After posting my last blog entry, I
was supposed to take a rest from writing, but I cannot control myself because
of the happiness that I am feeling now. I stayed awake until four in the
morning, Philippine time, just to watch Alex Eala’s match at the US Open. Every
serve, every rally, and every point felt like a battle fought not just on the
court but for the pride of the Filipino spirit. I cheered in the silence of
dawn, holding my breath as she clawed her way back from a 5-1 deficit in the
final set, and I cried with her as she fell to the ground in victory after
stunning 14th seed Clara Tauson in a 7-6(11) decider. For the first time in a
long while, I felt what it truly meant to celebrate being Filipino. Yet even as
that pride burned inside me, another reflection took hold: why is it that a
young woman with discipline and integrity can bring honor to the nation on the
world stage, while many of our leaders at home continue to fail us with
corruption, ghost projects, and betrayals of trust?
Her win was historic. She became the
first Filipino in the Open Era to win a main-draw Grand Slam match, a feat that
will be recorded in tennis history and remembered by Filipinos for generations.
But Alex’s victory was more than a personal milestone—it was a lesson written
in sweat, grit, and sacrifice. She did not win through favors or shortcuts. She
won because of years of preparation, a life of discipline, and an unyielding
commitment to represent the flag with pride. How stark the contrast is when we
look at politics in our country, where so many victories are manufactured
through deception, where billions of pesos vanish into ghost projects, and
where floods continue to wash away homes and lives because leaders chose greed
over governance.
Watching Alex rally back reminded me
of how nations, too, can recover from adversity—but only with discipline and
integrity. She did not crumble under pressure, and she never gave up even when
defeat seemed certain. Politicians should take this to heart. Leadership is not
about clinging to power or enriching oneself. It is about fighting for every
point on behalf of the people, about working tirelessly without shortcuts. If
Alex can train relentlessly to win a tiebreak, why can’t our leaders train
themselves in honesty and service to win the greater battles of poverty,
disaster resilience, and national dignity?
What moved me just as much as Alex’s
grit was the crowd. At Flushing Meadows, Filipinos abroad turned the stands
into a sea of Philippine flags. Their cheers drowned out distance, reminding
Alex that she carried her people with her. On social media, Filipinos in the
United States, Europe, and other parts of the globe flooded timelines with
their pride. That image of unity in the stands—strangers bound only by a shared
love of country—was powerful. It was, in fact, the perfect picture of what
Timpuyog Pilipinas is all about: unity, love, cooperation, and collaboration
for the upliftment of the Philippines. In those voices cheering together, we
saw what happens when Filipinos set aside differences to support one goal. If
only we could replicate that same spirit of togetherness in our politics, our
governance, and our nation-building.
Our obsession with basketball is
another mirror of our misplaced priorities. Across the Philippines, basketball
clinics sprout like mushrooms—an indication of our passion, yes, but also of
our narrow vision. While we pour all our energy into a sport where the global
stage is nearly unreachable because of physical and systemic limitations, we
ignore sports like tennis, gymnastics, athletics, and chess, where Filipinos
have a fighting chance to dominate. Alex’s victory proves this. She is
competing and winning against the world’s best, yet her path has been one of
personal sacrifice rather than national investment.
The lesson of Wesley So should haunt
us. Here was a Filipino chess prodigy, a grandmaster who could have given the
country decades of global recognition. But he was not valued, he was not given
the support he deserved, and so he left to play for the United States. Now,
every trophy he raises is one that could have been raised for the Philippines.
Will we repeat the same mistake with Alex Eala? Will we wait until she is
embraced fully by another country before we realize what we have lost?
We also cannot forget Carlos Yulo,
who gave us two gold medals in gymnastics and carried the country’s name to
Olympic glory. Instead of celebrating him as a national treasure, many turned
to bashing him because of family issues splashed in the tabloids. It is a
shameful habit of our society to pull down the very people who lift us up. The
same applies to our amateur boxers, who have consistently delivered Olympic
medals despite limited support and constant struggles. Their victories prove
that Filipinos have the talent to stand among the world’s best—if only the
system would nurture rather than neglect them.
And then there is EJ Obiena, the
Asian pole vault champion who shattered records and carried the Philippine flag
in one of the most demanding sports in the world. With his height, Obiena could
have easily chosen the popular path of basketball, a sport that dominates our
nation’s imagination. But he chose pole vaulting instead—a sport little known
or supported in the Philippines. Against all odds, he climbed world rankings,
battled giants, and gave us medals in competitions where Filipinos had never
before stood on the podium. His story tells us two things: first, that Filipino
talent can flourish even in fields where no path exists, and second, that true
champions do not follow popularity; they follow excellence. Yet how much easier
would his journey have been if he had been given the full backing of the
government from the start, instead of facing bureaucratic squabbles and funding
controversies?
And yet, while our athletes scrape by
with meager resources, the government loses billions daily to corruption.
Senator Ping Lacson, in one of his privilege speeches, estimated that over
seventy-five percent of government spending is lost to corruption, with as much
as one billion pesos vanishing every day. Imagine, then, if even a fraction of
that wasted wealth were invested in sports development. Imagine modern
facilities, world-class coaches, nutrition programs, and scholarships. Imagine
supporting children from the provinces who have raw talent in swimming, track,
weightlifting, or martial arts. Perhaps by now we would be a sports superpower,
consistently placing in the top ten in world competitions, harvesting medals
and fame, and instilling national pride not through scandals but through
excellence.
Alex Eala’s victory is a reminder that integrity and discipline are not optional—they are the foundation of true success. Her story is not just about tennis; it is about what happens when pride for the flag is matched with sacrifice and commitment. Politicians should see in her a reflection of what they lack. The floods that drown our communities are not merely natural disasters—they are the result of years of ghost projects, missing billions, and leaders who never prepared the way Alex prepared for her matches. The shame is not in being poor or vulnerable; the shame is in being betrayed by those entrusted to protect us.
At four in the morning, when Alex’s
tears fell on the court and Filipinos everywhere cried with her, I realized
something powerful: we are still capable of greatness. But greatness requires
more than cheering; it requires change. If a young woman with a racket can show
us what it means to honor the flag, surely our leaders can learn to honor it
with honest governance. If our athletes can train without resources yet still
bring home medals, surely our government can redirect billions away from
corruption and into programs that will build not only champions in sports but
also a nation of dignity.
The question is whether we will
learn. Will we continue to obsess over basketball clinics while ignoring sports
where we can truly excel? Will we continue to let corruption bleed us dry while
athletes like Alex Eala, Carlos Yulo, EJ Obiena, Wesley So, and our boxers
fight their battles alone? Or will we finally treasure them, support them, and
take pride in them, not only when they win but also when they struggle?
Alex Eala’s victory was more than
historic. It was prophetic. It showed us what we could be if we valued
discipline over corruption, if we invested in excellence instead of theft, if
we honored our flag with action instead of rhetoric. At dawn, as I turned off
my 85-inch television, I realized that her triumph was not just a sports story.
It was a call to the nation—a challenge to our leaders, to our people, and to
our future. Will we listen?
