UAAP Controversy: Rene Baterbonia's mother supporting UST bigman is a LAUGHABLE because?

 

Let’s talk about grief for a second, because apparently, parts of the Philippine internet need a massive reality check on how it actually works.

Sunday marked the 100th day since the June 8 Aurora tragedy that tragically claimed the lives of student-athletes Rene Baterbonia and Divine Adili. It was a heavy, emotional weekend at the SM Mall of Asia Arena for UAAP Season 89. While the Adili family addressed the media, Rovelyn and Rene Baterbonia Sr. quietly stayed behind in the stands to watch the nightcap between the University of Santo Tomas and De La Salle University.

Before tip-off, Rovelyn Baterbonia asked to meet UST’s 6-foot-7 big man, Koji Buenaflor. Why? Because to a grieving mother’s eyes, the Growling Tiger bears a striking resemblance to her late son. She took a photo with him, posted it online with the caption, “Thank you sa UST, pinayagan kaming makipag-picture sa isang player na kamukha mo. Para sayo ang game na ‘to,” and proceeded to cheer her heart out for UST the rest of the evening.

It was a small, fragile, deeply human moment. And predictably, a loud, cynical corner of social media immediately decided to ruin it.

There has been a bizarre, uncomfortable wave of backlash online, with people laughing at Rovelyn’s fascination with Buenaflor. And here is the most exhausting part: a massive chunk of the people mocking her and accusing her of "exaggerating" her situation are the exact same progressive voices who constantly preach about mental health awareness.

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We are watching the very same demographic that will routinely write 1,000-word social media threads demanding "safe spaces," "trauma-informed healing," and "mental health validation" suddenly pivot to shallowly analyzing and gatekeeping the very real, very messy trauma of a mother who just lost her child. The hypocrisy is staggering. They want mental health to be a neat, aesthetic infographic; the moment actual grief looks a little unorthodox or uncomfortable, they grab their pitchforks and start throwing armchair psychologist diagnoses from the cheap seats.

Buenaflor, to his immense credit, understood the assignment perfectly. He didn't find it weird. He didn't back away. The kid went out, did the grueling dirty work against La Salle—putting up a solid five points and five boards, setting screens, and emphasizing that the "small things" contribute to winning—and then showed absolute grace post-game.

"Actually, nakakaawa rin kasi walang nanay na deserve mawalan ng anak, so I’m just there to support the Baterbonia family," Buenaflor told the press.

He gets it. Why doesn't the internet?

Grief is not a linear, logical basketball play. It doesn't run drawn-up sets. When you lose a child to an unimaginable tragedy, your brain grasps at absolutely anything that provides a millimeter of comfort. If seeing a 6-foot-7 kid in a gold and white jersey run the floor gives Rovelyn Baterbonia a sliver of peace, if cheering for him helps her navigate the impossible weight of the last 100 days, then let her cheer.

It is not wrong to show adoration to a player that resembles your late son. It is a coping mechanism. It is survival. If leaning into that resemblance helps her mental health and aids in her healing process, then everyone else needs to log off, take a deep breath, and leave her alone. Philippine basketball is at its best when it acts as a community, and right now, the only proper response to the Baterbonia family is the exact empathy that Koji Buenaflor showed them.

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