UP: When Running into Conflict—Respect, Rivalry, and Responsibility

Wazzup Pilipinas?!

Inside the heart of UP Diliman—an academic sanctuary, a symbol of Filipino excellence, a public space that generously welcomes the masses—tensions are quietly mounting.

On a recent Reddit thread capturing the UPCAT weekend scene, frustration poured in from outraged constituents:

“Some kids were late because of the crazy traffic, and then these proud UPCAT runners had to add to the problem.”

“Herd mentality … students need the space more, especially when there are events.”

“We runners should know the etiquette … and not be dismissive of the signs and announcements.”

Elsewhere online, UP’s social media stir confirms the sentiment: constituents of the university have “called out joggers and cyclists who were seen during the two-day UPCAT,” a time traditionally sacred to serious examinees. 

Sunflowers & Symbolism: A Silent Request

Meanwhile, on University Avenue, rows of sunflowers bloom in golden tribute to graduating iskolar ng bayan—symbols of hope, transformation, and the campus’s cherished graduation tradition. 

These radiant blooms are more than picturesque—they're planted for a purpose. Past directives from university authorities make it clear: respect the space, allow graduating students their moment, avoid tampering or stepping on the flowers. 

Yet that simple request often goes unheard.

The Larger Picture: Campus as Shared Stage

What’s unfolding is not merely a clash between runners and students—it’s a mirror to broader values:

UP exists first and foremost as a university—a home for learning, sanctuary for students. Running and leisure should not eclipse academic solemnity or disrupt institutional needs.

For Iskolar ng Bayan, the priority is clear: safety, order, and respect during critical times. A single misplaced step or burst of energy can disrupt exams, ceremonies, or communal harmony.

Yet, many runners—perhaps unconsciously—carry a sense of entitlement: public space, after all, is open to everyone. But with openness comes responsibility.

Toward a New Ethos: Grace, Not Guilt

Your observation—“sometimes we runners… kinda get ahead of ourselves… we don’t respect simple requests”—strikes a chord. This isn't about condemnation. It’s a wake-up call.

Imagine instead:

Shared calendars, clear signage, social media alerts letting runners know when to pause.

Empathy instead of entitlement: runners giving way, students reciprocating with courtesy.

Community ownership—seeing the campus not just as open, but as cared for by all.

Conclusion: We Are UP’s Living Story

This isn’t just about UPCAT weekends or sunflower pathways. It’s a narrative of respect—of how we, as a university community, learn to coexist: students, runners, faculty, visitors, all under one canopy of purpose.

Let UP be more than “open”—let it be considerate. Let runners be proud—but humble. Let graduates claim their spotlight—but not at the cost of others. In that balance, this university truly becomes a model of shared sovereignty and collective heart.

When the Storms Came, the Yangil People Planted Hope

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

While much of the Philippines in July was drowning under the weight of relentless floods, with homes submerged and dreams swept away by the current, a small indigenous community in Yangil, Zambales was doing something that defied both logic and the weather forecast — they were planting life.

Not just a few seedlings.

Not just in a safe, sunny clearing.

They planted 10,000 new trees — in the middle of three storms.

Raf Dionisio's team had been scheduled to visit that week to help plant and document this extraordinary effort. But when the skies opened and rivers swelled into dangerous, raging torrents, we made the difficult call over the phone to postpone.

On the other end of the line, Yangil’s chieftain, Erese, was calm and resolute.

“Tuloy kami,” he said.

“It’s a good time to plant because of the rain.”

No hesitation. No waiting for perfect conditions. For the Yangil people, the rain wasn’t an obstacle — it was a blessing.

And so, on July 21 and 22, while much of the nation sheltered from the storms, the community climbed the mountains to tend to the more than 40 hectares they had already planted in 2024, adding another 10,000+ saplings to the slopes. They waded through soaked earth, breathing in the damp scent of renewal, each seedling a quiet defiance against climate collapse.

Today, on Indigenous Peoples Day, we honor their courage, strength, and timeless wisdom. In the days when millions were immobilized by the storm’s fury, the Yangil community was working — not for themselves alone, but for all of us.

Because the trees they plant will not just live in Yangil.

They will live in our air, our water, our shared future.

They will hold the soil so our mountains stand strong.

They will feed the rivers that quench our thirst.

They will breathe life into the very air we inhale.

Perhaps it is time we celebrate them not just once a year, but every day — for they are planting the lungs of our nation while the rest of us are still catching our breath.

Mabuhay ang Sitio Yangil.

May their roots, like their spirit, grow deep and unshakable.

Photos by Raf Dionisio

A Daughter’s Heartbreaking Fight for Her Father’s Life at East Avenue Medical Center

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

On July 25, 2025, a daughter (Shaira Bugarin) from Caloocan lost her father at East Avenue Medical Center (EAMC) in Quezon City.

What makes her grief even heavier is the belief that his death could have been prevented — if only the public hospital system had worked the way it should.

She shared her ordeal in an emotional online post that has since resonated with thousands of readers, particularly those who rely on public hospitals because private healthcare is financially out of reach.

Her account paints a disturbing picture — not just of her father’s final days, but of a healthcare system under strain, where miscommunication, procedural delays, and lack of coordination can turn treatable cases into tragedies.

The First Signs: Hope and the Search for Surgery

In April, her father was diagnosed with a brain tumor accompanied by bleeding. Their doctors advised immediate surgery and recommended transferring to a larger hospital — either the Philippine General Hospital (PGH) or EAMC — that could perform the procedure.

Because EAMC was closer to their home in Caloocan, the family chose it. Looking back, she calls this “the most regretful decision” she has ever made.

Her complaint was not about the age of the doctors but about what she described as their lack of responsiveness and coordination.

One key figure, she claimed, only visited the ward about every five days and told the family to “wait for rounds” whenever they sought updates.

In those first two months, her father — who had been strong and able to walk when first admitted — never underwent surgery. Instead, the family was eventually told to discharge him to undergo an MRS (Magnetic Resonance Spectroscopy) procedure at another hospital before surgery could proceed.

By then, she said, he had developed Type 2 diabetes, allegedly from prolonged use of dexamethasone, a steroid given to reduce brain swelling.

July 20: A Sudden Turn for the Worse

On July 20, her father developed fever, stomach pain, and difficulty breathing. Although he wanted to wait for their PGH schedule on July 23, the daughter rushed him back to EAMC, thinking his original medical teams could now act faster — especially since they had already prepared funds for the MRS.

Instead, he was admitted to the Internal Medicine ward and later transferred to the ICU. Doctors recommended intubation to ease his breathing and prevent heart failure, saying he had hospital-acquired pneumonia.

It was here that the family’s frustration deepened.

She alleged that her father’s condition was not consistently monitored, that the family had to repeatedly chase staff for updates, and that referrals — such as to gastroenterology after he began passing blood — were never actually made.

The Blood Transfusion Delay

The most critical delay, she said, came when her father’s hemoglobin levels dropped dangerously low.

Although doctors confirmed the need for an urgent blood transfusion on the night of July 23, it was not administered until nearly 12 hours later.

In that time, she said, she begged nurses, doctors, and the blood bank for action, only to be told she was being “too persistent” and reminded that they could not “do magic” in finding matching blood.

While the transfusion briefly improved his heart rate and responsiveness, it was too late.

Multiple failed attempts at blood extraction the next day delayed a second transfusion. Her father died on July 25 — before it could happen.

Cause of Death: Severe Sepsis

The death certificate listed severe sepsis as the cause of death.

Infections like sepsis are often fatal for patients with weakened immune systems, such as those battling brain tumors, and require immediate detection and treatment.

In her account, the daughter claims her father contracted pneumonia and suffered gastrointestinal bleeding while under hospital care — developments she believes could have been prevented or treated more aggressively.

One Good Doctor Amid the Pain

She singled out one physician — Dr. Pantig of Endocrinology — for praise, describing him as “exceptional” for his attentiveness and compassion.

But she said such dedication was the exception, not the rule.

A Larger Systemic Problem

Her story is not unique.

Public hospitals like EAMC and PGH serve thousands of patients daily, with limited staff, outdated facilities, and chronic budget shortages.

Even skilled medical professionals are stretched thin, leading to procedural bottlenecks, poor communication, and avoidable delays.

Healthcare experts point to several urgent reforms:

Increased funding for staffing, modern equipment, and essential medicines

Streamlined patient referral and procedure systems to eliminate deadly delays

Better infection control and emergency protocols

Improved doctor–patient communication so families understand the medical situation in real time

Her Final Words: A Warning to Others

The woman ends her account with a bitter truth:

“I know this post won’t bring my father’s life back, but I hope it will remind everyone to be careful when choosing a hospital. Don’t wait for a code blue before your patient is attended to.”

Her grief has now become part of a larger public conversation about the urgent need for healthcare reform in the Philippines — a conversation that will continue until lives like her father’s stop being lost to systemic neglect.