By Jun A. Alindogan
I grew up in a town that was once part of another municipality. Originally called “Binuwangan,” this islet now requires villagers to take a 15-minute boat ride from a small port. My town was named after the Spanish Governor General Jose Francisco De Obando y Solis on May 14, 1753.
I was born in the early 1960s, and it is perhaps an understatement to describe the town as purely rustic; it also boasted forested areas, enchanted trees, shallow fishponds, sprawling rice farms, large vegetable gardens, poultry, and piggeries. I enjoyed both land and water.
Flooding was practically unheard of during my childhood, except for one devastating tropical storm that I believed was the end of the world, characterised by sharp lightning, roaring thunder, incessant rain, and dark, billowing clouds that lasted for days. We lived in a bungalow but had to relocate to a two-story house owned by our grandparents just a few meters away from our residence. Sources indicate that Typhoon Patsy was a Category 4 typhoon that struck the Philippines in November 1970.
At the age of seven, I was perhaps naïve regarding the widespread and severe damage the typhoon inflicted on my hometown. I never imagined that such a catastrophic flood would happen again in my adulthood. I was terribly wrong.
After graduating from college, I noticed a gradual decline in my hometown. Hectares of fishponds in a neighbouring town were reclaimed by the national government to make way for a housing project.
Ironically, the reclaimed area now faces frequent severe flooding due to high tides, inadequate drainage, a weak dike, and powerful typhoons. Similarly, my coastal hometown also experiences these issues. Even during past summers, the area has been flooded despite the scorching heat. When bodies of water are reclaimed without proper infrastructure, towns that were once unaffected become permanent catch basins, eroding and eventually succumbing to salinity and acidity. Residents are being forced to leave their homes and are uprooted from their origins. It is paradoxical that my hometown is famous for a fertility festival, yet water, which is supposed to be life-giving, has now become an agent of death.
The disappearance of material items is always tragic, as they are physical remnants of our memories that are taken from us, making it impossible to recover and restore them. Our memories are often intertwined with the physical objects we hold dear; however, in their absence, our memories become hazy and dim. As we age, our memories become less reliable.
In 2009, Typhoon Ketsana struck the Philippines on a sunny Saturday morning. I remember this vividly, as I was conducting lectures on research and writing at a graduate-level seminary in Manila. After class, a few students invited me to lunch, but it had already started to rain lightly before class ended. The rain intensified as we made our way to a fast-food chain. Unfortunately, the power was out, and there was no food available. Little did we know that the entire city would soon be submerged in a torrential downpour, equal to a month’s worth of rainfall.
Hungry, we attempted to navigate flooded roads, moving from one fast-food restaurant to another, but to no avail. Eventually, we found our way to a friend’s flat in the late afternoon as the water gradually receded. We stayed there for a bowl of hot noodle soup, some biscuits, and herbal tea to warm our spirits during a friendly conversation. However, I couldn’t go home because it was still raining in the evening. I decided to spend the night at the seminary, as I felt it was unsafe to commute.
Upon returning home, I was greeted with chaos—my clothes had turned into rags. My photo album, filled with memories of my childhood, grade school classes, family reunions, social activities, overseas travels, friendly letters, employment certificates, and published articles and poetry, had been washed away in the flood. Bags, millstones, jackets, family heirlooms, and wooden cabinets had also disappeared. My cousin and her family, who had been staying with me, left in a hurry—it was a matter of life and death. Neighbours informed me that the flood inside my home had reached chest-deep, while the water on the street was up to people’s necks. One’s grief is synonymous with lost belongings.
During the 2020 COVID-19 Pandemic, Typhoon Vamco caused extensive damage to our country. Years prior, my siblings and I faced the difficult decision to sell our family home due to persistent flooding. I relocated to an upland neighborhood in Rizal province, where a former student resided.
I initially slept in a small space that served as a community pharmacy, part of our church’s development project. The room had a leaking roof due to overhanging branches and stray cats, while its concrete walls remained unfinished. During heavy rains, the room would flood, requiring basins to catch the leaks. I endured two sleepless nights as the rain and strong winds threatened to blow off my roof. With no electricity, I had to sleep in the dark on benches. My eldest brother, who lives abroad, was concerned for my safety, as he could not reach me. Technology is not always reliable, especially during natural disasters.
Nature can cause devastation to communities that exploit and misuse natural resources. Quarrying is widespread in my area, leading to the erosion of protected landscapes. Montalban has an estimated 16 to 20 active quarrying and rock-crushing plants. Operations are closely monitored for their impact on the Sierra Madre Mountain Range and nearby river basins, particularly in a village called San Isidro.
During typhoon season, silt, mud, and rain flow downstream, causing significant damage to life and property, as seen in many villages during Typhoon Vamco.
In 2025, Rizal Province was declared as in a state of calamity as the province was severely flooded when Typhoon Wipha made landfall. Flats had been constructed on tributaries, and agricultural lands converted to commercial areas, which exacerbated downstream flooding. Additionally, rivers continue to be large dumping sites for household and industrial waste, and flood control measures are inadequate. Protected landscapes are also being sold off.
Climate change is intensifying the severity of floods, and our aquatic ecosystem is greatly impacted by the belief that nature can survive without human intervention. Communities must take responsibility for their actions and work to restore the environment, which could enhance nature’s resilience to future challenges.
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Manuel A. Alindogan, Jr. or Jun A. Alindogan is the Academic Director of the Expanded Alternative Learning Program of Empowered East, a Rizal-province based NGO in the Philippines and is also the founder of Speechsmart Online that specializes in English test preparation courses. He is a freelance writer and a member of the Freelance Writers’ Guild of the Philippines (FWGP).
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