Filipinos, known for their knack for romance and infinite supply of “kilig,” are making headlines for an unexpected reason: their being top targets (and, let’s admit it, sometimes perpetrators) of online love scams.

According to a study by TransUnion, a whopping 18 percent of suspected fraud attempts on dating sites and online forums originated from the Philippines in the first half of the year. Who knew we’d go from harana to hacking so quickly?

Online dating, with its endless promises of soulmate discovery, is a modern miracle. But for Filipinos — who are romantic to a fault — it’s also a double-edged sword. Where else can one find a platform where you’re equally likely to find “the one” or “the one who drains your life savings through emotional manipulation?”

Pinoys are pros at love; we have a deep cultural inclination toward grand romantic gestures. However, this penchant for kilig is also our Achilles’ heel. When someone promises eternal devotion in the form of poorly translated English, who can resist? Unfortunately, the “forever” often ends with a blocked profile and a sob story involving a Nigerian prince or an overseas worker needing “emergency cash.”

The thing about Filipinos is we’re optimists. We believe in true love as fervently as we believe the MRT will ever run on time. For many, online dating is not just a means to find romance — it’s a way out of loneliness, poverty, and for some, a ticket to a greener pasture abroad. Throw in some virtual sweet talk and an airbrushed photo of someone who looks vaguely like a Korean drama star, and you’ve got the makings of a scam.

But why are Filipinos also topping the charts as fraud perpetrators? Easy. With a deep pool of creative talent and an instinct for hustling, some enterprising individuals have turned online romance into an industry. After all, bayanihan can mean helping one another or, in some twisted way, “helping” gullible foreigners’ part with their money.

These love scams often follow a tried-and-tested formula. Start with a convincing sob story — say, an OFW who “lost a wallet” or an aspiring singer who “needs help paying for a competition entry fee.” Sprinkle in some cultural authenticity — maybe a dash of “po” and “opo” for politeness — and voila, you’ve got a scam as irresistible as halo-halo on a hot day.

But let’s not forget the other side of this coin. Many Filipinos falling prey to these scams are vulnerable, isolated, and looking for a genuine connection. In a country where social interactions have increasingly moved online, it’s no surprise that some believe their online prince or princess is the real deal — until, of course, their GCash account says otherwise.

So, what can we learn from all these? First, love online is like lechon kawali — deceptively delightful but often hiding a heart attack waiting to happen. Second, Filipinos need to learn that forever should not come with a price tag (or a wire transfer request). And third, maybe it’s time to stop blaming the internet and start questioning why we’re so easily swayed by sweet nothings typed in Comic Sans.

For those still determined to find love online, a word of caution: keep your wits about you. That “hot single in your area” might just be a kababayan running a side hustle. And for the scammers? Congratulations — you’ve proven that the Filipino entrepreneurial spirit knows no bounds. Just don’t be surprised when karma (or the NBI) catches up with you.

In the end, this saga of lovestruck Pinoys, online love scams, and romantic gullibility is a cautionary tale for the digital age. It tells us that while love might be patient and kind, it’s also highly susceptible to phishing schemes. So, whether you’re swiping right or sliding into DMs, remember: true love doesn’t ask for your bank details. If it does, that’s not a red flag — it’s a neon sign screaming, “Run!”

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