Sofronio Vasquez’s win on The Voice season 26 could very well be the ultimate endorsement deal for the humble karaoke machine—a staple in every Filipino household, second only to rice cookers.
His soulful rendition of “A Million Dreams” from The Greatest Showman in the finale not only brought the judges to tears but also reminded Filipinos worldwide of their kakaoke roots.
Expect a meteoric rise in videoke machine sales this holiday season as every Tito, Tita, and bunso suddenly feels the urge to channel their inner Sofronio.
Forget PlayStation 5 or iPhone 15—the hottest item under the Christmas tree will be the latest Magic Sing model, complete with Sofronio’s winning playlist pre-loaded. Traffic in Manila? Worse than ever, as barangays erupt into nightly amateur singing contests, turning the streets into impromptu audition stages.
Sofronio hasn’t just won The Voice—he’s reignited the nation’s unwavering belief that every Filipino was born to sing, off-key or not.
Ah, the Filipino unli rice phenomenon—proof that carbs are our love language. For the price of one grilled chicken leg, you gain access to an endless cascade of white, fluffy mountains. Who needs fancy buffets when you’ve got Mang Inasal, where a rice refiller is more attentive than most romantic partners? Forget portion control; this is where the real culinary Olympics happen—plate after plate, a glorious carb marathon.
But trust the Filipino to level up the game. Why stop at eating their rice when you can bring your own? A discreet pot of kanin smuggled in your eco bag, paired with that free soup—voilà, a budget banquet. No corkage fee, no shame.
Unli rice isn’t just a meal; it’s a cultural statement. It’s the great equalizer, a way to say, “No matter what life throws at us, at least we’ll never run out of rice.”
In a twist of irony that even the most skilled cobbler couldn’t stitch together, the Marikina Shoe Museum has reopened its doors, welcoming none other than Imelda Romualdez Marcos as a guest of honor.
Yes, the very same former First Lady whose vast shoe collection became a symbol of opulence and extravagance. It seems fitting, then, that she would grace the halls of a museum dedicated to the industry she inadvertently — or purposely spotlighted.
Visitors can now marvel at around 700 pairs of her once-ridiculed shoes, alongside those of past Philippine presidents. The museum offers a fascinating tutorial on traditional shoe-making, a nostalgic nod to an era before designer labels hijacked our soles and wallets.
For a minimal entrance fee, you can step into history—literally—while pondering the curious case of how shoes can tread the fine line between fashion statement and historical artifact.
The Adobo Chronicles 
You must be logged in to post a comment.