I DID not expect grief to look like this online.
Not like this constant scrolling, not like this flood of posts, not like a young athlete’s name slowly turning into something people argue about, sell, repost, and use for engagement. In the case of Rene Clert Baterbonia, what I keep seeing on Facebook feels less like mourning and more like something uncomfortable that no one seems able to stop.
“Mga wala moy respeto!”
“Gihimo ra ninyong pang clout si Rene.”
I keep seeing those words repeated in different posts, different comment sections, different screenshots. Same anger, same frustration, same disbelief. And honestly, I understand why.
Because from where I am looking at it, it really feels like some people did not wait for the dust of grief to settle before turning it into content.
There are jerseys being sold online with references to Rene. I saw posts pointing this out, and I also saw the reminder that the school had already warned against unauthorized use of his name and identity. But still, it circulated. Still, it was posted. Still, it became something people could buy, or at least attempt to profit from.
And I cannot ignore how that sits. It does not feel like remembrance anymore. It feels like something else. Something heavier. Something uncomfortable.
This is not respect anymore.
On Facebook, I also saw viral posts calling out what they describe as “milking” the tragedy. People criticizing other netizens for turning Rene’s death into content, into reactions, into something that boosts engagement. The phrase keeps coming back in different forms. Same message, different accounts.
Walay respeto.
Then there are the posts talking about people allegedly going near or trying to approach the family’s home. I do not know how to fully verify every claim, but the fact that so many people are talking about it already says something. It shows how quickly grief can stop being private. How fast a family’s pain can become something people feel entitled to witness.
And I keep asking myself where the line is supposed to be.
Because a home should still be a home. A grieving family should still have space that is not invaded by curiosity or content-seeking behavior. But online, it feels like those boundaries are always the first thing to disappear.
“Mga wala moy respeto!”
When I read that, it does not feel like just anger anymore. It feels like frustration trying to push back against something bigger than any one post or person. It feels like people are reacting to a pattern that keeps repeating every time tragedy goes viral.
Because I also saw the criticism that even grief itself is being “milked.” That some netizens are not just mourning, but also performing mourning, or using the moment to gain attention. It is messy to even think about, because once everything becomes content, even calling it out becomes part of the same system.
“Gihimo ra ninyong pang clout si Rene.”
That line hits differently when I read it alongside everything else. Jerseys being sold. Posts being shared. Comments arguing over what is respectful and what is not. It starts to feel like the memory of a person is being pulled in too many directions at once, none of them really asking what the family might actually need right now.
And what I keep coming back to is this: there is still a family behind all of this. A family that is not posting for engagement, not replying for visibility, not participating in the noise. Just living through loss while the internet keeps talking.
Maybe that is why the anger sounds so direct in Bisaya posts. Because sometimes English feels too soft for what people are trying to say.
“Mga wala moy respeto!”
I think that line is not just an insult. It is a boundary being drawn in real time. A reminder, or maybe a warning, that not everything should be turned into content. Not every name should become a trend. Not every death should become something people pass around like it belongs to them.
And reading everything together, I cannot shake the feeling that this is what online grief has become now. Fast. Public. Unstable. And sometimes, far too willing to forget that behind every viral name is a life that people are still trying to mourn in peace.
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