At an age when most children are still figuring out what they want to be when they grow up, Annika Co is already learning what it means to grow up in front of an audience.
The young performer first caught the public’s attention through It’s Showtime’s Mini Ms. U in 2023, where she emerged as a daily winner and quickly became known for her natural ability to perform and connect with an audience.
What began as a television appearance soon became the beginning of a career.
By 2025, she had begun appearing in film projects, including Antoinette Jadaone’s Sunshine, where she starred alongside Maris Racal. The film would become an important part of Co’s growing filmography, eventually earning her nominations for Best Child Performer at the 74th FAMAS Awards, Movie Child Performer of the Year at the 42nd PMPC Star Awards for Movies, and Best Child Actress at the 28th Gawad Pasado.
The recognition has continued into 2026. Co received the Outstanding Young Female Artist of the Year award at the Gawad Pilipino Babae Ka Awards, adding another distinction to a résumé that is steadily expanding across television, film, theater, and performance.
But numbers, nominations, and awards only tell one part of her story. What is perhaps more interesting is how early Co has begun thinking about the industry around her.
Because while her career is still taking shape, she is already asking questions that extend beyond her next role. For Co, the answer begins with something deceptively simple: a place where people can be themselves.
A Space To Be
Somewhere between growing up in front of an audience and finding her place as an artist, the 10 year old actress is learning that being seen is only one part of the story. For her having a place in entertainment is not simply about being given opportunities to perform.
“I’d wanna build a safe place because it's not a very common thing to have anymore.” she said. “Somewhere where we can just be ourselves and not hide anything. Yeah, no filter.”
It is a simple idea, but one that carries particular weight for someone who has spent much of her childhood in an industry where being seen is part of the job.
Co is growing up at the intersection of two realities: she is young enough to still be experiencing the world as a young person, but already visible enough to understand that the way young people are represented can shape how they see themselves.
That makes the question of space especially important. Because being given a place in the room is one thing. Feeling like you are allowed to be yourself once you get there is another.
Stories That Let People Be
That desire for openness also shapes the stories Co wants young Filipinos to see.
She is currently part of Tanghalang Pilipino’s Sayaw ng mga Ilaw, where she plays Laya, a young girl who mourns her father, who was involved in the Manila Film Center tragedy. For Co, Laya’s story offers more than a historical narrative. It creates room for a young character to exist outside the expectations placed upon her.
“I think sometimes we need the representation that it's okay to do this and it's okay to do that without thinking about what other people would think or do to you if you did this certain thing,” she says. “But if it makes you happy, why not do it?”
For Co, representation is therefore not only about seeing young people on screen. It is about seeing young people given the freedom to make choices, take risks, and exist differently.
And that becomes particularly relevant in an industry where young Filipino performers are still often expected to wait for permission.
Stop Waiting
When asked whether young Filipinos are given enough opportunities to tell their own stories, Co's answer is straightforward. “No, we're often still waiting.”
But she does not believe waiting should be the end of the story. “That shouldn't be the case because honestly, no one is… no one is waiting. Usually, it's just us. We're waiting. But nobody else is waiting for us.” There is a certain urgency in her answer.
For young creatives, waiting can easily become a permanent state—waiting to be discovered, waiting to be old enough, waiting for funding, waiting for someone established to give them a chance.
Co believes there is value in beginning before that permission arrives. “That's why we should just go for it, because we'll never know if we don't try,” she says. “There's nothing you lose if you try doing something.”
She acknowledges that opportunities for young Filipinos remain limited, particularly when their age is used to dismiss what they are capable of understanding.
“There’s already a lack of opportunities for young Filipinos because it’s always—it's always like, ‘Ayy bata ka pa eh, so hindi mo pa ’yan maiintindihan. Okay lang.’”
For Co, being young should not automatically mean being incapable of having something meaningful to say.
Sometimes, it simply means having to take the first step before anyone else tells you that you can.
“You just have to take the leap of faith and trust that God has it out for you. God has a plan.”
But taking the leap does not mean pushing yourself endlessly. Co also understands that building a career in entertainment requires knowing when to stop.
Asked about the Eddie Garcia Law and its limits on working hours in the entertainment industry, she admits that there have been times when the restrictions affected production.
Still, she understands why those limits exist. “The importance of that law is that we don't get burned out easily.”
She recalls knowing someone who had worked for two days straight before such protections were established—a level of exhaustion that, at the time, could be treated as normal simply because there was no one stopping it.
“That’s why there’s a time for everything,” she says. “There should always be limitations because, as much as we try to, we have to know our limit.”
For someone so early in her career, her perspective is strikingly clear: ambition should not require the absence of boundaries. She also acknowledges that the protections come with practical challenges. Production permits, medical certificates, and other requirements can be tiring to process, particularly when separate productions require separate documentation.
But even with those frustrations, she does not question the need for the protections themselves.
“I love it. It's tiring to do, but we need a lot.”
It is a distinction worth making. Improving an industry's systems does not necessarily mean removing the protections that make the industry safer.
Sometimes, it means making those protections easier for people to access.
What Comes With Being Seen
At a young age, Co's understanding of space also extends beyond physical production environments.
As a young performer with a public platform, she recognizes that visibility comes with responsibility—particularly in an era when almost anything said online can travel far beyond its original context.
“We often just… we don't think about what's coming out of our mouths,” she says. “And I think we should be more aware of that.”
For Co, having a platform is not simply about having more people listen. It is about being conscious of what you choose to put into that space.
She hopes social media can become a place where young people encounter more meaningful ideas instead of simply seeing the same content repeated over and over.
“We need more wisdom on our ‘For You pages’,” she says. “And we need more knowledge, ’cause we can never have too much knowledge.”
In a digital culture built around speed, her answer asks for something slower: thoughtfulness.
To speak because you have something worth saying. To use visibility responsibly. To make the space around you a little more meaningful.
Making Room For Something New
That same philosophy carries into her thoughts about Filipino entertainment. Co believes local storytelling needs to become more willing to take risks—not necessarily by abandoning what audiences already love, but by refusing to become trapped by repetition.
“I feel like we need... we need to change... doing the same exact ending.”
She clarifies that she does not mean this literally. The issue, for her, is bigger than whether a movie ends differently. It is about the way stories are constructed in the first place.
“It's always fun to have a twist. And now, we always play it safe. But if you watch the old films, they always took a risk.”
There is a recognition in her answer that familiarity can be comforting, but too much familiarity can also make storytelling feel stagnant.
“Sometimes, it can be really nice. Sometimes, it can be very magical,” she says. “But sometimes, it's also just like... I think I saw this. I think I saw this already.”
For a young performer entering an industry with decades of established formulas, that desire for something different feels significant.
Co is not simply asking for more young people to be given roles.
She is asking what those young people might be allowed to do once they get them.
The Space Between
Annika Co is still at the beginning. There are still roles she has yet to play, stories she has yet to tell, sets she has yet to step onto, and rooms she has yet to enter. But perhaps what makes her perspective interesting at this stage is that she is already thinking beyond her own arrival.
She knows what it feels like to be young in an industry that can sometimes tell young people to wait. She knows the importance of having boundaries in an environment that can demand more than people should have to give. She knows that visibility brings responsibility.
And she knows that Filipino stories can afford to take another chance on something unfamiliar.
For Co, the future of entertainment is not simply about creating more opportunities for the next generation. It is about making those opportunities feel safer, more open, and more willing to let young people bring their full selves into the room.
Because the question for the next generation of Filipino performers is not only whether there will be a place for them.
It is what kind of place they will inherit when they finally arrive.
And if Annika Co has anything to say about it, it will be a space with room to be yourself, room to take a risk, room to speak, room to rest—and, most importantly, room for whoever comes next.
METROSCENE MAG | SEPTEMBER 2026 COVER: NEXT IN LINE
Producer, Creative/Art Director & Editor-in-Chief: Elwyn Baccay (@markelwyn)
Photography by Josh Castro (@ajoshcastro)
Makeup by Jomari Braganza (@jomaribraganza)
Hair by Mharhea Banting (@workwithmhar)
Fashion Direction & Styling by Gen Real (@genreal__) assisted by Jasper Añonuevo (@jasperuevo), Lynus Martin (@lynuss) and Cha Fronteras (@chafronteras)
Video Director, Cinematographer & Editor: Gene Francis C. Sayson (@g.f.sayson)
Gaffer: Jessal Cruz (@jessalcruz)
Co-Producer: Avin Dela Cruz (@avindelacruz_)
Set Design by Elwyn Baccay and Niña Cruz (@cruzynina)
Shot at Sikret Studio (@sikret.studio)
Written By Keishia Miranda and Elwyn Baccay
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