As I scrolled through my Facebook Newsfeed today, I couldn’t help but notice how much of it is now dominated by discussions—heated, hopeful, and sometimes hostile—about the upcoming elections in the Philippines. It’s as if the platform transformed into a public plaza, buzzing with virtual voices of support, criticism, and speculation. Everyone seems to be passionately invested, and it’s hard not to be drawn into the drama. Some posts are long tirades, clearly written by those who feel deeply about their chosen candidate and who aren’t afraid to challenge anyone who disagrees. Others are like digital campaign posters, praising their bet with glowing words and edited photos, occasionally with dramatic background music if it’s a reel or a story.
Then there are the fights. The kind where the comment sections unravel into back-and-forths so intense, you’d think lives were at stake. Some get deeply personal, while others remain at the level of memes and sarcasm. Amid these fiery exchanges are the quiet, sincere wishes—people hoping their candidate wins, praying that this election marks a turning point in our country’s story. Even though the voices vary in tone and intent, they all carry the same core: a wish. A dream. A longing.
It made me pause and think. Strip away the political noise, the arguments, the campaign slogans, and what remains is the truth that we are all, in our own way, wishful creatures. Every post, whether it’s about a mayoral hopeful or a senatorial bet, reflects someone’s desire for a better future—not just for themselves, but for their community, their family, their country. It’s a form of dreaming out loud.
But then my mind wandered even further. Beyond politics, beyond elections, we’re all just people with wishes. Some of us are publicly hoping for electoral wins. Others are quietly wishing for another day of life. Somewhere out there, a mother is praying for her child’s recovery in the hospital. A fresh graduate is anxiously preparing for their first job interview, wishing to impress. Someone battling depression is wishing to feel okay again, even just for a day. Some wishes are loud and impassioned, like the political posts on my Newsfeed. Others are soft, hidden behind smiles or silence.
And isn’t that such a human thing? To wish. To hope. To want something better, even if the odds are unclear or distant. Even those who argue about politics are really just fighting for what they believe might bring them closer to the life they wish to have. Security, opportunity, dignity. In a way, it’s not just an election—it’s a mirror of our shared humanity, reflecting our dreams and our fears all at once.
Of course, not all the posts are serious. Some are jokes, memes, and jabs designed to provoke or entertain. But even humor, in its own way, reveals longing. People joke about politicians because they feel powerless, and laughter becomes a form of control. Others share sarcastic takes because they’ve lost faith in the system, and mockery is all that’s left. Still, behind all that, I see the same thing: a wish that things were different, or at least, clearer.
I’ve come to realize that behind every online persona—whether loud or quiet, kind or confrontational—there’s a set of wishes we carry with us. Some wish to be heard. Some wish to belong. Some wish to make a difference, even if it’s just through a post that might go viral. And some, while posting and scrolling just like I am, carry silent wishes no one sees. The kind you make in the dark, when no one’s watching.
I thought of people who wish for love, who feel the weight of loneliness while everyone else seems to be moving on. I thought of those who wish for peace, perhaps coming from a life of conflict or instability. I thought of workers who drag themselves out of bed each day, wishing for a break, for a change, for something better. There are so many layers to human desire, and only a few make it to our timelines.
That’s what made today’s scroll feel different. It wasn’t just about politics anymore. It was about life, and how we’re all just navigating it with our hearts full of unspoken hopes. Some are visible, like those voting posts filled with certainty and pride. Others are invisible but no less powerful. It reminded me to be gentle when reading others’ opinions—even the ones I strongly disagree with—because at the end of the day, it might just be their version of hoping, their attempt to find something to hold onto.
The more I thought about it, the more I saw these wishes as threads, weaving all of us together. From the young activist hoping for a new leader to the elderly man praying quietly in his room, from the nurse on night shift wishing for strength to the jobseeker praying for one call back—each thread carries a heartbeat. A longing.
And yes, some wishes are dark. Some wish to disappear, overwhelmed by pain. Some wish for endings. And those, too, are real and valid. Not all wishes are bright and hopeful. Some come from places of deep despair. But recognizing them reminds us that we need to care, to be kind, to reach out. Because behind every screen, every post, every seemingly annoying political rant, could be someone carrying more than just opinions—they might be carrying pain, fear, or desperation.
What a complex, fragile, and beautiful thing it is to be human. This election will come and go. Some will win, some will lose. Some wishes will come true, some won’t. But the wishing itself—that never ends. It’s part of who we are. And maybe, just maybe, acknowledging that can help us connect a little better, even in these divided times.
So the next time I scroll through a political post or a heated argument online, I’ll try to remember the heart behind it. I’ll remember that we’re all just people, hoping for something. And maybe, in that small awareness, there’s a chance for understanding. Maybe even a little peace.
Because in the end, whether it’s about elections, life, love, or survival—we are all wishers. All dreaming. All holding on.
