Many older generations believe they speak the same language as the youth, yet it often feels as though meanings shift in midair. Words spoken with confidence are heard differently, and are received with skepticism. When the youth say “change,” older individuals might hear “disrespect.” When they say “experience,” we might hear “dismissal.” Somewhere in between, the message is lost, and we find ourselves explaining repeatedly—often without success.
This is the quiet work of living between generations: trying to bridge what can feel like two parallel monologues. The translations we make may never be perfect, but they are worth the effort if they bring us closer to a shared understanding. Language between generations may not be identical, but it can still carry the same truth.
So, allow me to offer my own translations—from our generation to yours—in hopes that the meaning comes through.
“Nagmamarunong na naman kayo..”
“Ano b’ang alam mo?”
The youth are often called ignorant know-it-alls, yet we know more than many might assume. When we disagree, we don’t wish to disrespect. As we grow more aware of issues affecting the many, we feel compelled to stand for what’s just. When we seem to be “breaking traditions,” it is not out of ingratitude to those who came before us, but because we believe progress and change are necessary. This is not a campaign of hate, nor an attempt to prove we are better than anyone else. It is an invitation to begin a meaningful conversation with older generations about what truly matters. Allowing age-old wisdom to respond to new realities, and letting new questions challenge us.
For example, I understand that some believe divorce contradicts the sanctity of marriage. Yet, the youth also recognizes that not every marriage lives up to the mutual care and respect that the sacrament calls for—and at times, separation may be essential to protect the dignity and well-being of those involved: spouses, parents, and us, your children.
The KU Leuven–Ateneo de Manila Center for Catholic Theology and Social Justice offers a thoughtful perspective: the proposed divorce bill is a matter of public policy, not purely theology. They remind us that supporting a divorce law doesn’t necessarily endanger the institution of marriage, particularly when it is intended only for cases of irreparable unions where Catholics in healthy marriages aren’t compelled to seek one.
In the same spirit, the increasing discrimination towards the LGBTQIA+ community invites us to reflect on how our faith, rooted in the call to love our neighbors, should embrace the dignity of every person. In promoting the common good, we are called to ensure that no one is left unseen. As the youth learn to express themselves, we long for spaces where our stories are not judged, but received with compassion. In your openness, we seek that our fears and hopes are understood. In doing so, we move beyond mere tolerance, and into genuine solidarity and inclusivity. After all, our faith should not discriminate, and the common good is not supposed to leave anyone behind.
Our principles are a reflection of our own lived experiences which may differ from yours. In the end, we are not enemies, instead the youth ask to be heard despite being born in a different generation.
“Kami nga noon..”
“Kung kinaya ko noon, dapat kayanin mo rin.”
We respect the lives that older generations lived, their sacrifices, and the resilience built through years of hardship. However, there is no value in turning suffering into a contest. Our struggles may not look exactly like yours, yet they are no less real.
When we hear phrases like the ones above, it often feels as though our experiences are being weighed against yours. The truth is, every generation faces its own storms. Even after acknowledging the challenges you endured in the past, it shouldn’t mean that we must bear them too. In fact, it may surprise you that nothing much has really changed—more people continue to suffer.
Thus, we are not living to pass on a culture that romanticizes resilience, where people are left to deal with structural problems that could’ve been avoided—where children continue to walk across rivers to get to school because education is inaccessible, where students still skip classes to help earn because wages cannot even pay for a household’s meal, where young people settle for underpaying jobs because opportunities are reserved for those with connections. We cannot continue to tolerate these issues merely because that’s “the way it has always been.” Instead, we work together so that future generations do not suffer the same consequences we did.
“Ano na plano mo sa buhay?”
“Noong ako nasa edad mo…”
Lastly, we are more than what we do. Many young people feel like their worth is measured solely by their achievements. There is this silent expectation to excel, but before this, are we not human beings first? Comparisons of what you accomplished when you were our age may seem like encouragement, but to us, they can sound like a reminder that no matter the hard work, we are still behind. It can feel as though simply being ourselves will never be enough.
With being queer, I often felt the need to “compensate” for my identity by excelling in my studies and extracurriculars, even without anyone verbalizing it. Similarly, it’s almost a universal experience at family reunions, where questions about our chosen profession are often met with undertones of judgment if the answers don’t match their idea of success. Then, saying “I don’t know” about our future can feel like a crime.
Yet, our uncertainty doesn’t mean that we are slacking off; rather, we are asking for the space to grow. We need the freedom to try, fail, and change our minds without being labeled “lazy,” “stupid,” or “ungrateful.” Be part of our growth—growth from an environment that sees us for who we are, more than who we may become.
***
After all these translations, it might seem like a contradiction that we are quick to have strong assertions about society yet take a long time figuring out our own lives. But must we really have everything figured out all at once?
Perhaps it’s because the world we live in moves at an unexpectedly fast pace, where headlines change by the hour and expectations pile up before we can even catch our breath. We initiate hard conversations—on justice, equality, and the future of our country—not because we have every answer, but because we believe the discourse can no longer be postponed. There is no hiding it: we live in an extremely flawed society, with systems that favor the powerful while leaving behind the marginalized.
And maybe that is why the least we long for is a true companion—someone, regardless of generation, who chooses to walk alongside us, not to force us toward the path they alone know, but to help chart a new way forward. A companion who listens as much as they speak, who is willing to confront the same uncomfortable truths, and who trusts that the future is best shaped when done together. While we may speak loudly about the changes we wish to see in this world, we also need the quiet reassurance that we are seen and valued—not only for the clarity of our convictions, but for the hope and effort we bring while our own lives are still a work in progress.
In the end, the young generation brings new perspectives not to devalue the past, but to expand what we already know—in the hope of creating a language we all can speak, so that together, we may create a shared language ready to speak for the least, the lost, and the last. A language ready to defend the voiceless.
Nadhine Andal Acul-Acul is a BA Political Science student at the University of the Philippines Diliman, and an alumna of Xavier University–Ateneo de Cagayan and Ateneo de Manila Senior High School. As a servant leader, they have long been active in various organizations, championing causes on human rights, Indigenous peoples’ welfare, SOGIE equality, and quality education, among others. Their work reflects a deep commitment to amplifying the voices of the marginalized, with the hope of leaving a lasting impact through meaningful advocacy and community engagement.