The tragedy of the philippines’ two seasons

We learn that the Philippines has only two seasons: tag-araw and tag-ulan. Simple enough to memorize, yet strangely enough to explain a lifetime.

Tag-araw is not a season of sunshine. It is a season of endurance. People wake up before dawn because the traffic gets bad when the sun comes out. Construction workers carry things beneath the merciless sky. Farmers hope the soil has not cracked beyond saving. Students walk home with clothes soaked not by rain but by sweat. It is the silent acceptance that comfort has become a privilege, while perseverance has become routine.

Then tag-ulan comes.

The rain does not come gently. It interrupts our lives. Roads get flooded. Laundry waits another day. Vendors do not have anyone to sell to. Kids wonder if they will have school. Parents worry about money. The rain does not always make things better. Sometimes it makes things worse.

We live between these two seasons.

Our lives are about dealing with too much heat and too much rain. One season asks how long we can handle the heat. The other asks how much more we can carry. Every morning, many Filipinos still go outside. They carry umbrellas. Have hope. Life is not easy. We do not stop.

Maybe this is what happens when a country is very tired. We learn to be happy that we are still alive. We call ourselves strong. Being strong was not supposed to be forever. It was supposed to help us get to better days.

Maybe that is why the Philippines has only two seasons. One reminds us how life can drain us beneath an unforgiving sun; the other reminds us how quickly everything can be swept away by rain. Neither offers permanence. Neither offers certainty.

And perhaps this is the tragedy.

It is not that we have two seasons. It is that many Filipinos have forgotten what it is like to enjoy a season without worrying about surviving it.

Andrey Kim G. Malabed,
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