Kung Anek-Anek Lang
A Socioeconomic Discourse on the Anik-Anik Phenomenon
“I think na it’s so cute how you collect the resibo each time we sneak in a few pieces of tissue from restos. Why do you do that?” My beshie asks while she takes a sip of her coffee. Her small Smiskis stared back at me from the table of the cottage-esque cafe whose space was invaded by our want for a lazy afternoon.
“Katulad lang din kung bakit ka nangongolekta ng Smiskis — the sentimentality of collecting,” I answer. “Korique! The sentimentality of our anik-aniks.” My friend smiled at the figurines on the table.
Are collectibles, like Smiskis, really considered anik-anik? I wonder. Like my beshie, I find joy in collecting things, but I love keeping small receipts and tissues, even dried leaves and dead flowers — for me, these are what I call anik-anik, the smallest and most random of objects that entrap the memories they themselves witnessed. A small piece of tissue with random physics calculations from a cram session and dead flowers once plucked during a nighttime stroll along the streets of Intramuros with my friends: these remind me of the moments that matter.
“I try to be minimalist, but you can’t really be minimalist when you want to be aesthetic.” My beshie interrupts the stream of consciousness I entered some milliseconds ago. “I agree, I think aestheticism is tied with maximalism in Filipino culture,” I respond. She nods in agreement.
What does it really mean to be maximalist? I ask myself. Is it the act of hoarding collectibles and adorning your own little space with all the remembrances of life?
Maximizing our collections
Opening X on my phone, I delve into the trending topic of anik-anik flooding my feed. Scrolling deeper into the discussion, I find numerous criticisms against self-proclaimed anik-anik girlies who have the means to buy the blind box figurines; the same ones that my beshie has.
“Anik-anik girlie daw pero kapag tinawag na abubot yung kinokolekta nila, hindi nila [ma-]gets,” one tweet read.
I wondered: what would my beshie think, knowing that she owns these things, too?
As if reading my mind, my beshie turns to me and asks, “Beshie, I have a question — what do you think about yung anik-anik thingy that’s trending on X?” I immediately exit the app.
“Ah, ‘yung may class discourse? Valid naman ‘yung critiques nila. I mean, essentially, nagmula talaga ang konsepto ng anik-anik sa pagiging maximalist natin as Filipinos — mahilig tayong mag-imbak ng kung ano-anong bagay,” I reply.
Sipping her coffee, my beshie gestures to her Smiskis. “For me naman, anik-anik could be anything eh, you know? I mean like, need ba talagang there’s a requirement for being an anik-anik girlie?” She holds up one of her Smiskis. “For example, my Smiskis or my Sonny Angel figurines; ‘di ba they’re also, like, kung ano-ano lang that we make imbak? They don’t really have any significant or practical uses, so like, is that not anik-anik pa rin?” My beshie explains.
“Well, tama ka naman do’n! The blind box figurines that you and many others adore and collect ay walang purpose, which could classify them as anik-anik. Actually, may sinabi tungkol dito si Professor Luis Abesamis, ‘yung prof sa Department of Behavioral Sciences (DBS). Sabi niya, ang pag-box ng kung ano ang specific na bagay na nako-consider na anik-anik ay, in their words, counterintuitive. Pero, in a general sense, ang anik-anik ay reflection ng kung ano ang ginagawang valuable ng tao. Pwedeng naka-imbak lang siya kasi baka pwede pang magamit sa future. Kapag may sentimental value, ‘keepsake’ could be synonymous to anik-anik.” I explain to her.
Her face lights up. “Perfect! OMG actually, I remember Professor Enrico Baula of DBS saying something similar. Kasi like, Prof was talking about how we as Filipinos are collectivists and maximalists by nature. Since we’re always so fond of making halubilo with other people, we create more memories, so we become more senti as a person.” She adds.
“Gets! Parang naalala ko nga ‘to from Professor Baula. Feeling ko, pwede rin ‘tong i-connect sa sinabi ni Professor Abesamis. Like, for example, ‘yung mga religious paraphernalia na nakalagay sa bawat sulok ng bahay ay nagpapakita ng pagiging valuable ng religion sa isang pamilya, or ‘yung pag display ng mga family pictures at achievements ng mga anak ay reflection ng value ng family at ang achievements nila.” I add.
As a chronically online girlie, I instinctively open my phone again, engaging Bianca Forca, a 2nd Year Dental Medicine Student, in conversation about the anik-anik trend. In our discussion, I observe that Bianca epitomizes anik-anik culture, cherishing sentimental value over aesthetics. She treasures even the simplest items, finding memories in crumpled paper or a tic tac container.
Though collections vary widely, they all share a common root in deep sentimentality and emotional attachment. My beshie experiences ‘sparks’ when she meets her Smiskis, while I find meaning in the randomness of everyday items like tissues and receipts. Regardless of social class, sentimentality binds us; whether through expensive collectibles or humble keepsakes, we express our emotions.
As I give into my friend’s Smiskis, I realize our feelings may differ in form but are connected by sentimentality — a universal spirit that sustains humanity’s emotional essence.
FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT
I still pondered if there could be a bigger reason behind the contempt and annoyance directed towards self-proclaimed anik-anik girlies fond of collecting trinkets and blind box figurines.
At the core of anik-anik culture is the value of sentimentality, I recall. “Beshie — do you feel any sentimental attachment to your green little friends or your angel babies?”
“Well…the experience of opening a blind box figurine is definitely exhilarating and all! Kasi you don’t know what you’re going to get eh. As far as sentimentality goes though, I think I only get senti when the figurine I get is a super good pull, or like, if I got the one I wanted, or if I opened it with my friends!” She answers.
“I think I’m starting to realize, though, the difference between my figurines and the typical anik-anik thingies like the tissue and receipts that you make ipon. The sentimentality attached to your anik-anik is priceless, while mine has a big price tag on it — gets kung why the discourse on X got so heated.” My beshie adds.
I recall what Prof. Abesamis had mentioned about sentimental value in relation to hard work and share it with my beshie. They emphasized how the working class cherishes items more when earned through effort. For instance, collecting receipts and tissues isn’t just about the objects themselves but the memories they hold, like reminders of shared experiences over coffee.
My beshie replies, “OMG that’s so real. I think I can remember something that Prof. Baula said also! He said something like the price attached to the pricey anik-aniks is valued differently by the working class.”
“Ah, oo! Kasi sa 500 pesos na anik-anik, pwede ka nang bumili ng pagkain, eh. Para sa iba, malaking halaga ‘yun na dapat hindi ginagastos sa kung anek-anek lang. Para sa’yo, pang-anik-anik lang ‘yun; walang practicality, puro sentimentality,” I explain.
I realize that this must be it — contempt in the X discourse is rooted in how worth and sentimentality vary from person to person, especially when it involves socioeconomic privilege. Prof. Abesamis noted that it reflects a deeper issue: the rich and powerful love inserting themselves into the experiences of the marginalized. Politicians exploit their past poverty to garner support, only to abandon their facade once elected, enacting policies that further marginalize the vulnerable. No wonder that even in seemingly trivial discussions like anik-anik, the working class is wary of those who flaunt expensive collections.
We keep feeling
As we leave the cafe, final thoughts come to my mind about our discussion. As Filipinos, we tend to remember and connect, manifesting these into the shelves and boxes we keep and tend to throughout our days. Every family possesses some heirloom that has been loved and will continue to be loved as it is passed down from generation to generation — a remembrance cherished for its sentimental value, yet one whose usefulness may manifest itself differently in the future.
Filipino maximalism is rooted in our desire to continue feeling, whether through reminders of all the little moments or the formation of new connections that we all hold special in all our unique ways.
After all, we are nothing but beings who thrive on the essence of full existence — a state of being that persists in the form of my beshie’s Smiskis, whose small dark eyes reflect a room brimmed floor to ceiling with figures and receipts and whose heart blooms with preserved, dead flowers in the enduring garden of memories.
