Stop scrolling. Stand up. Roll your neck. Take a deep breath.
The result is a national case of pananakit ng katawan (body aches) without a physical cause. We are depressed because we are sedentary. We are anxious because we are frozen. The mind is racing, but the body is in park. That dissonance is lethal. You don't need a gym membership. You don't need a yoga mat. You don't need a "wellness coach." You need to remember that you are a vertebrate.
When a problem arrives—a leaking roof, a family argument, a financial shortfall—you have exactly three seconds to move. If you sit still for longer than three seconds, panic sets in . The kaba (anxiety) calcifies into tamad (laziness) or takot (fear).
Galaw is the subtle sway of a jeepney driver’s shoulders as he navigates a pothole. It is the sabay (the groove) of a group of kids playing patintero in a dusty alley. It is the involuntary tapping of a finger against a wooden table when someone starts humming an Eraserheads song.
Instead of dying inside while stuck in EDSA traffic, engage your micro-movements. Squeeze your glutes. Roll your shoulders. Breathe into your diaphragm. The car isn't moving, but you are.
Today, I want to explore why Galaw —as a philosophy, a physical practice, and a social duty—might just be the secret ingredient to surviving modern life. In the West, movement is often mechanical. You go to the gym for one hour. You walk 10,000 steps. You check a box. But Galaw is organic. It is the pag-eehersisyo of the lola who doesn't know what a squat rack is but can carry a bucket of water up three flights of stairs without spilling a drop.
In Tagalog, galaw refers to the act of moving, stirring, or shifting position. But linguistically, it carries more weight than its English counterparts. When you say “Walang galaw,” you aren't just saying something is stationary; you are saying it is stagnant, lifeless, or broken. When you say “Magagalaw ka,” it implies that something is about to affect you emotionally or physically.
We all hate chores. But what if hugas pinggan (dishwashing) was a rhythm exercise? Put on a Manila Sound playlist. Let your hips sway while you scrub. Galaw turns labor into liturgy.