CLAIMING HERSELF
Jakarta in January hums. The traffic never quite stops, the arena lights rise before the sun has fully settled, and somewhere between rehearsal rooms and broadcast cues, the city seems to understand that something larger is unfolding. World championships have a way of turning ordinary streets into prelude.
Inside that noise, Brigida was trying not to get sick.
There was a flu going around the talent pool. People were dropping in and out of rehearsal rooms. Schedules were shifting. She had flown in expecting one role and found herself taking on another: Hosting, suddenly. She filled in for Indonesian MPL host Aeterna, who caught the flu.
When the broadcast went live, something shifted, but it was not in the arena, nor on the desk. It was online.
Brigida’s phone began to pulse with notifications.
Mentions multiplied. Indonesian fans—expressive, unapologetic, generous—began to flood her social media. Edits, tributes, follow trains.
In a span of a week in Indonesia, Brigida’s social media platforms gained hundreds of thousands of followers, all because she appeared for a few seconds on the stage of the M7 World Championship.
Brigida wasn’t even supposed to host at M7.
She wasn’t supposed to be the story.
She wasn’t supposed to be on that stage.
She wasn’t even supposed to work that day.
But that is the thing about world championships. They rearrange people.
“Parang isang buong barangay sila, ifa-follow ka, magko-comment pa sa posts!” Brigida told ALL-STAR.
(“It’s like a large community suddenly following you and commenting on your posts!”)
Brigida: International Heartthrob
“Brigida, you’re probably gonna laugh at this but you’re now an international heartthrob!” we reminded her. “And now, Indonesia is trying to steal you from the Philippines!”
Brigida blushes and smiles, her hands twisting in her lap as if she could fold herself smaller.
“Of everything that happened, if there’s one thing that stood out the most, it’s just how solid the Indonesian fans are!” said Brigida.
“I know it wasn’t only Indonesia recognizing me at M7, but a huge part of it definitely came from there. I really appreciate how dedicated and expressive they are.”
She admits that before, she only saw that kind of love from international fans from afar.
“But now, I got to experience it—and it was directed at me! It’s overwhelming, but you really appreciate it when it happens to you.”
She had stepped onto the stage to do a job. She stepped off it as something larger.
The modern script says maximize it. Post more. Be louder. Ride the wave before it crashes.
She did the opposite.
“There was already so much about me,” she says. “I didn’t want to add to it!”
It is a strange discipline, restraint in the age of amplification. But it reveals something fundamental about how Brigida sees the work. The broadcast is the center. Not the noise around it.
And this is where M7 becomes less about virality and more about identity.
At M6, she admits, she almost crumbled under the pressure: New environment. New colleagues. A global audience. There were breakdowns she doesn’t dramatize now but doesn’t deny either. There is something unglamorous about growth when it is happening. It feels mostly like doubt.
This year was different.
Partly experience. Partly preparation. Partly the realization that humility can curdle into self-limitation if you let it sit too long.
“For the longest time,” she says, “I still saw myself as ‘new,’” said Brigida.
“I was always looking up to everyone, and maybe in some way, that affected me. I think I might have hindered my own growth because I kept telling myself, ‘I’m just new, this is where I’m supposed to be for now,” she added.
It is a small confession. It is also the axis of the story.
Because at some point, you have to update your self-image. You have to look at the evidence and admit that you belong in the room you’re standing in.
M7 forced that confrontation.
Casting at that level is not just commentary. It is inscription. What you say in a final call becomes how a match is remembered. A line, delivered well enough, can outlive the tournament. She is acutely aware of this.
“There are so many things you have to carry when you’re casting. The fans. The players’ stories. What they’re going through. What the viewers are feeling in that moment. And then a part of yourself, because that’s where the emotion comes from.”
Growth Requires Boundaries
As Brigida’s platform significantly expanded, we asked her what parts of herself she wanted to protect and which parts she was ready to grow into.
There are things she no longer posts casually. Family, for one. The larger the platform, the sharper the caution. Growth, she understands now, requires boundaries.
As for the future—the hypothetical move to MPL Indonesia, the invitations, the possibility of becoming more than just a caster—she answers with a mix of practicality and playfulness.
“Honestly, I can’t imagine moving. First of all, I don’t even know what my parents would say or if they would even allow me! But right now, if you ask me, I don’t think I could move.”
She cannot imagine leaving home. At least not yet.
“But I’d be willing to visit!” she says, as if afraid she sounded like closing the door on Indonesia.
“If there’s an invite, I’d go every now and then, no problem. I had so much fun in Indonesia, and I still feel like I didn’t get enough.”
When asked what kind of caster she wants to become, her answer is almost disarmingly simple.
She wants to feel light on the desk.
Not dominant. Not iconic. Not revolutionary.
Light. Like someone you’d want to watch a game with. Equally excited. Slightly chaotic in play-by-play. A presence that carries emotion without suffocating it.
“I don’t think much has changed about the kind of caster I want to be. It’s kind of strange. I just want to be the person who, when you see me at the desk, feels easygoing—like you’re just watching with a friend—and someone who’s just as excited to see the matches as the viewers are. I honestly don’t have any desire to stand out for the sake of standing out.”
It is, in its own way, an ambitious modesty.
Because to feel light at the highest level requires immense preparation. Study. Discipline. A willingness to improve without announcing the improvement.
“As long as you enjoy the game, you’re passionate about it, and you have a genuine interest in the league and the stories, there will be no way to go but up,” said Brigida.
She graduated with honors from Ateneo while building this career. She learned to jump from Filipino to English broadcast, a leap that feels simple on paper but demands a recalibration of cadence, instinct, and breath.
“I also started from zero. And as long as you have those foundations, you’ll eventually get there,” she added.
She learned to hold her ground, even under pressure.
And somewhere between M6 and M7, she made a quiet decision.
It’s time to stop calling herself new.
That shift may be the most important thing M7 gave her.
Years from now, people will remember the championship runs, the redemption arcs, the highlights clipped and replayed. They may even remember certain calls. A line delivered at exactly the right second.
But what endures longer than virality is ownership.
At M7, Brigida did not just host, cast play-by-plays, or analyze the matches.
She claimed the desk.
And more importantly, she claimed herself.
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Publisher: James Leonard Cruz • Art Director: Karlota Tuazon • Interview and Cover Story: Mario Alvaro Limos • Photos: Noel B. Monzon Jr • Hair and Makeup: Muriel Vega Perez, assisted by Lalai Glendro.
