We are born with Galaw . Watch a toddler in a provincial fiesta . They don’t need a lesson plan. Their hips move because the drums are loud. Their hands clap because the air is happy. Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, we freeze. We become matigas ang katawan (stiff-bodied). We trade the fluidity of galaw for the rigidity of routine. There is an unwritten rule in Filipino psychology that I call the Tatlong Segundo (Three Second) rule of Galaw .
Galaw na. What does "galaw" mean to you? Is it a dance? A survival tactic? A morning ritual? Drop a comment below—but only after you’ve stretched your fingers first. We are born with Galaw
Love is getting up to lock the door because your partner fell asleep. Love is walking to the sari-sari store to buy palaman (spread) for pandesal even though you are tired. Love is the physical act of turning your head to look at someone when they speak. Their hips move because the drums are loud
When a problem arrives—a leaking roof, a family argument, a financial shortfall—you have exactly three seconds to move. If you sit still for longer than three seconds, panic sets in . The kaba (anxiety) calcifies into tamad (laziness) or takot (fear). We become matigas ang katawan (stiff-bodied)
Social media has given us the illusion of movement. We share a post about climate change, but we don't walk to the nearby river to see if it is polluted. We comment on political corruption, but we don't attend the barangay assembly. Our fingers move, but our core is locked.
That is Galaw as a social contagion. Action inspires action. We are living through the Great Freeze. We scroll. We watch. We react with a "heart" emoji, but our bodies remain horizontal on the couch. We confuse reaction (a click of a mouse) with galaw (a shift of the spine).