“The Passion of the Pasosyal”

“The Passion of the Pasosyal”

Sequel to “The Holy Sacrament of Social Climbing in the Republic of SB”

(From FB post of Teddy Adarna on 06/06/2025)

PROLOGUE: And On the Seventh Day, They Brunched

In the beginning, there was hunger, not of the stomach, but of status.

And lo, a tribe of friends emerged from the algorithmic womb of Instagram stories and TikTok reels. They were clothed in Uniqlo, bathed in false confidence, and united by a shared commandment:

“Thou shalt never look poor.”

They called themselves The Brokebook Clique four twenty somethings and one suspiciously 33 year old “ate” who always said “saan tayo this weekend?” but never paid.

Their Holy Pilgrimage this week: The Farm at San Benito a wellness resort that charges more for alkaline water than a barangay spends on electricity.

ACT I: The Resurrection of Relevance

They rise from Quezon City at 4:00 AM. not for the sunrise, but for the golden hour selfies.

In the GrabCar (which they split five ways), they recite the Psalms of Projection:

“I need this break. I’m manifesting my soft life era.”

“Same, girl. I’m over the stress. Like, I’m done na with poverty.”

The 33-year-old nods sagely. She still lives with her parents and owes ₱37,000 to an online seller of Korean skincare products.

But today, none of that matters.

Because they are going somewhere expensive.

Because they will eat food with edible flowers.

Because poverty, like calories, can be filtered.

ACT II: The Last Supper (Now with Truffle Oil)

They arrive. The gates open.

Birds chirp. A staff member bows.

Their phones are already out.

Click click. Caption: “Healing energy with my soul tribe”

Lunch is a salad that costs ₱890 and contains less protein than a boiled egg from Ministop.

“It’s giving… minimalism,” whispers one.

“It’s giving… economic trauma,” whispers another’s wallet.

The bill arrives. Everyone pretends not to see it. A silence descends, the holy silence of financial panic wrapped in spiritual ambiance.

Finally, someone says it:

“Swipe ko muna, guys. Share niyo na lang GCash later.”

No one will. Ever.

ACT III: The Baptism of Performance

They walk barefoot on grass to “reconnect with nature.” But mostly to take thirst traps near a bamboo wall that vaguely resembles Bali.

They attend a sound bath.

They do yoga in ₱2,200 athleisure they bought from a brand they can’t pronounce.

They drink organic smoothies like they’re trying to cleanse themselves of their MRT past.

But the true ritual comes at 3:45 PM:

The Mass Posting.

“Sis, take my pic again. Make sure kita yung infinity pool.”

“Wait, wait, candid shot. Like I’m laughing at a private joke I made with the universe.”

One holds up a book ,unread, of course — but it has a pastel cover and says Atomic Habits.

Another says:

“Caption ko: ‘The body heals when the mind rests.’ Para may depth.”

The mind, however, is worrying about how to pay for the Grab home.

ACT IV: Psychoanalysis of the Pasosyal Psyche

Let us now pause, dear reader, and examine the psychodynamics of this spectacle.

This is not mere social climbing. This is collective escapism via curated struggle.

It is what sociologists might call:

“Aestheticized aspiration under late capitalist post-colonial mimicry.”

Translation:

They want to feel rich ,not be rich. To perform wealth, not possess it.

They are not drinking to hydrate. They are drinking to be seen hydrating.

They are not “healing.” They are cosplaying healing.

They are manifestations of an economy where self-worth is a product, and social currency is earned by likes, not labor.

They are the wounded children of globalization, raised on teleseryes, vlogs, and One Direction fan edits.

They believe in two things:

1. That they deserve luxury.

2. That if they look the part long enough, the universe will forget they’re broke.

ACT V: The Selfie, The Suffering, The Simulacra

At sunset, they gather on a hill.

They form a circle.

They do a breathing ritual with a healer named “Coach Bubbles” who once dated a semi-famous DJ.

“Let go of your pain,” she says.

“Release your guilt.”

One cries — not because she’s healing, but because her credit card just got declined and she didn’t know until she tried to buy pasalubong granola.

Still, the final picture is glorious.

Five friends.

Silhouettes against the sky.

Filtered. Edited. Divine.

Caption: “I came here to find peace. I left with clarity.”

EPILOGUE: The Aftermath

They go home tired. Broke. Enlightened.

They won’t speak for weeks.

Three of them will silently resent the one who didn’t pay her share.

But online, they are gods.

Influencers. Visionaries.

Healed beings in linen pants.

POST-CREDITS ANALYSIS: Culture Studies Notes

• Object of Worship: The curated life.

• Main Commodity: Illusion.

• Core Belief: Clout equals credibility.

• Social Disease: Comparison-induced delusion.

• Diagnosis: Mass psychosis via lifestyle theater.

And so, in the Republic of SB and Beyond, we say:

“You are not what you own. You are what you can pretend to afford.”

This is a satire piece and should not be taken seriously. Unless, of course, you feel attacked.