BURNING CHROME | Christmas at the edge of 2026: A year-end reflection

by Jing Garcia -- because the mind is a terrible thing to taste.

Originally posted on: techsabado.com/2025/12/27/burning-chromes-2026-the-year-tech-promises-grow-teeth/

As Christmas settles in, 2025 feels less like a year ending and more like a system pausing between processes. The lights are on, the noise is briefly muted, and for a moment, we are allowed to step outside the feedback loop of alerts, algorithms and outrage. That pause matters — especially after a year like this one.

2025 was not defined by a single crisis but by convergence. Political instability, technological acceleration, climate pressure and economic unevenness did not arrive separately. They collided. What we experienced this year was not disruption as an event, but disruption as a condition.

Globally, 2025 exposed the limits of governance models struggling to keep pace with technological reality. Wars continued to redraw trade routes. Energy volatility shaped inflation. Supply chains adjusted again — not back to “normal,” but toward something more brittle and regionalized.

Technology, often framed as the solution to everything, revealed its contradictions. Artificial intelligence advanced rapidly, but its deployment was uneven. Countries with policy clarity moved forward; those without it drifted. Regulation lagged capability, while ethics trailed incentives.

For the first time in years, the tech sector itself appeared less confident. Valuations corrected. “AI everywhere” quietly became “AI where it actually works.” This was not a collapse — it was gravity reasserting itself.

2025 will likely be remembered as the year AI stopped being abstract. Agents entered workplaces. Automation moved from experimentation to expectation. Productivity gains appeared — but so did worker anxiety, governance gaps and questions no slide deck could answer.

The agentic divide widened: organizations and individuals who understood how to work with AI accelerated, while others fell behind. This is no longer about access to tools; it is about skills, judgment and systems thinking.

For the Philippines, this matters deeply. Without sustained investment in digital literacy, AI risks becoming another amplifier of inequality rather than a democratizing force. Technology does not create fairness by default. It reflects the structure it is deployed into.

Locally, 2025 followed a familiar pattern: Filipinos adapted faster than institutions. Digital payments expanded. MSMEs experimented with automation. Cooperatives quietly modernized operations with practical tech — not hype-driven platforms, but tools that solved real problems.

At the same time, climate events intensified, urban infrastructure lagged, and digital transformation remained uneven across regions. Calling this “resilience” misses the point. Resilience without reform is simply endurance.

The opportunity remains: the Philippines can still define a distinctly ethical, community-oriented digital path. But that requires moving beyond imported narratives of innovation and investing in local capacity — engineers, educators, journalists, creators and builders who understand context, not just code.

In a year overloaded with information, Christmas functions as a rare system interrupt. It forces slowness. It re-centers human-scale interactions. In a technology-driven world optimized for speed, Christmas insists on presence.

This matters more than we admit. A society unable to pause becomes reactive. A tech ecosystem that never reflects repeats its mistakes at higher speeds.

Despite everything 2025 threw at us, such as natural disasters bringing unprecentend flooding and destructive earthquakes from north to south, communities still showed up for each other. Mutual aid persisted. Volunteers organized without branding. People chose care over virality. These are not trending metrics, but they are foundational signals.

Looking ahead, several trajectories are becoming clearer:

AI becomes infrastructure, not spectacle.
Expect fewer grand claims and more quiet integration — in logistics, finance, health and media. Skills gaps will define winners and losers more than access to tools.

Climate becomes operational.
Energy transition will shift from advocacy to necessity. Microgrids, renewables and resilience planning will move from pilot projects to survival strategies.

Information warfare intensifies.
With major elections ahead globally, disinformation will evolve. The counterforce will not be platforms alone, but media literacy and credible journalism.

Local innovation gains relevance.
Global platforms will remain dominant, but local solutions — especially in ASEAN — will matter more as supply chains and regulations regionalize.

Creativity resurfaces as resistance.
After years of hyper-optimization, people are rediscovering authenticity. Independent music, experimental art and subcultures are not distractions — they are indicators of social recalibration.

These are not predictions. They are pressure points.

If there is a Christmas wish worth articulating for the tech ecosystem heading into 2026, it is not for faster tools, but for better systems:

- More accountability in technology deployment.
- More investment in skills, not just platforms.
- More transparency from institutions that manage data and power.
- More support for local creators, engineers and educators.
- More ethical journalism in an age of synthetic content.

And perhaps most urgently: more humility. Progress without reflection is just acceleration toward the same problems.

2025 tested systems, institutions and individuals. It revealed fragility, but also capacity. As Christmas closes the year, we are reminded that technology alone does not determine the future. People do — through choices, priorities and the structures they insist on building.

2026 will arrive regardless. Whether it becomes more humane, more equitable and more intelligent depends on what we carry forward from this year — and what we finally choose to leave behind.

For now, we pause. We gather. We listen.

Then we rebuild — more carefully this time.

Maligayang Pasko sa inyong lahat, mula sa amin na bumubuo ng TechSabado.

Originally posted on: techsabado.com/2025/12/27/burning-chromes-2026-the-year-tech-promises-grow-teeth/

BURNING CHROME | December: The holiday tech spending trap

by Jing Garcia -- because the mind is a terrible thing to taste.

Originally posted on: techsabado.com/2025/12/20/burning-chrome-december-the-holiday-tech-spending-trap/

Every Christmas season, something shifts. City lights go up, malls roar to life, screens fill with ads peddling newly-released mobile phones, the latest smartwatches, noise-canceling earbuds, minimalist gadgets dressed up as essential. Like clockwork, we become prey to a seasonal ritual: buying not because we need something, but because marketing makes us believe this is the year we must upgrade, impress, belong. But what if all this holiday buzz is doing more harm than good — to our wallets, our values, and our planet?

December is the climax of consumer culture. Every discount, every “limited stock,” every gift suggestion tells us: now or never. Tech companies reserve their biggest campaign missiles for this stretch, and buyers rarely walk away empty-handed. In global reports from 2022, for example, the average person generated 7.8 kg of e-waste that year (ITU). The acceleration is ruthless: from 2010 to 2022, total global e-waste more than doubled, yet the share formally collected and recycled in safe, regulated systems was only 22.3% (ITU).

In the Philippines, many are already familiar with the bright lights and aggressive promos that close out the year, and increasingly, we are familiar with what comes after. Our country is among Southeast Asia’s top producers of e-waste (Philstar). Even back in 2019, average per-capita generation of e-waste here was about 3.9 kg, and that number has almost certainly crept up since (UNIDO).

The psychology of upgrading

Why do we buy these things even when what we own still works?

One driver is social comparison. We see friends, influencers, even strangers posting new gadgets, reviewing unboxings, dropping hints, posing with the latest model. That triggers a fear of being left behind — not just materially, but socially. What status signals will I miss if I don’t have that foldable screen, that 5G-enabled device, that XR headset everyone is talking about?

Then there’s perceived obsolescence. Big manufacturers make sure old models feel slow, get fewer software updates, and have batteries that fade — all of which push us toward the new. Sometimes the performance gain is real, but often it’s incremental: a little faster, a little sleeker, maybe better camera specs. But because these gains are shown in splashy ads, they feel more essential than they are.

We also fall prey to what psychologists call hedonic adaptation. We buy something new, it gives a thrill, a novelty, bragging rights. But soon enough the excitement fades. So we look for the next wave. December’s promotions, bundle deals, and holiday releases all feed into this — reminding us not only of what we have, but what others have that we don’t.

Another powerful pull is gift culture. Even if someone doesn’t strictly need a gadget, giving something perceived as “premium tech” affirms care and connection. There is nothing inherently wrong with gift-giving; it can deepen relationships. But when tech gifts are viewed as the only acceptable way to show love or status, it risks turning gifts into status symbols rather than expressions of meaning.

But as we chase that next gadget, a growing dissonance emerges between excess consumption and global inequality. While many enjoy the luxury of choice, others lack access to clean water, basic nutrition, or reliable electricity. The stark contrast can provoke guilt, defensiveness, denial — or worse, normalization: “Everyone does this” becomes justification.

Philosophers point to the Diderot Effect — acquiring one new item causes us to feel the rest of our environment is outdated, leading to further consumption (Wikipedia). It’s a spiral: buy something new, then feel dissatisfied with everything around it, buying more, wanting more.

Meanwhile, environmental and health costs are shifted onto those least able to resist or respond. E-waste isn’t inert. It contains mercury, lead, flame retardants, heavy metals, toxic plastics. In countries without strong regulation, informal recycling often means unsafe working conditions, polluted groundwater and soils, and toxic air. Sometimes people burn circuit boards for copper or use acid to leach components with little protection. The environmental burdens are real, and the human toll is invisible to mall shoppers.

The e-waste mountain

The data is brutal. In 2022, global e-waste generation was 62 million metric tons — enough to fill 1.55 million 40-ton trucks (UNITAR). If nothing changes, that number is expected to reach 82 million metric tons by 2030 (UNITAR). Only about 22.3% of e-waste globally was formally and safely collected and recycled in 2022. Some projections say formal recycling rates may drop toward 20% by 2030, because new waste is outpacing infrastructure (E-Waste Monitor).

In the Philippines the issue is worse. Policies exist — like the Ecological Solid Waste Management Act (RA 9003) and more recent administrative orders — but implementation lags. Rural and poorer areas often lack access to formal e-waste drop-offs or trustworthy recycling options. Many old gadgets or appliances get dumped, burned, or informally dismantled (E-Waste Monitor). Even when disassembly happens, safety is not guaranteed. Toxic residues leach into soils and water; hazardous dust pollutes the air.

What if we chose otherwise?

Perhaps the more radical thought, especially amid the holiday onslaught, is this: what if we resisted? What if, instead of getting caught in the whirl of new gadget releases, we asked whether we really needed the latest? What values would guide that alternative?

If we shifted cultural prestige from “having the newest” to “using what we have well,” demand would change. Repair, reuse, durability, open-source support, and repairability ratings would matter more. We might accept devices that do their work rather than the glitzy promise of marginal gains. Gift-giving might prioritize experiences or help over things: time, mentorship, art, access, repair classes.

Slowing down doesn’t mean shaming. It means noticing the value of less. It means acknowledging that well-being increases not by buying a new gadget, but by cultivating relationships, creativity, and inner growth. Studies suggest people who spend on experiences rather than material items report higher long-term satisfaction (ScienceDirect). Psychological research also shows that the more materialistic someone is — the more they equate worth or happiness with what they own — the greater the risk of lower well-being, anxiety, and debt. Wanting something because everyone else has it, or because an ad told us to feel left behind, is a fragile foundation.

The shifts must be both personal and structural. Governments must enforce and improve legislation: mandate that electronics be designed for repair, longer update support, modularity. Producers should be held accountable — through extended producer responsibility laws, stricter standards for hazardous materials, incentives for trade-in and refurbishment programs. Consumers need accessible, safe recycling infrastructure.

In the Philippines, there are signs of movement: local governments partnering with NGOs for e-waste collection, public awareness campaigns, formalizing informal recycling sectors. But these are still drops in the ocean compared with what is needed. Raising awareness of environmental, social, and health risks is not optional. It must be part of education, not just green marketing.

This Christmas, before spending that yearly bonus or 13th-month pay, perhaps the question isn’t what new gadget you’ll get, but what old gadget you will keep using — how you will resist the impulse to upgrade out of fear, envy, or glamour. Perhaps the measure of a generous gift is not what it costs but what it means, not how shiny but how sustainable. If enough of us stop believing that more always means better, the system might bend. It might reward repair more than replacement, longevity more than novelty. Instead of a world swamped by waste, perhaps one where what we have is enough — and what we give matters more than what we own.

If 2025 is going to be different, its story should start in December — not with regret over what we bought, but pride in what we chose not to.

Originally posted on: techsabado.com/2025/12/20/burning-chrome-december-the-holiday-tech-spending-trap/

BURNING CHROME | The Pinoy holiday that almost forgot the baby in the manger

by Jing Garcia -- because the mind is a terrible thing to taste.

Originally posted on: techsabado.com/2025/12/13/burning-chrome-the-pinoy-holiday-that-almost-forgot-the-baby-in-the-manger/

In the Philippines, Christmas isn’t just a day—it’s practically a third season. While much of the world marks December as the “holiday month,” Filipinos stretch the festival across four, sometimes five, months. The familiar ritual begins the moment September arrives—the first “-ber” month—and with it, radio stations roll out Jose Mari Chan’s Christmas carols, malls flip the switch on their lights, and roadside vendors unfurl parols. The celebration lingers long after New Year’s Eve fireworks and, in some towns, even into February.

As Christianity Today noted in a 2021 feature, the Philippines celebrates “the world’s longest Christmas season,” lasting from September until after the Feast of the Santo Niño in January, and sometimes into February when the Chinese Lunar New Year collides with Catholic calendars. It is both a cultural marvel and a sociological puzzle: what began as a sacred commemoration of Christ’s birth has become, for many, an almost unending season of consumption, spectacle, and, ironically, loneliness.

A season stretched by migration

The Philippines is a Catholic-majority nation, shaped by centuries of Spanish colonial rule. The religious practices—Simbang Gabi (midnight mass), the Misa de Gallo at dawn, the belen (Nativity scene), and the iconic parol—remain fixtures. Yet the modern length of the Christmas season owes as much to economics as to devotion.

Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas (BSP) reported in February 2025 that personal remittances reached a record US$38.34 billion in 2024, with December alone contributing US$3.73 billion, a 3% increase from the same month in 2023. As the Philippine Institute for Development Studies (PIDS) explained, the Christmas season “consistently drives the highest remittance inflows,” fueling consumption, gift-giving, and holiday reunions. In practice, this means balikbayan boxes stacked high in airports and ports, laden with toys, gadgets, and canned goods—all to be opened at Noche Buena tables across the archipelago.

Anthropologist Felipe Jocano Jr., quoted by Christianity Today, argued that this is no accident: the long Filipino Christmas is “sustained by remittances and malls,” both reinforcing each other. Without the inflow of migrant earnings and the consumer infrastructure to spend them, the Christmas season would be shorter, leaner, and perhaps closer to its original religious intent.

Faith strong faith, thinning rituals

Despite the obvious commercial pulse, religion has not disappeared from the Pinoy Christmas. Simbang Gabi still draws crowds before dawn. The Vatican itself recognizes the Filipino devotion, with Pope Francis praising the practice when celebrated at St. Peter’s Basilica.

But beneath these rituals, survey data paints a different picture. In February 2023, The Philippine Star reported on a Social Weather Stations (SWS) survey showing that only 38% of Filipinos attend religious services weekly. This marks a decline from earlier decades when weekly Mass attendance was more common.

At the same time, daily prayer remains robust. A 2023 feature by Aleteia, citing survey data, found that nearly 70% of Filipino Catholics pray every day, even if they don’t attend Mass regularly. The tension here is striking: personal devotion remains alive, yet institutional participation has weakened. Christmas, therefore, becomes the most visible—and sometimes the only—moment when many Filipinos reconnect with the Church calendar.

Now, at the same time, visit any major city by September and you’ll see it: malls decked out in full Christmas regalia, sound systems blasting carols, brands pushing “early holiday sales.” By December, the campaign peaks. According to Christianity Today, the Philippines’ Christmas economy has become so dominant that retailers rely on it to sustain annual revenues, making it both an economic driver and a cultural force.

But this glitter exacts a price. Filipino families, especially those in lower-income brackets, feel pressured to spend. The late anthropologist Prospero Covar once described the Filipino ethos of “hiya” (shame) and “utang na loob” (debt of gratitude), cultural norms that often push people to overextend financially during holidays to avoid embarrassment or to honor obligations. This manifests as loans, payday advances, and credit card debt—burdens that last long after the parols are put away.

The result: while Christmas lights burn bright, January often feels darker—not only spiritually but financially. What should be a time of joy and thanksgiving becomes, for many, a source of stress.

Still, Christmas remains the happiest time of year for most Filipinos—or at least, that’s what they say. Social Weather Stations’ 2024 survey found that 65% of Filipinos expected a happy Christmas, down from 73% in 2023. Published in Philstar.com, the survey revealed that while the majority remain hopeful, nearly one in three respondents admitted they expected sadness or neutrality.

This aligns with global findings on “holiday blues.” The U.S.-based National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) has reported that about 60% of Americans experience some form of mental distress during the holidays, whether from financial stress, loneliness, or family conflict. While Philippine-specific data is limited, health experts interviewed in Rappler and Philippine Daily Inquirer stories have observed similar patterns, particularly among overseas workers and urban poor communities left out of the season’s glitz.

In response, local groups like MentalHealthPH and the National Center for Mental Health (NCMH) remind Filipinos that crisis hotlines are available. The NCMH operates 24/7 lines (1553; 0917-899-8727; 7-989-8727), which they emphasize are crucial during “seasons of heightened emotional stress.”

The poverty gap under the lights

It is impossible to discuss Pinoy Christmas without acknowledging inequality. The Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA) reported that poverty incidence hovered around 22% in recent years. That means millions of Filipinos enter the holiday season unable to afford the very goods and gatherings that media and advertising present as universal.

Commentators in BusinessWorld and ABS-CBN News have pointed out how this gap warps the holiday experience: malls and corporate centers stage grand light shows, while urban poor families celebrate with modest meals. Yet even in these communities, the pressure to keep up appearances persists. A mother may still borrow to buy ham or queso de bola because “what is Christmas without them?”

As sociologist Nicole Curato of the University of Canberra has argued in her writings on Philippine culture, these rituals of inclusion—even when economically irrational—speak to Filipinos’ deep desire for dignity and participation in collective joy. Christmas, in this sense, is not just a holiday but a social equalizer, however fleeting.

Culture that resists

Despite the noise of commerce, Pinoy Christmas still preserves elements that resist commodification. The Giant Lantern Festival in San Fernando, Pampanga, known as the “Christmas Capital of the Philippines,” is rooted in community craft and religious procession. The parol, in its humble bamboo-and-paper form, remains a symbol of hope and light, even as upscale versions adorn malls.

Communal caroling, though less common in urban centers, continues in barangays, where children sing in exchange for coins or treats. These small rituals, still vibrant in provinces, demonstrate resilience: meaning that survives despite commercialization.

So, where does this leave us in 2025? If the season is longer than ever, if commercialism threatens to overwhelm meaning, if happiness coexists with depression, then the challenge is not to abolish but to re-center.

Church leaders interviewed in Christianity Today warned that when Christmas becomes omnipresent, “the message dilutes.” They urged believers to focus not on duration but on depth. Policymakers, too, have a role: consumer-protection agencies can strengthen financial literacy campaigns; schools and communities can highlight service and charity projects over gift exchanges.

More than anything, it is up to families and communities to choose what kind of Christmas they will celebrate. Will it be about lights in malls or light in the heart? Will it be about keeping up appearances or keeping faith alive?

The Filipino Christmas, as long and bright as it is, remains ours to shape. The question is whether we allow it to be shaped more by commerce or by compassion.

The paradox is clear. We are the country with the longest Christmas season in the world, a fact celebrated by Arab News, Christianity Today, and countless lifestyle features. We are also a country where remittances and 13th-month pay keep malls buzzing and cash registers ringing. But we are also a people of faith—praying daily, showing up at dawn Masses, still clinging to parols as symbols of hope.

This Christmas, may we remember that Christ was not born under mall lights, nor to the sound of carols piped into air-conditioned halls, but in the silence of a manger, in the company of the poor. If we can keep even a fraction of that in our own celebrations, perhaps the Pinoy Christmas—long, loud, and luminous—can still be holy.

Originally posted on: techsabado.com/2025/12/13/burning-chrome-the-pinoy-holiday-that-almost-forgot-the-baby-in-the-manger/