In the glittering haze of 1990s Philippine showbiz, few names evoked as much raw energy and unapologetic flair as Mystica—the self-proclaimed “Split Queen” who turned her flexible legs and fiery persona into a cultural phenomenon. Ruby Rose Villanueva, born in 1966 in San Pablo City, Laguna, wasn’t just a singer or actress; she was a force, a whirlwind of sensuality and showmanship that packed venues and dominated airwaves. Her signature splits—executed with a wink and a sway—became her trademark, landing her in movies like Exhibitionist (1993) and Huling Araw ng Berdugo (1995), where she played sultry roles that blurred the line between performer and provocateur. But beneath the sequins and spotlights lay a story of meteoric rise, reckless generosity, profound losses, and a stark descent into obscurity that’s left fans reeling and sparked endless debates about karma’s cruel arithmetic.

Mystica’s ascent was nothing short of electric. Bursting onto the scene in the late ’80s, she honed her craft in smoky bars and underground clubs, her voice a husky blend of R&B seduction and pop punch. By the early ’90s, she was a staple on noontime variety shows, her performances a riot of costumes and choreography that had audiences on their feet. “Ako ang Split Queen!” she’d declare, legs splaying impossibly wide as cheers erupted. Guestings on Eat Bulaga! and That’s Entertainment became her playground, where she’d belt out covers of Donna Summer or original hits like “Paumanhin” with a flair that screamed unbridled confidence. The money? It poured in like monsoon rain. As she shared in a 1998 interview with Pilipino Star Ngayon, each TV appearance netted her 200,000 to 300,000 pesos—a fortune in an era when the average monthly wage hovered around 5,000 pesos. “Sobrang bilis ng dating ng pera,” she laughed then, recounting how offers piled up so fast she had to turn them down. “Kinakapos na ako sa oras!”

That windfall fueled a lifestyle of lavish excess, the kind that cemented her as showbiz royalty but sowed the seeds of her unraveling. Mystica opened her own bar in Quezon City, a neon-lit haven called Mystica’s Place where friends, fellow stars, and fans reveled gratis. “Walang gastos,” she’d boast, treating alalays, dancers, and even passing celebrities to all-you-can-drink nights and lavish spreads. Her entourage swelled—backup singers, stylists, a manager who handled the chaos—as she jetted between tapings and gigs. In a 2004 Extra Challenge episode, she swapped lives with a high school teacher, swapping her chaotic stardom for classroom drudgery, only to realize how her “easy” riches insulated her from real-world grit. “Halos ipamigay ko na lahat,” she reflected years later in a candid vlog, admitting the generosity felt good but blinded her to boundaries. Cars, jewelry, endless parties—it was a high-wire act without a net, and as the ’90s faded, the wire began to fray.

By the early 2000s, cracks appeared. The novelty of her splits waned as younger stars like Regine Velasquez and Jessa Zaragoza dominated the charts. Mystica’s foray into acting—roles in Sukdulan (1997) and Gigil (2000)—earned cheers but not the blockbuster paydays. Personal scandals simmered: rumored feuds with peers like Diwata, tabloid tales of rocky romances, and whispers of financial mismanagement. Her bar shuttered amid mounting debts, and guestings dwindled to sporadic cameos. “Nagbago na ang panahon,” she sighed in a 2010 interview, her once-booming laugh tinged with weariness. The real gut punches came later. In 2022, her grandson Ronby Gangriel Villanueva, just 12, passed away suddenly, a loss that shattered her already fragile world. Then, in March 2023, her only son, Stanley Villanueva—a 39-year-old father of three—died of cardiomyopathy while Mystica was in Las Vegas chasing a singing gig. Stranded abroad, she poured out her grief on Facebook: “Sobrang sakit! Hindi pa natatapos ang pagluluksa ko sa apo ko, nawala na naman ang anak ko.” The double blow left her reeling, finances in tatters, family ties strained—rumors swirled of siblings distancing themselves, echoing old resentments over her “squandered” wealth.

Today, at 59, Mystica’s life reads like a faded script from one of her own films: a stark pivot from diva to daily hustler. Living in Las Vegas since 2022, she’s traded red carpets for roadside stalls, peddling whitening soaps and whitening creams door-to-door to make ends meet. Viral videos capture her essence undimmed—her splits still sharp, her banter sharp-tongued—but laced with a vulnerability that tugs at the heart. In one clip from late 2024, she demonstrates a soap’s “miracle” lather on a busy sidewalk, legs parting dramatically as passersby chuckle. “Ngayon, nagtitinda na lang ng sabon!” she quips, but her eyes betray the ache. Earnings? A far cry from her glory days—tips and small sales barely cover rent for her modest apartment, where she cares for Stanley’s surviving children via video calls. “Nagkakarma ba ako?” she pondered in a 2023 Bombo Radyo interview, voice cracking. “Siguro oo—ang dami kong binigay, pero hindi ko naisip ang kinabukasan.”

The “karma” narrative, a staple in Philippine tabloids, adds a poignant sting. Fans and foes alike dissect her fall: Was it hubris, the industry’s fickle churn, or cosmic payback for a life lived loud? In 2016, a tearful video of her lamenting family abandonment—”Naubos ang yaman ko, itinakwil pa ako!”—went mega-viral, amassing millions of views and sparking #SaveMystica campaigns. Donations trickled in, but skeptics cried foul, accusing her of exaggeration for sympathy. Yet, her resilience shines through. In October 2024, ex-partner Troy Montez broke his silence on PEP.ph, reflecting on their turbulent ’90s romance: “May sarili na akong buhay ngayon… Mas OK na rin siya.” He clarified no exploitation, just two souls navigating fame’s fallout. Mystica, ever the fighter, nods to second chances: a guest spot on FPJ’s Ang Probinsyano in 2019 as a drug pusher (irony noted), sporadic Vegas lounge gigs, and dreams of a comeback album.

What lingers most is the human thread in her tapestry of triumphs and tumbles. Mystica’s story isn’t just showbiz schadenfreude—it’s a mirror to ambition’s double edge. She embodied the Pinoy dream: from Laguna obscurity to Manila mania, her splits a symbol of bending without breaking. But bending too far, without roots, led here: a queen hawking soaps, her crown traded for survival’s soapbox. “Ako pa rin ang Split Queen,” she insists in a recent TikTok, executing a flawless leg extension while hawking her wares. “Buhay pa ang saya!” Fans rally—#MysticaComeback trends sporadically, with calls for a docuseries or variety revival. At a time when stars like Vice Ganda flaunt fortunes, her grit resonates: fame’s feast can flip to famine, but spirit endures.

As 2025 unfolds, Mystica eyes return. Whispers of a Philippine tour bubble, fueled by nostalgic millennials sharing her ’90s hits. “Gagawin ko ang lahat para sa mga anak ng anak ko,” she vowed post-Stanley’s funeral, which she funded piecemeal from soap sales. Karma or not, her tale whispers wisdom: generosity’s glow fades if not grounded, but a queen’s fire? It flickers on, ready to reignite. In a world chasing the next viral split, Mystica reminds us—the real flex is folding life’s folds and flipping back up, one soap bar at a time. Her laugh, though quieter now, still echoes: proof that even faded divas dance through the dusk.