2025 is the year the internet finally ate itself—and we're all just watching the buffet unfold. Logic checked out somewhere around January, common sense filed for early retirement, and what's left is pure, unfiltered brain rot served fresh on everyone’s For You Page. We've collectively decided that nothing needs to make sense anymore, and honestly? We've never been more committed to anything.

 

This is what happens when the online world stops caring about reason and starts worshiping chaos for breakfast. Trends don't need meaning. Memes don't need context. The algorithm feeds, we consume, and somehow we're all fluent in a language that didn't exist six months ago. What follows is a roundup of viral moments, solidifying the notion that 2025 belongs to the chronically online, to the terminally unserious, everyone who's surrendered trying to make sense of what’s happening anymore.

 

Ashton Hall

Trying to find the perfect habit to include in your new year’s resolution? Stop. Ashton Hall’s morning routine already exists.

 

Imagine waking up before the sun even remembers it has a job—that’s Ashton Hall at 3:52 a.m., removing his mouth tape like he’s sneaking out past curfew because sleep is weakness. Next, he doesn’t drink coffee—no—he plunges his face into a bowl of ice water like he’s baptizing himself into productivity.

 

Somewhere between journaling, balcony quats, and flexing Saratoga Spring Water, he rubs a banana peel on his face because of skincare or potassium, who even knows? By 7:36 a.m., he’s doing a pool dive seemingly longer than most people’s sleep cycle. 

 

By 7:37 a.m., Ashton Hall has already out-flexed, and out-memed the entire human race. If mornings had a leaderboard, he’d be untouchable. 2025 officially belongs to him—and honestly, the rest of us might as well go back to bed.

 

Sierra Madre

When Typhoon Uwan ransacked the Philippines like it owned the place, the country collectively decided to stan a 500-kilometer mountain range. Yes, Sierra Madre became 2025’s most unexpected main character and mother.

 

AI-generated content flooded social media, depicting the Sierra Madre as a confident baddie—complete with glowing eyes, outstretched green arms, and a dramatic war cry: “Gagawin ko ang lahat para protektahan ang akin!” Filipinos were able to turn a literal geological formation into an anthropomorphized superhero with better PR than most celebrities. TikTok edits? Check! Thirst tweets about a mountain? Present!

 

The memes ranged from Sierra Madre wielding swords to anime-style showdowns with typhoons. Never mind that weather forecasters clarified the mountains only minimally weakened storms after landfall! We were all too busy making fancams of our national baddie.

 

But then again, beneath all this unhinged humor, there was genuine advocacy for the mountain range from the deforestation and mining threats. Filipinos really said “we’ll simp over a mountain AND spark a conversation about nature” because multitasking is our love language. Sierra Madre unearthed that sometimes, the best way to spread environmental awareness is through absolute feral internet energy, and a mountain range with plot armor thicker than most shonen protagonists. 

 

Minecraft movie

Whether you played Minecraft (MC or PE), nostalgia broke out when the Minecraft movie was released in the cinemas. Suddenly we were re-watching DanTDM content and visiting old worlds that were built with friends that you no longer talk to—and your pet dog welcoming you back after years of waiting for your return (yes we are guilt-tripping you). 

 

The game itself is already well-known, a household name even. But the movie helped Gen Z rediscover an era, a phase that everyone had to go through. Dropping the PE version in app stores and collaborating with McDonald’s added fuel to the fire, suddenly Steve and blocks were everywhere again.

 

That is what everyone thinks the Minecraft movie trend is about, but it’s not—it’s all in the chicken jockey. Inside the movie theaters, once the scene where Garret (Jason Momoa) had to fight a baby zombie riding a chicken, the audience goes crazy, screaming, celebrating, and throwing popcorn and real-life chickens (!) in the air. Why? Simply because it’s rare to spawn a chicken jockey! In simple terms, the viewers are empaths—rejoicing at the sight of a mob with a 4.75% spawn rate.

 

A perfect excuse to trash the cinemas and give the movie house staff more work! I mean we’ve already abandoned logic and common sense, getting rid of public decency won’t be too bad, right?

 

What hafen vella

Vampires sparkle. Werewolves have abs. And apparently, 2013 Filipino reality TV clips possess the supernatural ability to rise from the dead and absolutely dominate 2025.

 

Enter Christopher Diwata, a fish dealer from Bataan who walked onto Showtime's Kalokalike segment 12 years ago and delivered what can only be described as a Jacob Black fever dream. His improvised monologue went: "What hafen, Vella? Why you cryin' again? I know, vampire, right? Vampire will feyt to me”—with the passionate conviction of someone performing for an Oscar, not a noontime variety show. 

 

Fast forward to 2025, when chronically online Filos resurrected the clip and turned it into an all-around reaction meme. Heartbreak? What hafen, Vella. Career disappointment? What hafen, Vella? Waking up and realizing it’s Monday? You already know. The line became shorthand for dramatic disbelief—camp and chaos all rolled into one breathy question.

 

But beyond the giggles from the iconic phrase, what started as an internet joke snowballed into genuine opportunities—brand deals from various brands, guest appearances, and even the establishment of his own business. His story is a testament to the second chances in this digital age, where a decade-old clip can literally rewrite your present! 

 

Turns out that maybe vamfayrs aren’t the only ones who get to live forever.

 

6 7

If we counted the collective brain cells everyone used for 2025, it’ll amount to six. Maybe seven. Perhaps even…Six-Seven—the number that absorbed the entire internet and spat it back as chaos. It started as a TikTok whisper, then somehow infected every corner of the internet, like a virus that only feeds on common sense.

 

Originating from rapper Skrilla's “Doot Doot (6 7)" and basketball edits of 6'7" LaMelo Ball, this brain rot spread faster than any other plague. And the face of the apocalypse? A floppy-haired kid named Maverick Trevillian doing an unhinged hand gesture at an AAU game, instantly spawning "Mason 67" as Gen Alpha's patron saint of brainrot.

 

Nobody really knows what it means—that’s what everyone else says. With basketball edits of players gaining huge numbers on TikTok, other players who weren’t edited to the song also wanted their own velocity highlight videos. In interviews when asked how many points they’d score, “Maybe six? Seven?” was the easiest way to get that golden ticket from CapCut.

 

Meaningless? Sure. Viral? Absolutely. Let’s all welcome ourselves to the era where chaos has a mascot.

 

Maui wowie

If you’re looking to go back to Honolulu, cancel the flight because we got Darren Espanto to serve you that maui that will make you go “wowie!” The artist’s performance was inspired by the trend circling around TikTok, where you have to single-handedly hang from a bar (something similar, biceps are accepted but don’t quote us on that), and lip-sync to the song. 

 

The trend was nothing special, until Espanto joined in—a ballad singer hanging on a bar in the “ASAP” stage, reminding the netizens of an individual who often says “Hi sisters!” Beauty guru James Charles saw the performance and genuinely expressed how he thought it was actually him singing the song.

 

Filipinos did what we do best—amplifying the comedic bit and dragging it out. Espanto was not upset about it, he even performed it once again at “It’s Showtime,” expressing his love for Hawaii and showing his underarms on live television.

 

Really, being able to mention James Charles and Darren Espanto in one sentence was not in our 2025 bingo cards.

 

So here's to the eventful year of 2025! The year we collectively lost the plot and decided that if nothing matters, we might as well have fun with it. Brainrot? Maybe. But at least we’re all rotting together where a community and bond are shared in our collective inside jokes. Hopefully, 2026 brainrots are not only driven with gags, but with something meaningful that leads to positive outcomes (e.g. Diwata a.k.a “Jacob” getting his main character moment). 

 

We’ll never know what the next year holds, but the authors do know that WE (as in the two of us) will get to hold big biceps (for the Maui wowie trend).