Gets ko, Ma
Movie spoilers ahead.
There is a quiet power in the final scene of Sunshine. As she dances alone in the empty gymnasium, lost in her routine, the weight of the world disappears. It is a powerful symbol of a woman’s dream in its purest form. To be unburdened by reality, responsibility, societal bound, laws, conscience, or even the noise of the world saying that you are wrong. Contrary to her coach’s advice, “Focus. Drown the noise.” She now commands her peace despite the noise.
This captures a woman’s pursuit of her passion, as depicted by Sunshine in this scene, immediately brought to mind the experiences of countless women in the Philippines. Many of them, like Sunshine, have their own dreams and potentials, but those are often put on hold or completely abandoned when they become pregnant. Society, family, and even their own consciences typically tell them that their personal happiness is no longer the priority. Instead, they are told to take on the responsibility of motherhood and to prioritize their child’s future above their own.
This phenomenon is not merely a personal sacrifice but a structural expectation. In her sociological analysis of Filipino women, historian and gender studies scholar Mina Roces (2010) argues that the dominant definition of the “Filipina” has been monopolized by a Catholic-influenced narrative. She observes that women in the Philippines are culturally conditioned to embody the “Maria Clara” ideal. A figure who is defined by modesty, religious piety, and, self-sacrifice. According to Roces, this cultural script dictates that a woman’s legitimacy is derived from her ability to suffer for her family. This frames personal ambition as a deviation from the moral standard of the “good woman.”
A clear message from the film is that conscience is a social construct–it is not guided by an angel or a devil on your shoulders — it is a construct as it is yielded by those that had power to control popular narratives. As a predominantly Catholic country, the Philippines’ social fabric is heavily influenced by the Church’s doctrine, which is vehemently anti-abortion and also opposes artificial contraception. This is the Church leveraging its moral authority to shape the “collective consciousness,” a term coined by Émile Durkheim, around a strict, pronatalist morality.
The law against abortion in the Philippines, one of the strictest globally, acts as a powerful form of social control. This legal ban, rooted in the 1930 Penal Code and reinforced by the 1987 Constitution’s mandate to protect the unborn, is a direct result of the Catholic Church’s influence. It creates a system where violating the law brings legal punishment and deep social shame and internalized guilt. Sadly, it reinforces the dominant religious morality blurring the thin line between justiciable and religious.
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For Sunshine, this creates a system of profound internalized guilt and social shame. Her decision to seek a self-induced abortion is an act of defiance against a deeply ingrained moral and legal paradigm. The heavy burden she carries is the weight of a society that has conditioned her to believe she is doing something morally wrong, even when it is in pursuit of her personal dreams. Then, dreaming has become a sinful thing for women.
I cannot take my mind what if we had better narratives about abortion, would women still need to make a choice that would cost their life.
This narrative became deeply personal when I thought of my own mother. She arrived in Manila, the eldest daughter of farmers from Iloilo, with immense potential. Against all financial odds, she graduated from the University of the Philippines with the help of scholarships. Just as she was reaching a new height in her journey, her path took an abrupt turn when she became pregnant with me. I was conceived out of wedlock, and she was five months pregnant when she married my father.
While many might see this as a series of blessings, I rightly see it differently. I believe this turning point tragically and negatively altered her life. I remember her often saying that if she could go back to college, she would rather take accountancy instead of broadcast communication. Later, she pursued a Juris Doctor degree, a grueling, almost eight-year journey she undertook while being a mother of three and the provider for our family. The weight of this burden was immense. The year she took the bar examinations in 2019, my father was also hospitalized, leaving her with the sole responsibility of supporting us. She did not pass the exam, and it was evident to see how the crushing weight of her circumstances made it incredibly difficult for her to thrive.
I could not imagine the dreams that were paused because she had me. She could have had so many other opportunities. Maybe she could have completed law school in four years and already be a lawyer by now. Possibly, she took accountancy as her second degree. Definitely, she will be happier. It is a heavy thought to believe that my very existence limited her.
While there is no sense in dwelling on the past, I feel a profound sense of regret of my own life, for the life my mother could have lived. I wish Filipinas were encouraged more to prioritize their individual dreams rather than having child. I wish she had the option and the information to have an abortion, if she had wanted it.
In the end, I find myself sharing a sentiment with bata from the movie. I understand the yearning for a life that my mother could have been. If a choice had to be made, I would be okay with not existing so that she could have reached her full potential and been happy.
Just like bata, magegets ko, ‘Ma. Lagi kong magegets, ‘Ma.
Reference:
Roces, M. (2010). Women’s movements and the Filipina: 1986–2008. University of Hawaii Press.
