Typhoon Crising: A Weekend of Faith and Reflection

The rain hasn’t stopped for hours. Typhoon Crising is slowly hammering on the roof like a protest, relentless, angry, loud. Bagyong Crising has turned the weekend into a long gray blur. The wind slicing through the silence, trees bending in obedience, and streets slowly sinking under floodwater. From my window, I watch the downpour erase everything in view, as if the world outside is starting over, drowning yesterday’s dust and dreams.

And yet, the real storm is not just out there. At nandito rin sa loob ng dibdib ko. There’s a heaviness I can’t explain. Maybe it’s the loneliness that creeps in when the world stops. Maybe it’s the tiredness of pretending everything’s okay when deep inside, you know it’s not.

Typhoon Cris ing have a way of pulling back the curtain. With nothing to do but wait and watch, I’m left alone with my thoughts. Sa gitna ng malakas na ulan, tahimik ang puso pero maingay ang isip. Why do these storms feel familiar? Not just meteorologically, but spiritually, politically, emotionally.

Typhoon Crising: A Nation in the Eye of Another Storm

After the 2025 midterm elections, the Philippines became a battlefield. Not with guns and tanks, but with words, accusations, broken promises. Old alliances shattered like windows in strong wind. Political families, once smiling onstage together, now glare at each other across press conferences. Rivalries aren’t new here, but something feels different. This isn’t just about power anymore, it’s about survival.

I talked to a tricycle driver the other day, bago pa ang bagyo. He shook his head and said, “Wala na talagang pagbabago. Palit lang ng mukha, pero parehong sikmura ang binubusog natin.” His words stayed with me. There’s a fatigue that’s growing in the country. Not just from inflation or taxes, but from hoping too long, trusting too much, and getting hurt too often.

And yet, life goes on. Kahit nagkakagulo ang mga nasa taas, ang mga nasa baba tuloy lang sa trabaho, sa hanapbuhay, sa buhay. We can’t afford to wait for them to fix things. So we adjust. And somehow, we endure.

The Cost of Living, The Weight of Giving

This year’s tax reforms were supposed to be fairer, more progressive. But for many families, they just feel heavier. Grocery runs now demand arithmetic. Budgets are tighter. Ang dating simpleng almusal, instant noodles na lang. I know someone who gave up their child’s weekly tutorial just to afford the monthly electricity bill. These aren’t headlines. These are real choices made by real people every day.

Still, I’ve seen resilience in quiet corners. Single moms starting online baking businesses. Jeepney drivers doing part-time deliveries. It’s not grand, but it’s grace. “Biyaya sa gitna ng bagyo.” Even when there’s less, people still give. Even when there’s uncertainty, people still believe.

Faith, Doubts, and the Flood Within

Noong bata pa ako, I used to think faith meant having all the answers. These days, it feels more like walking in the dark and still choosing to move forward. I no longer pray the same way. Gone are the long, structured prayers. Now, they’re mostly whispered questions. Sometimes it’s just a sigh. Sometimes silence.

“Lord, kailan ba titigil ang ulan?” I’ve asked this more times than I can count. And though I don’t always receive clear answers, I’m reminded that I’m not alone in asking. There are seasons when waiting feels like the hardest part. When nothing moves, and everything feels suspended. I’ve wrestled with that too, and shared some of those thoughts in a piece about faith during a waiting season, where stillness often speaks louder than the storm.

Sa bawat bagsak ng ulan, may paalala ng presensya Niya. Not control. Not certainty. Just presence. And sometimes, that’s enough.

The flood outside is slowly rising, but I know it won’t last forever. The rain will stop. The sun will return. The roads will dry. And I will ride again. Not just literally on my motorcycle, but spiritually, emotionally. We all will. Babangon tayong muli, kahit wasak ang daan.