How to Identify Whether It's Cuddle Weather or a National Crisis?

The devastation we experienced from what began as a tropical storm was chaotic. The emotional, mental, and physical toll was overwhelming. As a student-boarder, it was particularly distressing. I was far from my family, 94 kilometers away, with limited resources in my room and no certainty about what lay ahead. Even for those who were with their families, the anxiety remained—no one was spared. The fear for loved ones’ safety turned into a collective worry for everyone.

The aftermath brought clarity. It was a wake-up call to the harsh realities we now face. The state of our climate has reached a point where no one can feel truly safe from future disasters. But perhaps the most painful realization was how the government has once again failed us. In an administration that consistently downplays the urgency of climate justice and demonstrates incompetence, we are left with nothing but our outcries. And as these storms intensify, our voices may be the last thing we have before we are completely drowned in floods.

Despite this long-standing disappointment, the spirit of community in Bicol—particularly in Camarines Sur—was very much alive. Even in the face of such adversity, a strong culture of volunteerism and collective action continues to thrive. During the aftermath of the storm, I witnessed firsthand the efforts of the Ateneo community—faculty, staff, and students—who, despite likely still being in shock themselves, were already assisting evacuees from nearby communities. What stood out most was their unfaltering composure and dedication to helping others. This selflessness and solidarity serve as a reminder of the enduring compassion that progresses in our community, and the human capacity for kindness during trying times.

While qualities like resilience are often romanticized or taken for granted, we cannot overlook the tremendous efforts of those who embody it in moments of real hardship. I was deeply inspired by student leaders who set aside personal matters to offer assistance on campus that tirelessly ensured their time and energy were spent meaningfully, including AdNU-Lideratos, students from the College of Nursing, various organizations that initiated Tindog Atenista, and many more outside the school premises. In fact, these student leaders showed up and delivered in ways that surpassed even those of national leaders we might have expected to take charge in such critical moments.

𝗔𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗱𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗻?

As much as we take pride in our resilience and the spirit of being "oragons," these qualities should not be used as an excuse for inaction or complacency. It is time we, the people, hold ourselves and our leaders accountable. It has been long overdue that we should have learned from past mistakes, and it is crucial that we now demand the accountability that our government owes us.

One of the most important, yet often overlooked, articles in the Philippine Constitution is Article XI, Section 1. It clearly states that "Public Office is a public trust." Public officers and employees are required to be accountable to the people at all times, serving with the utmost responsibility, integrity, loyalty, and efficiency. They are also expected to act with patriotism and justice, and lead lives of modesty. Yet, where is this commitment in practice? We must hold our public officials to these standards and demand the accountability they promised to uphold.

In connection with this, there was an instance where even local government unit officials at the barangay level were selective in providing assistance to their community. According to a few evacuees at Ateneo, during the height of the storm, as floodwaters were rising, they sought help from the barangay tanods. However, they recounted that their requests were often ignored or met with excuses. They believed that these officials were politicizing the situation, using it as reprisal for not supporting their party in the last elections. This forced them to brave the flood and evacuate on their own. Reflecting their frustration, one of them said, “Ang panawagan ko lang sa barangay, mayong pilion pag oras kan kalamidad.”

Unfortunately, this was not an isolated incident. With the upcoming elections, assistance has increasingly become politicized. Tarpaulins with politicians' names are often posted on vehicles, relief goods, and help are publicized on social media. The worst part is the lack of urgency from these politicians, who fail to understand the desperate need for aid. Instead, they treat relief operations as an opportunity to campaign, even giving speeches before distributing the supplies.

Some people are already tired of being resilient. It is time to recognize that resilience also means being cautious about who we place in positions of power. Resilience can also mean calling on those in power to step up and fulfill their duties, ensuring that our needs and well-being are no longer neglected. Ultimately, we must admit that we cannot always bounce back from every disaster. The youth and ordinary people should not bear the burden of the responsibilities that belong to our leaders. 

Resilience should not be our only option—it should not be the standard by which we measure our ability to survive. It should not be, and it will never be.

If I were to connect this to the troubling trend on social media of romanticizing storms as “cuddle weather,” the real “cuddle weather” we should be longing for is not a storm, but those moments of warmth and security when we feel safe and protected. In times of crisis, our deepest need is for comfort and assurance, not just the fleeting illusion of coziness amid chaos. The ones that come from the people who we entrust the responsibility to care for us.