The vape trap reality

By Herman M. Lagon

He was not asking for pity. Just ten days before he died, former air force man Mohd Radzi recorded a six-minute video from his hospital bed, tubes everywhere, a clear bag collecting pus from his lungs. His message was painfully simple: “To the young generation, stop vaping. There’s still time and hope.” He had switched from 40 sticks a day to vape thinking it was safer. That choice pushed him to the edge—and then past it. His final breath felt like a warning meant for all of us.

Radzi’s story is not rare. In a world where vapes look like candy and USBs, vaping has turned into a lifestyle badge—stylish, rebellious, “cool.” Many students whisper, “At least hindi sigarilyo,” as if rebranding makes danger disappear.

But the truth stings. The Philippine Pediatric Society reports a sharp rise in youth e-cigarette use, with EVALI—vape-related lung injuries—now hitting teenagers. Our first confirmed case? A 16-year-old from the Visayas who ended up in intensive care, fighting for each breath.

Vaping is not harmless. Studies show it damages blood vessels, strains the heart, and rarely helps smokers quit. Many end up using both cigarettes and vape—double trouble disguised as choice.

Still, the packaging, the flavors, the sleek designs create an illusion of safety. But as Dr. Maricar Limpin says: poison, even diluted, is still poison. You don’t drink bleach just because it’s “less strong.” Yet this is exactly how vape marketing operates—selling a weaker danger as salvation.

And the harm doesn’t stop with the user. Vape clouds linger. They carry ultrafine particles, heavy metals, and cancer-causing chemicals. Classrooms, jeepneys, coffee shops, even CRs have become unwilling fog chambers. You may not vape, but the person beside you does—and your lungs don’t get to opt out.

The cultural discomfort is real too. Walking into a hallway filled with strawberry-scented fog is not just annoying—it’s a reminder that addiction can now hide behind fruit flavors and social flexes.

Even the World Health Organization has raised the alarm about aggressive marketing aimed at kids—bubblegum flavors, influencer posts, music festivals. “It is dishonest to talk about harm reduction when you are marketing to children,” WHO chief Tedros Ghebreyesus warned.

Here at home, the Department of Health has been saying the same thing, louder each year. The colorful pods and sweet scents mask toxic chemicals linked to lung damage, heart disease, and even cancer. The DOH has slammed claims that vapes are “safer” or “nicotine-free,” stressing that minors are the most vulnerable targets. And with 7 in 10 Filipino teens having tried vaping—and the country recording its first vape-related death—the DOH is now pushing for a full nationwide ban, aligned with WHO global efforts.

The numbers are frightening. From just 37,000 vapers in 2021 to more than 400,000 in 2023, the surge is staggering. A million users by 2025 no longer feels unthinkable.

Regulations exist, but enforcement limps. Health experts want the minimum age raised again to 21, flavored pods banned, and FDA authority restored. DTI’s suspension of online vape sales is a start, but the pro-vape lobby remains loud and well-funded.

Yet beyond policies, what truly changes people is stories—the ones that happen quietly, near us. A student gasping after an easy P.E. run. A teacher leaving the faculty room because the air feels too heavy. A parent finding a vape buried in a child’s bag.

This is not just a lung issue. It is a shared-space issue. It is about the air we all breathe, the habits we normalize, and the consequences we pretend are far away.

Vaping is not rebellion.

It is not freedom.

It is not harmless.

It is a culture dressed in smoke, promising relief but delivering harm.

Radzi’s last message was not wasted. His warning came from a place we hope never to reach. The clouds we enjoy today may become the regrets we carry tomorrow. No one on a hospital bed wishes they had vaped more.

So before lighting another pod, maybe we pause and ask ourselves a simple question: Is this really worth the risk—not just to me, but to everyone breathing beside me?

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.