winslet VallejoPublication by: Rianne Lopez In the corner of everyone’s eyes lies an often overlooked presence, not because it is silent, but because the world forgets how to listen. Stories are sometimes left to just be words themselves—not a journey in someone’s life. Even songs that were once sung with emotions are starting to only be a beautiful melody—not as a sincere memory. Perhaps, the world really forgets how to listen. If so, what will happen to those voices that pleads to be heard? To the poems that ask to be emphasized? What will happen to those silent chronicles of their lives? For one person, this kind of scenario is not a distant observation; it is her daily rhythm. Every morning, she ties her shoelaces twice—to check if she did it right. She folds her notes three times, always in perfect halves. She lines her pencil on her desk every morning in perfect symmetry, erasers facing north, tips all sharpened to the same angle. When her teacher moves one out of place, she doesn’t dare speak it out. She waits until no one else is watching—moving like a keen specimen—then quietly puts it back. This little girl never dares to call it out by name. Most days, she does not even know if naming it would make people around her understand or just make them view her as a freak. Her heart speaks for integrity, yet the world seems to be full of insincerity. The thoughts inside her mind are telling her that things have to be perfectly precise. Not for comfort, but to control the voices in her mind that says, “If you don’t dare to do so, cataclysm will happen along your way.” The hardest battle is sometimes not about fighting the threat of others, but the threat your own self gives. But what others don’t see is the panic when she forgets if she washed her hands after touching her bag. The shame when she spends fifteen minutes rewriting a sentence because the letters never always look even in her eyes. The tightness in her chest when her daily routine is interrupted; how her heart races out of dread. She sits in classrooms where the lessons move too fast, where interruptions send her spiraling, where every group work means hiding the fear of being touched, judged, or rushed. Through it all, her only wish was for people to understand that her mind is a storm she has learned to walk through everyday—that her silence is not absence and that her sense of order is not an obsession. Rather, it is her way of survival. Moving forward was her only ace, and though the repeated explanations may seem defective to others, for someone whose ears are open—her stories are finally understood. For a single ear to hear and an eye to see, one’s stories began to light up for the world to see. The little girl who once used to hide her rewritten notebooks began showing it. Her voice is heard whenever the routine she sets up breaks—even her breath starts to falter. Although some still roll their eyes, a few began to listen. Not because of sympathy, but of respect. For a long time, she finally began to call it pride, not because she’s unafraid, but because she is learning that her difference does not need fixing. Nevertheless, it needs seeing, it needs honoring. And in a world that forgets how to listen, she learns to speak anyway—not loud, but clear. In every stillness within her, there lies a disability that most people tend to forget. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder—a story some share, not as a flaw to be erased, but as a truth to be embraced. A stillness that does not ask for pity. Rather, space. A quiet amidst the noise—where dignity lives, where identity breathes, and where, at last, they are heard.