Before I could write this story about HIV and why it matters to every Filipino, I had to do something deeply personal and, for many, uncomfortable: I got screened for HIV myself. I sat in the waiting area, felt the quiet tension in my chest, and faced the same questions that stop countless people from walking into a clinic. When my result came back non-reactive, I felt relief—but more than that, I felt responsibility. I realized that I could not speak about HIV testing from a distance. I had to stand inside the conversation, not above it. I had to know my status first before encouraging others to know theirs.

This piece is not written to judge anyone. This is not about blame, morality, or labeling. It is about life, health, dignity, and truth. It is about killing stigma—the kind that silences people, delays testing, and allows a preventable and treatable condition to quietly destroy lives.

It must be said clearly and without hesitation: HIV is a virus, not a sexual orientation. HIV does not belong to any gender identity, any community, or any label. Viruses do not target identities. They spread through specific behaviors and biological processes. Anyone who is sexually active, anyone who shares needles, anyone who is exposed to infected blood, and anyone who does not have access to accurate information and protection can be at risk. Straight people get HIV. Married people get HIV. Young people get HIV. Older people get HIV. HIV does not check who you love before infecting you.

At the same time, we must acknowledge an uncomfortable truth: HIV-related stigma toward LGBTQ people is real. Many members of the LGBTQ community have long been unfairly blamed, stereotyped, and shamed in conversations about HIV. This stigma did not come from science. It came from fear, misunderstanding, and long-standing prejudice.

For decades, misinformation has falsely painted HIV as a “gay disease.” This harmful myth became an easy way to assign blame to a community instead of confronting the real issues—lack of comprehensive sex education, limited access to healthcare, and the absence of honest, shame-free conversations about sexual health.

This kind of stigma does not exist only online or in private conversations. It appears in public spaces and media platforms as well. On 01 December 2025, during a Facebook Live program, a radio announcer from La Union, representing a well-known radio station, was heard reading a news report about HIV and proceeded to link the rising number of cases to LGBTQ people, even using the term “agbabakla” in reference to the issue.

Whether intentional or not, statements like this reflect a deeper problem: bigoted thinking. They reinforce the false idea that being LGBTQ is the cause of HIV—an idea that is both scientifically wrong and socially damaging.

Blaming LGBTQ people for HIV does not stop the virus. It only pushes people further into hiding. It convinces many to avoid clinics, avoid testing, and avoid treatment because they fear being mocked, judged, or outed. When people are driven into silence, HIV spreads faster. In this sense, stigma itself becomes a public health threat.

We must understand this: being LGBTQ does not cause HIV. Being human does not cause HIV. A virus causes HIV. And the solution is not shame—it is science, testing, treatment, and compassion.

The Philippines is facing one of the fastest-growing HIV epidemics in the Asia-Pacific region. Every day, dozens of Filipinos learn they are living with HIV. Behind each number is a human being with dreams, family, fears, and a future that still matters. Young people make up a large portion of new cases, reminding us that HIV is not a distant problem of the past, nor a disease that affects only one sector of society. It is here. It is present. And it concerns all of us.

Yet despite the rise in cases, many still avoid testing. Fear of being judged. Fear of being labeled. Fear of being rejected. These fears are often heavier than the virus itself. Stigma has become one of the most dangerous forces in the HIV epidemic because it convinces people to stay silent, delay testing, and suffer alone. Silence does not protect anyone. Knowledge does.

Getting screened for HIV is not a sign of recklessness. It is a sign of responsibility. It is not an admission of wrongdoing. It is an act of self-respect. Knowing your status gives you power over your health. If the result is negative, it offers peace of mind and a chance to stay protected. If the result is positive, it opens the door to treatment that allows a person to live a long, productive, and meaningful life.

Today, HIV is no longer a death sentence. With proper antiretroviral therapy, the virus can be controlled. People living with HIV can become healthy, strong, and undetectable, which means they cannot transmit the virus to others. This is one of the most hopeful truths in modern medicine. But this hope only becomes real when people get tested.

When I decided to get screened, I felt vulnerable. I felt exposed. But I also felt brave. Walking into that clinic was one of the most honest things I have done for myself. It reminded me that caring for my health is not something to apologize for. It is something to honor.

Imagine a country where getting tested is normal. Where friends remind friends to get screened. Where couples test together without fear. Where clinics are places of safety, not shame. That country is possible—but only if we choose compassion over condemnation, education over ignorance, and courage over silence.

We do not defeat HIV by pointing fingers. We defeat HIV by opening doors. We do not stop its spread by shaming people. We stop it by empowering them. Stigma must die so people can live.

If you have never been tested, let this be your sign. Not because you are broken. Not because you are guilty. But because you are human, and your life is worth protecting. Take the step. Know your status. Encourage others to know theirs.

I took my step. I faced my fear. And I am using my voice now so others may find the strength to use theirs.

No judgment. No shame. Only truth. Only hope. Only life.