JUST recently, we Dumagueteños were jolted by a mild but unsettling earthquake. It was short, and thankfully, no major damage was reported in our city. But that sudden shift underfoot reminded us of a truth we often ignore: nothing is ever truly still, especially not in a country like ours, where nature is always in motion.
While we were fortunate, others nearby were not. In Cebu province, the same earthquake caused serious destruction. As the hours passed, the news grew more heartbreaking — damaged infrastructure, lost homes, and lives cut short. The death toll continues to rise, and with it, the grief and uncertainty that so many families are now forced to carry.
Even before we could fully come to terms with that, another strange sight appeared — not on the ground this time, but on our screens. A video began circulating of a small tornado twisting its way across a quiet part of the Visayas. It wasn’t large, but it was surreal. A scene so rare for our part of the world that it felt both mesmerizing and ominous, as if nature were trying to tell us something.
Then came the flood.
From Luzon, footage emerged of a violent flash flood ripping through a landscape with terrifying force. Towering trees were uprooted and carried downstream like twigs. Homes — entire structures — were swept away in an instant. The raw power of it was chilling. You could hear it in the voices behind the camera: fear, helplessness, disbelief.
And through it all, a question kept echoing in my mind: Are these just isolated events? Or is Mother Nature sending us a message?
We’ve always known that the Philippines is a hotspot for natural disasters. We sit on the Pacific Ring of Fire, right in the path of typhoons. Earthquakes, floods, landslides — they’re not new to us. But recently, it feels like they’re becoming more frequent. More intense. Less predictable.
Science has been warning us about this. Climate change is not a distant threat — it’s here. Rising global temperatures are changing the way the weather behaves. Warmer oceans supercharge typhoons. Shifting rainfall patterns cause longer droughts and deadlier floods. Human activity — deforestation, poorly planned development, pollution — makes things worse, weakening the natural defenses we once relied on.
But beyond the science, there’s something more. Something emotional. Almost spiritual.
Because when disaster after disaster hits — when the ground shakes, the skies twist, the rivers overflow — it’s hard not to feel like something deeper is happening. Like nature is trying to restore a balance that we, as a species, have disrupted.
Maybe it’s not anger we’re seeing. Maybe it’s a kind of rebalancing. A reset.
And maybe we need to listen.
Not just to scientists, though we should. Not just to environmentalists, though we must. But to the Earth itself — in its tremors, its floods, its storms. These are not random acts, they are consequences.
We cannot afford to treat the environment as an endless resource. We cannot keep living as if we are separate from nature, immune to its rules. Because we are not. We are part of this planet, and when we take too much, there’s always a cost.
Now is the time to act. To take climate change seriously — not just in words, but in policies and everyday choices. To demand better disaster preparedness. To respect our forests, our rivers, our coastlines. To build not just cities, but communities that can live with nature, not against it.
Because if we don’t change course, the question won’t just be whether Mother Nature is fighting back — it’ll be whether we did anything to stop the damage before it was too late.
