Reflections on the Lapu-Lapu Tragedy: Grief, Healing, and Our Shared Humanity

When I first heard the news of the Lapu-Lapu tragedy, I was frozen. A sinking feeling whispered, “Is this an attack? Were Filipinos targeted?” — Written by Larô Therapy founder and Psychotherapist Elda Almario.

Photo of Lapu-Lapu Shrine in Mactan, Cebu, Philippines

I kept refreshing the news, trying to make sense of the unfolding reality. As days passed, a complex mix of emotions arose: anger, despair, relief, and fear — feelings heavy in my body and heart.

Moving quickly to help felt like my comfort zone—taking action has always been my safe space. Yet, I knew that sustainable care had to come before urgency. I paused, took stock of my skills, limited capacity, tech resources, and abundant connections. Reaching out to colleagues, community leaders, and fellow therapists, I witnessed our bayanihan spirit quietly come alive. People stepped up with generosity, care, and heart, reminding me healing is never a solo journey.

Remembering Lapu-Lapu and Honouring Lives Lost

For those unfamiliar, Lapu-Lapu is a revered Filipino hero. A symbol of courage and defiance against oppression. To see his name linked to this tragedy felt like a painful irony, casting a shadow over a cultural celebration.

But this story isn’t about a name. It’s about lives cut short—lives deeply woven into our community:
Maria Victoria Bjarnason, Jendhel May Sico, Rizza Pagkanlungan, Jenifer Darbellay, Glitza Daniela Samper, Glitza Maria Caicedo, Daniel Samper, Richard Le, Linh Hoang, Katie Le, and Kira Salim.

These aren’t just names. They carry stories, dreams, laughter, and connections that bind us. Our grief holds us together as one.

Healing Together: The Power of Community

At Larô Therapy, we know healing cannot happen in isolation. We have created four Kamustahan spaces so far—virtual check-ins where people gathered to share, grieve, and simply be together. Guided by mental health professionals, each bringing their own gentle presence, holding space for others to feel, and not be alone.

It felt strange at first to call these spaces beautiful—after all, they were filled with pain and raw grief. Yet, beauty emerged from the way people showed up: listening, holding space, and making room for sorrow. This is kapwa in motion — shared humanity where your pain is my pain, and your healing is mine.

What This Grief Has Taught Me

1. Grief Is Layered — So Is Our Anger
Grief is never one-dimensional. It can look like searching for answers or the urge to blame. But beneath lies a deeper pain: the ongoing lack of access to culturally-responsive, holistic care — mental health support, community integration, and true recognition of the whole person. We mourn not only the tragedy but the systems that fail us, and the unfair blaming of individuals instead of addressing systemic gaps. This grief holds anger, and that anger is valid.

2. Grief Is Collective—and So Is Healing
I see the power of collective grief. The truth that healing is not something we do alone. It’s not limited to 1:1 spaces or therapy rooms.

Grief isn’t an isolated event. It ripples through communities, and so too must healing.

3. Culturally-Responsive Care Is Not Optional
When support reflects our stories, our struggles, our languages, it does more than offer comfort—it affirms our humanity.

It reminds us that our identities are not burdens to be explained, but truths to be honoured.

4. Rest Is Resistance
We often rush to give, to be strong, to show up. But caring also means knowing when to pause, to breathe, to let ourselves be cared for. Rest is not a retreat—it’s part of the work. Part of the healing.

As I write this, I feel a mix of emotions: gratitude for the bayanihan I witnessed, a quiet anger at the systems that continue to fail so many, and a deep, aching sorrow for those we lost. It is messy, like grief always is.

But even in this messiness, I see the power of community, of people who choose to show up for one another, again and again.

Our lives are changed forever. And maybe that’s the hardest truth of all. But we are changed together.