Hiraya

There are moments when the world surprises you with its softness, even in places where you expect only spectacle and noise. That was how I felt a few days ago as I sat once again as a mentor for Hiraya, a pageant celebrating the LGBTQ community in Las Piñas.

 I had mentored candidates before, so I came prepared for flair, excitement, and the familiar whirl of gowns and glitter. But this year was different. The show stretched past five hours, yet not once did it feel long. The candidates were fiercer, fuller of conviction, each one stepping onstage not just to compete, but to claim space that once never existed for them.

As I watched them walk, I kept thinking: Hiraya, a Filipino word that speaks of dreams made real, fit them perfectly. Because year after year, our LGBTQ brothers and sisters are no longer hiding in the shadows of a conservative society. They stand taller now, more sure of themselves, and more embraced by communities that once looked at them with hesitance. And this shift, this gentle turning of society toward compassion is generosity in one of its purest forms. The generosity of acceptance.

Before the program even began, one contestant shared something that has stayed with me. 

When I asked why she joined, she didn’t speak of crowns or titles. She said, softly but with certainty, that she wanted her parents to be proud of her. That whatever the outcome, this was her way of giving thanks for being accepted, for being loved, for being allowed to be herself. And maybe, she added, someone watching her would find the courage to be brave, too.

Her story reminded me of other things I’ve witnessed over the years; small acts of generosity that changed people quietly. A mother who used to hide her son’s makeup brushes but now proudly helps him blend eyeshadow before a show. A grandfather who once struggled to understand his transgender granddaughter but now walks her to the barber for her weekly trim. A friend who, after years of silence, finally apologized to a former classmate for the cruel jokes made in high school. These gestures may seem ordinary from the outside, but to those who receive them, they’re life-giving.

Because the truth is, acceptance is not always loud. Often, it is a quiet decision — to see someone fully and choose to love them anyway.

Growing up, I remember the opposite. Those politically incorrect jokes thrown so casually in classrooms and cafeterias, never realizing how deeply they cut. Back then, LGBTQ beauty pageants weren’t even imagined. Today, those same jokes are no longer funny; they are called out, corrected, and even challenged by the younger generation. The world hasn’t transformed overnight, but it has shifted toward kindness, toward understanding, toward inclusion.

And perhaps that is the heart of hiraya: the dream of a society where everyone is welcomed at the table. As the Scripture reminds us, “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” (1 Peter 4:8)

May we keep choosing love. May we keep choosing generosity. And may our dreams for a more inclusive nation, our own collective hiraya, continue to unfold before us.