By the time high tide arrives in the small islands of Nasingin in Banakon, the sea no longer stops at the shore. It now enters the home of the people quietly.
Children lift their slippers above murky floodwater as they walk through submerged pathways. Fishermen tie their boats tighter against the alert of rising waves. Families move appliances and sleeping mats to second floors, waiting for the water to retreat as if it were part of their daily ordinary routine.
For residents of these islands in Getafe, flooding is no longer a seasonal inconvenience. It is now a way of life.
And while the islands continue to sink inch by inch, nearby cities continue to rise. Skyscrapers expand. Reclamation projects by the government stretch coastlines farther into the sea. Urban centers celebrate growth through widening roads, taller buildings, and ambitious development plans. Progress is praised in headlines and speeches. But far from the spotlight, small islands are the one that carries the consequences.
Urbanization no longer remains confined within city borders. As metropolitan areas become overcrowded and overdeveloped, the effects spill into neighboring communities especially vulnerable islands like Nasingin and Banakon.
For the people living there, development feels distant.
The islands are densely populated despite their small land area. Homes are tightly packed together, many already modified with elevated floors and second stories to adapt frequent flooding and rising sea levels.
Furthermore, basic services remain difficult to access. Healthcare visits are rare, forcing pregnant women and sick residents to travel to mainland for proper treatment.
Clean drinking water is sold at varying prices depending on suppliers. Electricity relies mostly on solar panels and generators that residents struggle to sustain financially. Even waste management has become a painful reflection of neglect.
Still, people remain.
Not because life there is easy, but because the islands hold the only life many of them have ever known.
Despite relocation offers, many choose to stay because the islands are tied to their livelihood, culture, and identity.
Home , after all, is not something people surrender so easily. Yet, resilience should never become an excuse for neglect.
Communities in those islands should not have to survive knee-deep in floodwater just to prove they deserve attention. These small islands should not be treated as an invisible sacrifices for the comfort and expansion of powerful cities. Development cannot truly be called a “progress” if it uplifts the center while slowly drowning the margins.
The story of Nasingin and Banakon goes beyond.
It is about the fishermen who continues to sail despite the uncertain waves. The children growing up with floodwaters as part of their childhood. Lastly, the families that were forced to adapt every single day to problems they did not create.
As cities rise, question also arises. Who gets left behind beneath the waves?
Real progress should not be solely defined by soaring skyscrapers, reclaimed shorelines, or expanding highways. It should be reflected in how a society uplifts, safeguards, and stands beside its most vulnerable communities.
Because progress loses its meaning when one community rises only because another is left sinking.
And perhaps the greatest challenge now is not simply to build a future where no island, no community, and no people are forced to capsize just so others can stay afloat.
Written by Kreshen Jewel Parreño, Insight PH
Kreshen Jewel Parreño, Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
