Why I go to the cinema

But aside from my film fascination, there is a deeper reason why I go to the cinema at least once a month.

I grew up in the small and beautiful municipality of Los Baños in the province of Laguna. As a southie, we are technically in the province but not too far from the busy and noisy streets of Manila. My mother is a vegetable market vendor, and at an early age, I saw my mother waking up around 2 a.m. to start working in our vegetable stall.

I knew at that moment that we were not rich and that my family needed to work hard or we would starve. My mother taught me that she cannot give me everything, and she clarified that if we want something, we have to work hard for it. My father, on the other hand, is disabled and uses a wheelchair, and I never saw him walk all my life.

If life taught me something, it is that I cannot show vulnerability. I always remind myself not to cry. This mantra started when I was around 16 years old. I realized I did not come from a wealthy family, and we lacked resources, so why should I show vulnerability? Life already defeated us as kids, and I cannot allow myself to look like a loser.

When I was in elementary school, I repeated first grade. My classmates were promoted to second grade while I stayed in first grade. In high school, I was in the bottom class from first to third year. I failed math and had to enroll in a summer class to be promoted to fourth year. Aside from my academic inefficiency, I was bullied from elementary to high school.

I was a punching bag and the bullying was not just verbal but also physical. I remember my classmate from elementary school chasing me because he wanted to punch me. He reached me when I was already in the jeepney, and he punched me in the face. Again, I reminded myself that I should not cry. My classmate from high school threw an eraser in my face while her friends laughed at me; again, I reminded myself that I should not cry. My other classmate from second-year high school pushed and dragged me to the floor. Again, I couldn’t cry. The universe knows how much I wanted to cry in those moments but I couldn’t show that I was defeated.

I tried to show my vulnerability to my teacher but in the end, according to her, it was my fault. That made me realize that all I had was myself and I should not show vulnerability because they would see me as weak and blame me. It was painful, but I did not cry.

My disabled father died in February 2013; I did not cry. My maternal grandmother passed away in July 2023 and my paternal grandmother died in May 2024; as always, I did not cry. I already programmed the idea that instead of crying, I should ask, “Okay, how will I move forward?” So, instead of crying, my mind would shift to troubleshooting without grieving properly.

Lately, I have been experiencing pressure and existential questions. There is the constant pressure to be successful, the never-ending reminder that I have to be better than yesterday; even the idea of surviving gracefully in my graduate studies and working simultaneously while thinking of how to be a great son to my mother, a brother to my siblings, and an uncle to my nephew.

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Not my station but I hopped off

I deactivated my Facebook account last month. As a heavy Facebook user, this was a big decision. Aside from the peace of mind that deactivation offered, I did not want people (even social media friends) to see me in my vulnerable phase.

My friends and colleagues perceive me as a skilled and intelligent person who cannot show sadness. However, I feel guilty since most have contacted me and asked if I am okay. I want to tell them I am okay and getting better but I need more time to embrace these emotions. I hope they lend me their ears once I feel ready to talk.

So why do I go to the cinema at least once a month? You probably have a hint of why. It is because I cry at the cinema. I use the cinema as an avenue for me to cry. I know that if I cry there, no one will judge me. Imagine watching a horror film in the cinema but I am crying. Whatever the genre is, whenever I go to the cinema, I feel like I am free to be vulnerable, to cry, and to be free of judgment.

Crying in the dim, large cinema room is a big step for me—a big step to acknowledge and take time to embrace these emotions—step by step and little by little. I hope to be vulnerable to someone very soon, but for now, allow me to sit in the comfortable cinema seat, cry, and be vulnerable, just like the actors onscreen.