Growing up in Bacolod City during the 1980s, I never witnessed the kind of flooding that has become all too common today. Back then, the arrival of rain by the month of May was something children eagerly awaited. Taking a bath in the downpour was a beloved ritual, marking the start of the rainy season and welcomed as a blessing. Yet, as years passed, those gentle showers turned into relentless torrents, transforming what was once a gift into a curse.
My first real confrontation with urban flooding happened in 1991, along the flooded streets of España, Manila. With public transportation at a standstill after heavy rains, I found myself trudging through deep water, longing for the familiarity and dryness of Bacolod. I wished I would have stayed in Bacolod. But with the recent flooding in Bacolod, my options are becoming limited.
Floods as seen on TV seem to strike everywhere. During the ’80s and ’90s, only communities near seashores or rivers frequently experienced flooding. In my youth, we’d hear about families and livestock swept away during typhoons near Brgy. Mabini in Cadiz City. The ritual was always the same: evacuate during the storm, then return home as the waters receded.
Recent news has traced worsening floods in Negros Occidental to deforestation. Joan Nathaniel Gerangaya, head of PENRO in the province, points to the tragic loss of forests in southern Negros as a root cause. Flooding was once considered an urban problem, plaguing Metro Manila and nearby provinces, never afflicting mountain communities meant to be shielded by forests. Yet, the persistent practice of “kaingin” (slash-and-burn farming), charcoal-making, and cutting trees for boats slowly stripped these natural barriers away.
I remember a talk by former Senator Cynthia Villar about the need to protect areas like the Las Piñas-Parañaque Wetlands. Even with mangrove reforestation, the work was not enough to prevent flooding in Las Piñas, Parañaque, and Bacoor. Add to this the pressure from reclamation projects, and it’s anyone’s guess how much land we’ll lose to rising water in the future. Sometimes, I imagine the city transformed fully into a scene from “Waterworld”, not with SUVs, but with speedboats traversing our roads during the rains.
For kids in the ’80s, walking under the rain was pure fun. Today, it’s often a necessity to get home to our families through flooded streets. As I wrote in a previous article, no amount of infrastructure can truly control flooding without two foundational actions, reforestation and collective discipline to keep garbage out of our waterways.
Have you ever had to wade through waist-high water? It’s an experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Whenever I recall those days on España, goosebumps rise on my skin. I once wished I’d never left Bacolod, but now, seeing the same scenes play out there, I can only hope and pray for all of us as the rainy seasons continue to intensify in the years to come.
Let our memories remind us that true change starts with both environmental stewardship and community discipline. Only then might the rain return to being the blessing it once was. ||
