A video blew up on social media last month. A female beneficiary of the government’s 4Ps said in an interview that P8,000 a month was not enough — it was good only for one week. And just like that, social media turned into a virtual “tambayan” (hangout) of heated debate.

Some netizens were quick to grab their pitchforks: “Ang kapal naman! Dapat nga magpasalamat siya” (The nerve! She should be grateful). Others nodded in sympathy: “Try feeding eight people with P8,000 per month. Sa mahal ng bilihin ngayon, kulang talaga” (With today’s high prices, it’s not enough).

Then came the plot twist. The DSWD hinted that some “beneficiaries” might be creative storytellers on social media using the 4Ps label for clout. Fake or not, the damage was done. The national conversation shifted from “tulong” (aid)  to “utang na loob” (debt of gratitude) real quick.

It’s not shameful to receive help when you’re drowning. But the 4Ps was never meant to be a lifetime membership you can pass down to your grandchildren. It’s a “tulay” — a bridge. And bridges are for crossing, not camping.

The 4Ps beneficiary might have a point. P8,000 in 2026? With inflation, electricity, laundry soap, and children who suddenly need art materials for a school project? Yes, that can vanish in a week. Anyone who says otherwise probably hasn’t gone grocery shopping lately. A kilo of rice, a few eggs, some canned goods — and suddenly half your budget is gone. 

There’s the other half of the truth — the one that stings a little. It’s just wrong when temporary assistance turns into a permanent situation. The 4Ps was meant to give one a hand up, not a hammock or a lottery prize. It’s the government’s “fertilizer” that helps you grow, but you still have to plant the seeds yourself.

So if the person complaining about the P8,000 has been on the list for a decade, with able‑bodied adults at home and zero effort to start even a small sari‑sari store or find a skills training program? Then that is a problem. Not a “kick them out” problem but “love‑you‑enough‑to‑tell‑you‑the‑truth” problem. Because staying on the 4Ps bridge forever isn’t poverty — it’s paralysis.

If the 4Ps is a boat, why stay seated in someone else’s place after you’ve reached the shore? That’s not just unfair — it’s undignified. True dignity is knowing when to step aside and let the next family get across. 

To the real 4Ps beneficiaries, accept the help without shame. But while you receive the “ayuda,” keep one eye on the exit door. The goal is not to be a permanent resident on the 4Ps list. The goal is to look back one day and say, “Salamat. Kaya ko na. Ibalik ko na sa ibang mas nangangailangan ang puwesto” (Thank you. I can do it now. I’ll give my spot to someone else who needs it badly).

And to the critics who love to pile on every beneficiary who speaks up — let’s stop shaming people for admitting they’re struggling. That’s how we end up with silent sufferers who pretend everything’s fine while eating instant noodles for the 14th day in a row. Let’s create a culture where asking for help is as normal as asking for directions, with no snide comments or mockery.

Imagine a nation where we all dig in, move as one, and the first to cross the bridge waves back with a smile: “You can do it. Your turn next!” That’s the dream. Social media personality Jack Logan, take a bow. He captured what so many of us feel but struggle to say.

As a final plea, receive help with gratitude. But also with a quiet fire to rise. And when you rise, pass on your spot. It should never be out of guilt, but rather out of honor and dignity.

Because the most shameful thing is not receiving an P8,000 ayuda. It’s receiving it for decades, and never trying to get off the bridge. We should be a nation that crosses together — and then waves back.