Your Travel Dreams Are Being TAXED: The Unjust Reality Filipino Travelers Can't Escape!

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

PASIG CITY, Metro Manila, Philippines – For countless Filipinos, the dream of stepping onto foreign soil, whether for business, leisure, or the pursuit of new opportunities, is a powerful one. We gaze at travel vlogs, plan itineraries, and save diligently, picturing vibrant new cultures and wider horizons. Yet, as the moment of departure nears, a familiar, unwelcome shadow falls: the Philippine Travel Tax. It’s more than just a fee; for many, it's a symbolic slap, a final burden imposed by a nation that often seems to prioritize its pockets over its people.

This isn't about our lauded Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs), who are thankfully exempt from this particular levy. This is about every other Filipino citizen who works hard, contributes to the economy, and yearns to explore, connect, or seek broader experiences beyond our shores. And for them, this tax feels less like a contribution and more like a punishment.

The Unjust Burden: Paying for the "Privilege of Leaving"

Imagine the scene: Bags packed, boarding pass in hand, the excitement palpable. Then comes the inevitable. A charge for the very act of leaving – an archaic "goodbye fee" that sets the Philippines apart from most of its progressive neighbors. As Edwin Jamora so keenly observes, it’s as if the government is saying, "Thank you for navigating our struggling systems, for dreaming of more... now pay us for the privilege of leaving."

This tax forces a bitter truth into sharp relief: many Filipinos travel abroad not merely for luxury, but because opportunities at home are often stifled by a persistent economic disparity. Whether it's to attend a conference that could boost their career, visit family in another country, or simply experience a different way of life that feels increasingly out of reach within our borders, this outbound journey is often born of aspiration, necessity, or deeply personal connection. To be taxed for this fundamental movement feels profoundly unjust.

A Relic in a World Moving Forward

While ASEAN neighbors are actively opening their doors, fostering seamless travel, and promoting regional integration, the Philippines clings tightly to a Marcos-era decree like some sacred relic. It’s a policy that feels utterly out of step with the 21st century.

This clinging to an outdated tax isn't just an isolated policy flaw; it's symptomatic of a broader issue. Why are we still burdened by such fees when our public services often remain woefully inadequate? Why are we taxed for leaving when the facilities at our own airports can feel neglected – from "baho na CRs" to a lack of proper food courts, and the glaring absence of integrated public transport like subway trains to connect to the "real world" outside the airport? It paints a picture of a nation that extracts from its citizens without fully delivering on its end of the social contract.

The Deeper Betrayal: When Pockets Outweigh People

This brings us to the heart of the matter: the soul-crushing reality that our leaders often appear to prioritize their own "pockets" over the genuine well-being of "their people." The travel tax, in this light, is a stark reminder of the widening chasm between the rich and the poor – a gap that feels not only too wide, but morally indefensible.

Does happiness truly come at the expense of others all the time? In a society where opportunities are unevenly distributed, and where the struggle for basic dignity is a daily battle for millions, it often feels that way. When immense wealth coexists with profound poverty, and when policies seem designed to maintain this imbalance, the collective happiness of the nation is undeniably diminished.

If the government genuinely aims to boost tourism – both inbound and outbound – and truly empower its citizens, then the answer is remarkably simple, yet profoundly challenging for the current paradigm: Stop taxing people for pursuing the opportunities and experiences that the nation itself struggles to provide. This isn't just about revenue; it's about dignity, aspiration, and the fundamental right to move freely and seek a better life, however one defines it.

A Call for Conscience and Courage

The abolition of the travel tax is not merely an economic adjustment; it’s a moral imperative. It's about sending a clear message to every Filipino planning a trip abroad: "We trust you. We value your aspirations. We believe in your right to explore and thrive, whether at home or away."

The time has come for leadership that embodies true courage – the courage to dismantle outdated systems, to prioritize equitable growth, and to truly bridge the gap between the privileged few and the longing many. Only then can we truly foster a Philippines where happiness is not a luxury afforded at someone else's expense, but a collective aspiration pursued with dignity and unfettered freedom.

What Happened to Delicadeza, Yedda Romualdez?

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

When poise becomes political clinging, and power refuses to let go.

In a nation wearied by dynasties and the slow erosion of democratic norms, the case of Representative Yedda Romualdez is not just another episode of political maneuvering—it is a profound test of our national conscience. Yedda, often lauded for her grace, approachability, and genuine concern for women and children, now finds herself at the center of a brewing storm over term limits and delicadeza, or political propriety.

The Constitution is clear: no member of the House of Representatives shall serve more than three consecutive terms. Yet here we are, with Yedda Romualdez poised to reenter the House for a fourth straight term—just under a different banner.

From 2016 to 2019, she served as Leyte’s 1st District Representative. From 2019 to 2022, and again from 2022 to 2025, she represented Tingog party-list. Now, once more, she is stepping forward as a returning lawmaker, her fourth consecutive term, skating on the technicality that these were different “positions.”

This is not just a legal gray area—it is a moral black hole.

Some will argue that the Constitution is silent on switching from district to party-list seats. But that silence is not consent. The spirit of term limits is unmistakable: no one should hold on to power indefinitely. Political life, like public trust, is not a personal possession to be inherited, rotated, or disguised.

And so we ask: what happened to delicadeza?

Yedda is not your stereotypical dynastic matriarch. According to various profiles, she entered politics with reluctance. She is not known for arrogance or the overbearing air of entitlement. Even progressive sectors have spoken kindly of her character. But precisely because she appears to know better, her decision to stretch constitutional boundaries becomes all the more disappointing.

In the eyes of many, this is not just Yedda’s overreach—it is also her husband’s.

House Speaker Martin Romualdez, one of the most powerful men in the country today, has remained conspicuously silent. Shouldn’t he, as Speaker of the House and chairman of the Congressional Spouses Foundation, be the first to exemplify restraint and good conduct? Instead, he appears to be an enabler of yet another Romualdez term in Congress, brushing aside the weight of public accountability like an inconvenient truth.

“Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion,” the old saying goes. But in the halls of Philippine power, even that seems negotiable.

Let us zoom out and see the bigger picture.

The party-list system, designed to amplify the voice of the marginalized, has long been hijacked by the powerful. According to watchdog groups like Kontra Daya and the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism, over half of today’s party-list groups are controlled by political families. In the last elections alone, the most dominant party-lists included Tingog (Romualdez), Agimat (Revilla), ACT-CIS (Tulfo), PPP (Duterte), and the eventually disqualified Duterte Youth.

This isn’t representation. It’s replication.

It’s no secret: Philippine politics thrives on revolving doors. Surnames hopscotch across positions—from mayor to congressman, from senator to vice president. But what makes the Yedda Romualdez case more insidious is that it normalizes a new loophole: the circumvention of term limits via the party-list system.

When you can no longer run for your district, you slide into a party-list seat. When that's exhausted, you return to the district. Like musical chairs—but only the same players ever get to sit.

Yedda’s decision, therefore, isn’t just about her. It’s a symptom of a deeper rot. It reflects an institutional culture where constitutional boundaries are stretched, blurred, and reinterpreted to preserve family influence. It is a culture where stepping down, even for a mandated rest of three years, is treated as an existential threat.

But letting go of power is not weakness. It is the true test of character. If the Binays—once the most formidable political family in Makati—can step back, even momentarily, why can’t others?

If delicadeza still means anything in this country, it must mean having the humility to obey not just the letter, but the spirit of the law.

We must begin to recognize what political dynasties cost us—not just in stolen opportunities, but in stunted accountability. Families do not check each other; they shield each other. They do not challenge performance; they protect reputations. They do not disrupt the status quo; they entrench it.

We need to plant the seeds of a cultural zeitgeist where voting for spouses, siblings, and children is not just frowned upon—it is rejected. Because we can’t expect change from families that protect one another’s power more fiercely than they protect the public interest.

No matter how kind, poised, or well-spoken a leader may be, clinging to power—especially under questionable legal interpretations—is not just undignified. It is dangerous.

And if we, the people, don’t say no to this now, we’re inviting more of the same—indefinitely.

Let this moment be a reckoning. Let it be a reminder that public office is not a family heirloom.

Let delicadeza rise again—not just in the hearts of politicians, but in the conscience of a vigilant nation.

Where Words Reign: The 2026 HKBU International Writers Workshop Invites the World’s Boldest Storytellers to Hong Kong

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

In a world gripped by chaos, disconnection, and digital noise, storytelling remains our most powerful weapon — and sanctuary. In 2026, that weapon finds its sharpening stone in the beating heart of Asia.

The Hong Kong Baptist University (HKBU) is once again opening the doors to one of the most coveted literary residencies in the region — the HKBU International Writers Workshop (IWW). Slated for March 2 to 29, 2026, this fully funded program will gather exceptional writers from across the globe in Hong Kong, offering not only a creative retreat but a cultural and intellectual convergence of the highest order.

No fees. No borders. No limits. Just the written word — in its purest, boldest form.

An Oasis for Writers in a World of Distraction

Imagine stepping away from the rush of your daily life to find yourself immersed in an international community of storytellers, each bringing a unique voice, history, and vision to the table. For four intense weeks, selected writers will live, write, and grow together — under the guidance and support of HKBU’s internationally acclaimed literary mentors and academic environment.

The best part? This rare opportunity costs nothing. The university will shoulder roundtrip airfare, accommodation, and provide a daily allowance to cover living expenses throughout the residency. There are no registration or participation fees, and more importantly, no age restrictions — a radical act of inclusion in a world that often places creativity on a ticking clock.

Whether you're a poet in your 60s, a dramatist in your 20s, or a novelist mid-career seeking new ground to break, if you’ve published at least one book, you’re eligible to apply.

The Global Stage Awaits

This is not just a workshop; it is a high-stakes intersection of cultures, languages, and disciplines. Writers will gather from every corner of the world to engage in workshops, dialogues, and literary exchanges that transcend borders. The program opens with a Welcome Ceremony, an intimate setting for introductions, reflections, and mapping the month ahead.

It culminates in the IWW Literary Festival, a high-profile event where participating writers will share their work publicly — provided it aligns with the festival’s 2026 theme: “Here and There.” This theme invites writers to interrogate the fragile tension between origin and destination, memory and imagination, nation and identity. It is as much about storytelling as it is about bearing witness.

What’s at Stake? Everything.

This isn’t about networking for a publishing deal or showing off on social media. The HKBU Writers Workshop is about the integrity of creation — about giving writers the space, time, and resources to confront the page and, in doing so, confront the world.

It is for writers who understand that the blank page is sacred.

It is for those who believe that literature is still a weapon, a refuge, a bridge.

It is for those who carry stories inside them that will not let them rest.

Eligibility at a Glance

To be considered, applicants must:

Have published at least one book in any genre.

Be currently residing outside of Hong Kong.

Possess strong proficiency in English or Chinese (Mandarin or Cantonese).

Commit to the entire residency period, from March 2 to March 29, 2026.

Be prepared to participate in both the Welcome Ceremony and Literary Festival.

How to Apply

Writers must submit the following materials as a single PDF document to iww@hkbu.edu.hk by the deadline of September 7, 2025:

A one-page Artist’s Statement in English or Chinese (Chinese statements must include a short English summary).

A sample of 12–15 pages of recent creative work, in any of the following genres: fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, drama, libretti, digital writing, or graphic forms.

A curriculum vitae or resume.

Contact details of two referees.

A copy of the applicant’s passport.

All documents must be formatted in 12-point font with 1-inch margins.

A Legacy in the Making

There are residencies that offer comfort. Others offer connection. Rarely does one offer both — wrapped in the fierce intellectual climate of one of Asia’s most cosmopolitan cities.

Hong Kong is not merely a backdrop for this residency. It is a participant — vibrant, complex, and unyieldingly modern. To write in Hong Kong is to write on the edge of contradiction and beauty, ancient roots and electric progress.

For the writers who are chosen, this workshop will be a turning point — in their work, in their voice, in their personal narrative. Their time at HKBU will not be a pause in their journey, but a defining chapter.

So, if you are a writer who is not content with comfort zones, who wishes to interrogate the world through language, and who still believes in the revolutionary potential of literature — this is your invitation.

Answer the call. Apply before September 7, 2025. The world is waiting for your story.