“Buti pa ang athletes.”

It sounds like admiration. Pride, even. But when you think about it, it really means comparison disguised as praise. This is how we normalized unequal treatment: by dressing it up as support for excellence.

“Sayang, hindi ka athlete.”

It pretends to motivate, but in reality it draws a quiet line—who deserves the applause and who’s meant to stay backstage. The joke lands softly, but the truth hits hard: some victories are celebrated, others are merely acknowledged.

“Journalism lang ‘yan.”

It is said with a smile, sometimes teasing, but underneath it reveals neglect. The unseen hours of research, the sleepless nights editing, the pressure of accuracy, the risk of being wrong in public—all of that happens quietly. No parade. No pep rally. No jersey that has a name.

This is our culture of “okay na ‘yan.” Add a laugh at the end, and suddenly it’s expected to hurt less. In classrooms, assemblies, and awarding ceremonies, our words wear masks—humor doing the work of honesty we’re too uncomfortable to speak.

But the “okay na ‘yan” has never been a solution. It has never healed. Because behind it are bruises we pretend not to see: journalists who represent the same school, compete on the same stage, bring home the same medals—yet receive half the recognition, half the resources, half the respect.

We laugh it off. And the more we laugh, the more the system laughs with us—because as long as we’re busy joking, no one questions why one uniform gets applause while another gets silence.

Athletes train their bodies. Journalists train their minds. Both sacrifice time, youth, and comfort. Both carry the school’s name beyond its gates. Both deserve equal honor.

So the next time you hear, “Buti pa ang athletes…” ask yourself: was it really a joke? Or just another truth we’re too afraid to say without hiding behind a laugh?

The Frontman